PEACE!

Guess what? Last night something really weird and messed up happened to me. 

Driving around downtown, alone, on my way to meet W, S, and N, looking for parking and finding none except in desolate creepy places (everything was sectioned off because of a marathon) I decided to go home. Then after talking to S who was just getting to the party, I decided to head back towards 4th and Los Angeles. I was waiting at a stop light, it turned green, I started to drive and Yikes there were two people, a man and woman, in front of my car who I hadn't seen before. They must have walked out right as the light changed. I really almost hit them, they had their hands on the hood, their little eyes squinting in the headlights, constricted no doubt, by the fear of imminent death upon them. I pushed on the brake. They were not dead. Thank god. Nor were they apparently insured but I'm sure, still quite afraid. Suddenly before I knew what was happening the guy came to my window and began to scream and punch. I didn't try to drive off; I was too stunned. He was punching really hard and after the third time he succeeded in shattering the glass on my window. Then he walked away with this woman. It must have all taken place in the time it took for the light to change to green again.

This guy, I don't know what he looked like but as much as one can register someone under the circumstances, he was white, my age, kind of a stupid downtown hipster, dressed like someone in a Coca Cola commercial. I don't remember the woman at all. Today though I've wondered a lot about what her reaction to her companion's outbreak was. Was she disgusted and afraid of him? Or flattered that he was willing to punch through a window to punish the person who had almost hurt her?

Right after this happened a bunch of guys who had been watching from outside a bar down the street came and helped me. Car glass is weird and doesn't really shatter as much as break into small pebbly segments or wider toffee size bits. Some of it had flown onto my face and I was bleeding. When I saw the blood and the guys reaction I finally realized what had happened and started to cry like a banshee. These guys from the bar were very nice and brought me water. Thanks.

W called and was there in a second. She drove my car home without the window, heat on full blast. S and N comforted me as we walked to meet J who happened to be at the party. I was freaked but relatively safe and sound.

Who is this man? If you meet anyone if the next few days with scabbed, bloody knuckles, ask if they've punched out the driver's side window of any silver Toyota Tacomas recently. Well I hope I never meet him. You either, especially if you've done something to make him angry. 

Force and raw aggression are not things that are normally associated with hippie ideals but what happened last night actually reminds me of a time when my friend in college, Pete, was standing drunk on the porch outside Cafe Pongo in Tivoli, watching a fight progress inside. He kept on tapping peace signs onto the window and screaming "Peace...Peace." But he ended up applying to much force to his tapping, leaning his body into "Peace" too much  and finally the whole front window shattered and the class cut up all the people who were sitting close to door.  I guess Peace is not usually attained by brute force no matter how good the intention. 

I got the window replaced today and my lip is going to have a thin scar underneath it. Things could have been much worse. I'm just happy to be alive and not to have killed anybody. 

Barter Economy

Do you know about this?

http://www.veggietrader.com

Gardening Workshop At the LA Eco Village

Last weekend I attended at gardening workshop at the LA Eco Village off Bimini Place and First St. I'd been wondering about this community since meeting a lovely herbalist named Michelle who lives there last year on a Fallen Fruit Walk. I also met a guy named Joe a couple of years ago who lived there and worked with the FOLAR. I thought I heard from him that people at the Eco Village don't own cars. I pictured the place differently then it was. I thought the LAEV would be a series of newly constructed buildings with solar panels, organized, literally, like a village with a circle of "green" huts around a huge patch of land designated for growing vegetables and fruit, a space for making bio fuel and in general that my mind would be blown at the efficiency and conviction of the people I encountered there. I was picturing it like the old Dome Village downtown but full of environmentalists. From what I saw though, the LEV is more like a vintage co-op in Berkeley. It's two old apartment buildings that share a courtyard. Each apartment is a single and the Village has community meals twice a week and host workshops. Not as experimental as I had imagined but I don't know everything about it yet. http://www.laecovillage.org/

There was some tea and oranges from VONs waiting for us. Brad our teacher talked about the importance of the soil for organic gardening, most of all the importance of worm castings (worm shit). He was emotional about gardening. Plants are like children according to Brad. First we walked around the small garden in the courtyard and Brad pointed out edible weeds--nettles, amaranth and lambs quarters. Then we checked out the proper way to start seedlings and Brad pulled out some rock dust which I never saw before. We contemplated a fig tree and broke for lunch. I thought things were moving pretty slow and I wasn't sure if Brad had really planned out the lesson but the workshop still was helpful in making me feel confident about starting a garden. If I follow Brad's advice all that matters is worm castings anyway, how bad could I mess up?

Gaby got a migraine so we had to leave before the second half. Though I'm a bit disappointed that the LAEV is not as radical as I thought (at least I still have Arco Santi left on list) I'm glad I saw it and spent Saturday morning outside with Gaby.

Exhibit A: My Favorite Jacket

This is a Moroccan smoking jacket. You store your hash in its deep pockets. I think it is pretty hippie.

Pull the Fuckers Out By Their Roots

A weed is anything growing somewhere it hasn't been planted. Even the most desirable flower or plant can be classified as a weed. During my volunteer gardening sessions, maybe because of my lack of skills and offer of free labor,  I have been spending a lot of time weeding undesirables. Mostly giant dandelion stocks, grass, oodles of nasturtiums and the weed pictured above, yellow suckling, which is tough to pull and tangles into the plants your trying to weed it out of and often pulls out their innocent roots along with the job. Fuckers! It's really tricky trying to rid a patch of this weed. The other day while dealing with these, I zeroed in on all the symbolic relevance of weeding and the way one could interpret it as a lesson for life: not letting things get out of control, mitigating problems while they are still small, being thorough while doing so, keeping things neat and tidy, not letting the past fester, etc...

In this vein it made it even more rewarding when I pulled out a weed deep from its roots and got it the far away from the tea trees and salvias as I was tending to. Pull those fuckers out from their roots! I kept thinking. Or they'll just come back and all my work will have been for nothing.

Maybe I Am

People accuse me of being a hippie. I know for many of my friends the word has bad connotations. It's true I have a large collection of grains and legumes stored in mason jars in my kitchen. I gravitate towards colorful muumuu style dresses and like to be go without shoes. I love hiking, sex without condoms, mate tea sipped from a gourd, yoga, folk music, acoustic guitar and foraging for edible plants. On most days I have strong body odor. I dream of living on a farm, perhaps a commune, and owning donkeys and goats. So maybe I am, I hope not completely. On this blog though, I will explore the hippie side of myself, from macrobiotic cooking and herbal remedies to any pyschedelic drug use and my recent venture into community gardening. Here is the hippie in me, judge as you will.