Drifting through California

Waking up in California is always a little strange for me. I sleep on this really comfortable air mattress in Samir's office, but picking my head up at 9 am is very disorienting. The wind blows through the small open window above Samir's desk, turning the metal blinds into an atonal windchime. I've never had a better alarm clock.

So to start the day, I walk downstairs and get a cup of coffee. Everyone else is already up and going through their usual routines: Alice is on her computer playing Snood, Anna is reading disturbing headlines on CNN, Allison is reading Harry Potter in the comfy chair, and Susan, Alice's mom, is on YouTube. The day has been planned already and I'm informed that we're going to Cafe Aroma for lunch and then to Ventura, Southern California's prettier version of Wilmington, NC. Incidentally, Ventura is just north of Oxnard, home of some of my hip hop heroes, Madlib, Peanut Butter Wolf, and Oh No.

Ventura seems to attract those who love Southern California but don't want to feel beaten down and crushed by the smoggy dreamscape of Los Angeles. There's a lot of hippies there. There's also a lot of beach bums and artists and insufferable coffee-shop waitresses with fake smiles and attitudes.

One of the cooler people we met in Ventura, however, was a man who owned a smoke shop called "Wild Side." Allison and I went in to look at glass and the like and ended up chatting with the friendly owner. He told us of his past as a glassblower, working in a shop in the Valley that could reach temperatures of up to 160 degrees. The way he described the glassblowing industry made it seem to be a hellish one, but owning shops that sold such products was a nice, relaxed way to earn a living. After we chatted with him for twenty minutes and left without purchasing anything, I got the same impression.

Next, as Alice and Anna went to another clothing store, Allison and I went into an art gallery called ARTZworks. A man with a long, greasy ponytail greeted us with a raspy voice that declared that 20 artists' work were on display in the gallery. Three paintings using American flags caught our attention and things began to turn ugly.

The artist and gallery owner was a well-built, scruffy, tired looking man who looked as though he did a lot of coke. David SchwARTZ (he capitalized the "ARTZ" on everything that bore his name) came over and began the sales pitches. He mentioned, in a very self-satisfied manner, that his 12-part series of patriotic paintings on American flags had just been accepted at some shmancy art festival in Italy. He constantly tried to sell us prints of his work and when we declined, he "jokingly" nudged me and said, "Come back some time and bring some buyers with you!"

Somehow he found out that we're from North Carolina and told us of his experience in Thee Dollhouse in Raleigh. He got kicked out. We left.

Oh, he did invite us to his "exclusive, red carpet" art show Saturday night. Bandhu will be providing the probably pretentious music which Alice told us we didn't want to miss.