Thinking thinking

Do-It-Yourself Coonskin Cap Kit

ricothunder — Mon, 26 Feb 2007 19:15:23 GMT

Well, ever since I got a copy of my local roadkill phone list, I've been keeping my eyes open. A lump in the road one recent wintry evening proved to be a freshly killed raccoon. Poor bugger. Fucking cars. I was thinking about the kids and Mr. Coon who'd be worried that mom wasn't coming home that evening. I called up Steffan and admitted my long-held scheme of gifting him a roadkill coon and instructions for making a hat as a Do-It-Yourself Coonskin Cap Kit. He dragged himself out of bed and down the hill to help me skin it. He provided the expertise, me the inept enthusiasm. It was late, so we didn't save the meat, but what I thought would cause me considerable squitch -- looking at wildlife from the inside -- didn't at all. I was pretty certain I'd be grossed out, barely able to wrestle my imagination into images of eating this animal in a survival situation. Plus I've eaten veggie for a few years now. But when we opened it up, I took one look at the smooth red muscle, the marbled fat and my first thought was "Meat!" Hard work carefully skinning a coon. We finished about one in the morning. Skinning the coon, but not dressing the meat, nor prepping the pelt for tanning -- we were doing a bare minimum to save the soft dense raccoon pelt. Exhausted, we rolled up the pelt and put it in the freezer to wait for a day when we'd have time to tan it. Brains, they say, are the best. Hence the backwoods aphorism: Every animal has just enough brains to tan it's hide.

Last Night Afterglow

ricothunder — Tue, 09 Jan 2007 05:14:24 GMT

Wow, we did it! Congratulations. That was something. And the street party was spectacular. I'm proud to have a small part in this large doings by all y'all. No police interference, no problems. Unabashedly positive press afterward (even in the Sentinel: http://tinyurl.com/u97hl) Parade people blocked streets and redirected traffic. The parade cleaned up after itself, taking care of litter and debris. Thousands of people came out. Looked like people were 3 deep on the sidelines and the parade stretched through most of downtown. Check out the photos on Indymedia (http://indybay.org/santacruz) or in the gallery on the Last Night website (http://lastnightdiy.org). I'm thinking, next time, let's see if we can get more musical groups and performance and interactivity down for the street party. The drum circle thing was alright, but after an hour I was ready for some other action. If we could recruit musical groups to play in all the nooks and crannies around Cooper Square, that'd be swell. Like the folk-punk band Blackbird Raum that played later in the evening, or the marimba band that played earlier. Imagine being able to wander over to the Octogon Building and hear an awesome Zydeco band rockin' it in that little courtyard and then down to the jewelry store by the coffee roasting company and catching a brilliant acapella group. What if the Brazen Squaredance Association blew into the square sweeping up people as it went along. Just some thoughts. What are yours? Rico

Manifesto

ricothunder — Thu, 14 Dec 2006 03:45:01 GMT

A . L A S T . N I G H T . M A N I F E S T O Last Night is a decentralized, collective, spontaneous, open, public New Year's Eve celebration in Santa Cruz, California. Last Night is a completely organic event, organized and put on at a grassroots-level. No city-sponsorship. No corporate donors. It’s a do-it-yourself (D.I.Y.) parade and celebration. We write this manifesto in the spirit of understanding, in an attempt to communicate our intentions. The parade is not merely a celebration, but a celebration of the power that we all have when we gather together to make something happen. Not just a street party, but a party to reclaim our streets. Last Night started in 2005 as a response to the implosion of the city-sponsored First Night celebration. Elsewhere that year, the government abandoned millions of poor people in hurricane-ravaged New Orleans. Last Night was also a commemoration of the do-it-yourself spirit of those surviving communities. That year, thousands of people came out to participate in the people’s parade that marched raucously up Pacific Avenue. The parade included the Santa Cruz Trash Orchestra, martial arts displays, firedancers, the Santa Cruz Peace Coalition, Indonesian music, drum circles, floats, and the Opera Lady. The parade was high-energy and peaceful. There were no conflicts with police who’s light presence remained far on the periphery. The parade and it’s organizers represented a broad cross-section of the community. In a typical overreaction of authority to the threat of people taking responsibility in their own lives, the Santa Cruz Police Department deployed undercover officers to infiltrate parade planning meetings for three months. Records released after the spying scandal came to light, revealed a pattern of abuses, including monitoring unrelated groups and other first amendment activities and compiling police dossiers of organizers. The city's own police auditor determined that police had violated the civil rights of parade organizers. After six months of effort, community, activist, and ACLU involvement, the city put in place a weak policy to curb some of the abuses of police power. The celebration is decentralized -- no one person or group is making it happen. There is no central committee nor board of directors. No one is in charge, but we are all leaders. Decisions about route and timing and other tactical matters are made collectively by those willing to step up and make it happen. Collective simply means we all do it together. The celebration is spontaneous -- we are not asking for permits and permission, nor are there any limits on participation. No one is in a position to restrict who can participate or in what way. People simply show up prepared to take part in a city-wide celebration. Our entire community is invited to participate and celebrate together. The focus is on self-reliance. One of the most important aspects of the Last Night celebration is that people take responsibility for themselves and for their community. As such, parade "un-organizers" take pains to address issues such as security, traffic control, sanitation, clean-up, and police liaison. Beyond the impossible barrier of the city's arduous and prohibitively expensive special event permit, the permit process itself is a racket. It is the process through which the city seeks to charge us for the privilege of exercising our rights to free speech and free assembly. Accepting a permit puts one person or group in the position of having to put controls on other people, lest someone damage their good standing with the authorities. Additionally, that person or group takes responsibility and liability for the actions of others. We don't want to be in that position, nor do we want someone to have that responsibility for us. We want to live in a world full of play and celebration, where self-expression is a matter of course. A world full of surprises, in which relationships are authentic and open-ended. A world in which we share a direct connection to the world around us. Where one does not have to ask permission of authorities to realize one’s dreams of adventure and possibility. Part of creating a new world is resistance to the old one, to the relentless commodification and control of everything, including celebration and the way we relate to each other. When we ask permission to live our lives, to celebrate, to come together, to express dissent, we legitimate the power of institutions over us. We give up our power to make our own choices and become subject to the decisions of others who may or may not be acting in our interests. Therefore, we are not seeking permits from the city. We refuse to ask permission to be free. Love and Celebration, Last Night Santa Cruz

