Spin that dark intelligent jungle, DJ.

Entry #469
Sunday, June 3, 2001

The first thing I notice about Los Angeles is the cars on runways, whizzing past each other and airplane wingtips. They must have twenty speeding vehicles for every tarmacking jumbo jet. My connecting flight to Santa Barbara was thirty minutes late, so I gave Izzy a ring to let her know.

Isabel told me to skip my flight and stay in L.A., as she was coming down that night anyway. Danny would pick me up from the airport. This turned out to be a very bad idea, as Danny didn't have car insurance and couldn't pick me up. Thankfully, Danny's mother drove him to the airport to pick up a complete stranger. I sat in LAX for three hours and read The Restaurant at the End of the Universe. Isabel's ride bailed and she couldn't make it to L.A. that night, so she planned on the morning Amtrak. She missed the morning Amtrak and planned on a ride from another friend, which also fell through. I ended up taking the 9:30 p.m. Greyhound to Santa Barbara, where Isabel and her friends Josh and John picked me up. Then we drove around the outskirts of Santa Barbara in desperate search of a rave.

This "underground" rave was held in the boondocks up in the hills. While off-roading six miles in an old, sluggish Volkswagon Bug, we happened across a downcoming car and learned that the rave had been "busted" earlier that night and thus had moved to an even more boondock, up-in-the-hills location. After switching from John's Bug to Josh's more reliable vehicle, we drove up into the hills and, after about two hours of total driving that night, found this rave.

I don't know much about raves, but Isabel and her friends judged this to be a good one, so I must concur. There was probably one hundred people or more there, cars lining the thin road high up in the California hills. The "dance floor" was dirt and the oft-kicked dust clouds reminded me of artificial fog at rock concerts or junior high dances. One or two dozen people danced on the dirt while the rest stood around or sat around, chatting, smoking, greeting each other, giving neon light shows for those "rolling." The night wasn't too cold, but it wasn't warm. The moon and stars shone bright, as did the three large oil tankers anchored in the Pacific.

I imagine this was a pretty simplistic rave, which I liked. Just a spot up in the hills, two turntables and some large speakers. The music blasted, unheard by the nearest ten-mile neighbors. A few folks had glowsticks, but most simply flailed and slinked and soothed about in that rave-kid fashion that so often scares those who can't do it. I didn't do any dancing, though I did bounce a little bit to keep from freezing. I spent much of the night -- or, more correctly, morning -- under a blanket, sitting with Izzy, John and Josh, as well as other party-goers.

When it started getting light, we headed up the hill a bit and climbed up on a boulder to watch the sunrise. To the east was some body of water, covered in a white cotton marine layer, with hills beyond. It was quite picturesque. We left around 7 a.m., sun still creeping above the hills, music still blasting, fewer people still dancing and hanging out.

Isle Vista, as Isabel often says, is a party town. I've never seen anything like it. Thousands of kids, walking the streets, partying, drinking, saying stupid things to each other and passing cars, bouncing of walls of inflatable rooms set up in front yards. I must admit, I wonder what the point of this all is. I feel like some National Geographic guy observing some wild pygmy culture -- a strange, erratic, un-Ben culture.

The college kids waking up after a night of drunken revelry don't stop shouting stupid things, which is rather unfortunate.

"I want pussy!"

Such a different culture.

I think I'm going to attempt to locate the beach and read a bit.

Comment on this entry

Haha, yes, definately a strange pygmy culture. :)

I'm not sure what scares me more, the un-Ben like culture or a Ben like Culture.

Ben, you can not miss a connecting flight or the airline may cancel your return. Please call me at work so we can make sure they do not cancel the flight.