Hard Knocks, literally

Slumming is hard.  

I've spent one night squatting, one night bumming on a friend's couch, one terrifying night in the jeep, two nights sleeping in a friend's car, one night on a tile floor, and last night on a couch on which, according to the owner, had once been afterbirth.  These are the homeless chronicles.

  

I don't think I would mind it if one of two possibilities were realized.  1)  If Chris actually ran and I could move around every (couple of) days I would be less conspicuous, or 2) If I didn't feel like campus security was after me.  

I wrote a story about my sole night in the Jeep, and put it on the blog oliofolio, which you should check out because it's cool.  I'm going to include the story here, and keep in mind, if you change '4th and Vine' for 'TVA parking lot' you've got an exact narration of what happened to me a week ago at 1:27 AM.  No change, I swear.  I can take no credit for even an ounce of creativity here.  Enjoy: 

She was awake and scared and somebody was yelling. Outside a light blinked on and the animal inside all of us instinctively pulled away from it. But she froze with a pain racing up her side, catching the breath in her throat.

The somebody was yelling again, and started banging on the window, “Is anybody in there?” The light moved a little higher, not quite penetrating the towel shut in the door, but she still felt uncomfortably visible. The light, a wide eye, cast the blue of the towel over the inside of the jeep, and she remembered; Evicted.

The scramble of a radio interrupter her. “Green to base, checking out suspicious vehicle on 4th and Vine.” Then louder, “Anybody home?” The light moved to stare into the window behind her. More banging. Her body tensed and she winced in response, sore from sleeping sitting up.

Then she saw it. A corner of the sheet shielding the passenger window had fallen. Shit.

Shit, shit, shit. The light was glaring through the back window now as the somebody circled the jeep. He’s going to see.

She mapped out all possible escape routes in her mind; a quick fix for the homemade curtain- but with what? Maybe just give up now, instead of letting the flashlight spot me cowering and trapped. Turn on the engine and make a cinematic getaway- if only I could be sure the engine will turn over. All the while, damning the neighbors for being afraid of the unknown and the cops for not having enough real work to do and whoever else she could possibly blame.

But she didn’t do any of those things. She was scared. She didn’t want to be there and she didn’t know how to get away. So she shut her eyes and went somewhere else.

When she was a little girl, her dad once-upon-a-timed her to sleep every night. No more banging or spying lights, only her father’s voice.

Once upon a time, there lived a beautiful princess. This princess lived in a grand castle in the middle of a magical land, ruled by her father, a very wise, beloved, not to mention, handsome king. This princess was smart and good and her father loved her very much, so nothing bad ever happened to our princess. And of course she had her magic wishes- she’d close her eyes tight and

And the light was bright and staring her full in the face, pulling her back to that dark night in the jeep. The insides of her eyelids shown gold. Any moment she’d hear it, “You there; wake up. It’s illegal to park here. What’s your name, where do you live?” She closed her eyes tighter and

The radio garbled and an answer came, “Green to base. It’s a black jeep, license number FMZ 1394. Yeah, seems someone put up the curtains so no one would steal anything, but there’s nobody here. Just some blankets and stuff. I’m headed back to the civilian who called to explain the situation. Over.”

The light shut off and footfall faded. She was alone again in the night.

Chris and Me

I'm officially a vagrant.  

I packed up all my things, loaded them into my jeep, which I've renamed (Al who "donated" the vehicle called him Bloodlust).  His given name is Christopher Johnson McCandless, aka Alexander Supertramp.  The problem is that Chris doesn't run at all- not even a little bit.  Al Rosales and Erika Kuta helped push it about a quarter of a mile, before Tolo, Christian, and Micah gave us a tow.  Thank you, thank you, thank you!  Now I guess I don't have to worry that Chris will get boosted, I just hope no one steals all my crap.  

Actually, it might be really helpful if someone stole a good portion of my crap.  I have an uncanny ability to collect junk.  Currently the jeep if filled to the gills with two suitcases of clothes, a bookshelf plus two boxes of books, an acoustic and an electric guitar, my bagpipe chanter, and various shit.  I've already thrown away at least half of my stuff, but I need to half it again.  Anybody want a little TV- for you, I give a special price...