pepper

ricothunder — Fri, 20 Oct 2006 20:30:12 GMT

I miss the smell of the pepper trees on the dirt roads where I grew up. Maybe the tangy scent of vegetation baking in the desert sun mixed with dust. Every once in a while I just get a wave of nostalgia. I miss going with my grampa to town on a searing hot afternoon, curled up on the floor of the passenger seat and turning all the air conditioning vents toward me. We always stopped at the Circle-K for a push-up pop. How can I describe for you the color -- that certain color -- of pepper trees with their dusty washed-out green, the thin leaves, the wrinkly red and white berries, the scraggly flaky bark. I miss the Harmony Inn with it's checked vinyl table cloths where we'd sometimes go out for pizza and grampa would give me a quarter for 3 songs and I'd punch in Freddy Fender, B J Thomas, and Jim Croce. And my family would say, "God, please, no, not Before The Next Teardrop Falls again!" A sappy melancholic romantic even then. The horses at the mini-mart several miles away over those low hills, and still I'd bike ride there just to give the horses a sugar cube. And the dirt street out in the middle of nowhere whose street name was -- my name -- was stenciled in black on a piece of up-ended concrete sewer pipe. And the chain link fence behind it with the fencing company sign -- my middle name. So the corner was especially mine, with my name prominently displayed WESLY ALLEN even if the spelling was a little funny. And that freedom of being there, no where in particular nor on the way to anywhere in particular, just a dirt road in the country, one of many around, that I could ride on just because I could. And the postoffice, down that road I think, where until they had mailbox delivery at the end of the road, honey and grampa had to get their mail from a PO Box. And one time near there, I remember -- an old house with old stone work -- my grandmother who reveled in her rebellious spirit drove right through someone's orchard in the old Impala and picked an apple by merely rolling down her car window. The old people who lived in the dark tree-shrouded Victorian across the field. The cool of their house on a blistering summer day. Lemonade. Their peacocks always with the anxious cat cries all through the long afternoons. The field where oats were grown, and where my uncle shot his .22 rifle at the coffee can on a stick, where mysteriously a machine came each fall and ate all the grass and pooped out hay bales. My hatred of foxtails because of the inevitable ritual of picking hundreds out of my socks. I explored everywhere and nowhere. With my kid's attention, I am missing whole swaths of recollection -- what lay behind that chain link fence? I have no idea -- and remembering some things in such vivid detail it was as if they were yesterday. I miss the sound of cars on the distant road. Swooooooosh of the tires like nature sounds on the still country air while I fell asleep, my ears jumpy and alert and traveling the neighborhood without me.