On a completely different note- Bremen McKinney told me about an incredible idea last night.  He wants to form a group that would operate essentially as a students' union.  Bremen said he wants to "pull a Berkeley on 'em."  So many things have happened that illustrate the need to product students' rights; attempted censoring in the student newspaper, rock music groups being banned from campus, and by far the worse; the school and security ignoring sexual assault charges.  

 

The problem is twofold; many LDS students feel like they're being disobedient to their religion when/if they stand up to authorities at the university, and let's face it; students are not the activist they were in 1964.  

Let me remind any of the faint hearted or unsure: we have a responsibility to act according to the dictates of our own conscious and that particularly the LDS religion was founded upon a very intense real history of questioning and rejecting established wrongs.  

There's a time when the operation of the machine becomes so odious that you can't even passively take part!

a classy Hobo

Contrary to popular belief, I have thought this through, a little.  While the showers of flying J are an awesome option, Hawaii hasn't been colonized yet by that particular chain.  And since I don't need any more excuses for boys to flee before me...

I'll be showering at the CAC locker room every morning, which not only makes me a classy hobo, but also, Oprah will be proud of me because I'll be using the gym regularly, so as not to appear suspicious.  Hey, if this works out I can start a movement and get in on the multi-billion dollar weight loss industry.  Step 1: take to the streets...

The first sentence of the last paragraph is not an invitation, you creepy craigslisters...

I have to say, I'm becoming (probably irrationally) excited about this move.  I have to toss about half of my clothes and books, but I feel like this is going to be really good.  I think I was influenced too much by Jewel as a child, and if you've read the liner notes of her first CD, you'll know what I mean. 

Also, my band, Haberdashery, is doing mounting up-eagles' wings style good.  We're playing Hallowbaloo and a bunch of other crazy-cool performances, we're going to be done recording our full length album by the end of September, and I randomly got a call today about using our music in a commercial.  And anyone who's ever lived in Hawaii knows that local commercials are the best of the best.  Out of my way Neill Blomkamp.  Move over Michel Goundry.

The coolest thing by far about being in a band that's doing well is the fact that Bremen and I have discovered our superpowers:  we can get into bars and clubs without being carded.  Since neither of us imbibe, that may sound like meagre pickings to you.  But since I look (and act) like a teenager, and Bremen actually is one, this ability, nay, Gift is our (ok, my) official cool kids club membership card.  So suck on that Ashley Gross- queen of the seventh grade bullies at BHMS in 1997 and inspiration for that dumb Mean Girls movie.  "Gross!" you say?  I know, I know, with a name like that she should have been at my mercy, but I was a late bloomer. 

check out Haberdashery's website:  http://haberdasheryband.com/

and Hallowbaloo here: http://www.hallowbaloo.com/

Vagrancy: an Experiment

On September 1st, 2009 I will be homeless.  

I don't want to live at my current apartment anymore, and it's extremely difficult to find a new one that is in within my price range.  I'm about to graduate from an accredited four year university with a Bachelor's degree, I grew up in an upper-middle class family, but looking at my options- I choose to move into my car.  

There's a really good chance that I'm being ridiculous.  Being homeless is probably really hard.  Really, really hard.  But I'm going to blog about it and let you know.  At least, I can avoid paying rent for a few months and claw my way closer to the surface and out from under the mountain of debt I'm in.  Let's see how long I last, eh?

Somewhere
in a private garden
fruit grows warm
pregnant, overripe
splits, and runs red

Call me Ishmael

I've been pushed to the very edge. Or perhaps simply lead. Oh, I don't know, there's a very good chance that I stumbled out here myself and it's all my own fault, if we're going to be philosophical about it. But yesterday I woke up on a precipice and decided to climb down. Can't really conceive of how to do that, but it feels nice to have a goal.
One thing's sure, the view from here is fabulous. All the apprehensive adrenaline is fatiguing, you know, so I think I might set a while and catch my breath, and observe.