What are you doing New Year's Eve?

ricothunder — Thu, 15 Dec 2005 06:00:59 GMT

Want to join this year's New Year's Eve Parade in Santa Cruz? There's no First Night this year, so we're going to do it ourselves. It's our parade. It's your parade. No city-sponsorship. No corporate donors. We make it happen together. We're calling it THE LAST NIGHT SANTA CRUZ DIY PARADE (diy stands for do-it-yourself) Let's get a group together. Start a marching band. Build puppets. Get our bicycle friends together. Form a dancing troupe. Organize our kid's play group. Anything and everything! Committed so far: Art & Revolution, Village Drumming Circles, The Opera Lady, the Santa Cruz Trash Orchestra, the Man in Black, firedancers, stilt walkers, Peace Walk, Santa Cruz Moontribe, puppets, bunnies, clowns, and bike kids. (We'd still like to see Samba bands, marching bands, more music, political groups, a coalition of homeless folks, art cars, zombies, pirates, more kids and parents, and more more of everything in our community) MEET AT 5PM NEW YEAR"S EVE - SATURN CAFE LOT

A Season of Soup

ricothunder — Wed, 19 Oct 2005 03:32:30 GMT

I'm missing summer. It is my favorite. Warm sunny days. Drive-in movies. Endless dusky evenings. But I'm prepared to let it go and embrace the beautiful fall. Soups! Pumpkins! Golden leaves. Crisp days. The smell of woodfires. The first tingly smell of rain. I made a deal with my sweetheart when we first met that if she chose me, I would cook her soups and stews in the winter. So far, five years later, I've made good on my promise every year. Pumpkin soup (secret: after Nov 1, you can get as many pumpkins for as cheaply as you want). Barley lentil stew. Bean soups. Minestrone (a meal in liquid form). A thousand soups, a million soups to woo my lover.

Can't Afford Firewood in Chilly Felton

ricothunder — Mon, 26 Sep 2005 18:51:17 GMT

Anyone care to trade firewood for carpetry? We need one full cord of seasoned oak and/or madrone to heat our little cabin here in beautiful but chilly Felton-stan. I'd love to do it as mutual gifts without regard for exchange value. What I can offer is two days of carpentry on whatever interesting project you have going.

Last Night Santa Cruz

ricothunder — Mon, 12 Sep 2005 19:51:02 GMT

I came back from the river and from Burning Man to a shitload of overwhelming information about Katrina and New Orleans. Seemed unreal. Seemed unimaginable that our government who makes such a big fucking deal about keeping us scared and then claiming to protect us could so thoroughly fuck shit up for so many people. I mean, on one hand, did we ever have any illusions that the safety they talked about applied equally to everyone, rich and poor? And did we really think it was much more than an excuse to achieve full US domination of the globe and simultaneously erode our liberties and fatten the wallets of corporate cronies? Good god, I hope we're not that naive. But nevertheless... I think, we did imagine that our governments and institutions would make a token effort to at least keep us safe and fat and happy. But I think Katrina shatters that illusion. You knew of course, that the administration directly funneled money away from reinforcing the New Orleans levies just this year for other pet projects and wars? You knew that there were few national guard troops and equipment to help victims of the hurricane because they were all busy in Iraq. You knew that the president was golfing and Condi Rice was shopping for shoes in NY as the storm raged? You knew that local police were not letting poor residents of the flooded quarters of New Orleans escape the city across the bridges on foot? Our government cannot and will not keep us safe, happy, and free. I came back feeling like, What the fuck? These are the people we depend on to tell us what we can and can't do? Are we crazy? Our institutions can barely manage their own affairs. I don't hate them, I just think they are largely irrelevant in our lives. WE make this country. And WE make this city. And WE make our communities. Us. Not a bunch of elected yahoos. We are what make our communities connected and vital and full of life. When I heard that First Night Santa Cruz, our little city-sponsored humdrum New Year's safe-and-sane entertainment, had finally collapsed in on itself in a corpulent pile, I thought, of course. Exactly. This is our town, our celebration, our night. Let's do our own parade. A Last Night celebration. A last night of waiting for governments, institutions, or anyone else to entertain us, satisfy us, bring us security, freedom, or joy. We reclaim our streets and usher in the new year with our own celebration. Last Night Santa Cruz tribe: http://tribes.tribe.net/lastnightdiy We are radically self-reliant and radically interdependent. The world is ours for the making. A new world in our hearts.

Leaving This Morning

ricothunder — Sun, 14 Aug 2005 16:19:49 GMT

This morning I'm leaving for the next several weeks for the Missiouri River. If you want to join us, you better high tail it out to Sioux City, Iowa and find us along the river building our raft. Or catch us along the way. The river runs roughly downhill, more or less, south then east toward the Mississippi.

Stuff to Bring

ricothunder — Tue, 09 Aug 2005 20:47:39 GMT

I'm so excited it is hard to put my heart in to anything else, work, home, other projects. I am totally underprepared and underplanned. Scared my truck is going to break down on the way. Afraid I'll get on the river and think goddamn it, I forgot the stove, or my harmonica, or books to read, or a fishing pole. mosquito net water-proof bag sleeping bag fishing pole & equipment canvas for sail pirate flag water filter hurricane lamp oars journal toilet paper books cards harmonica slingshot pipe & tobacco machette camera knife cooking stuff & coffee stove This is part of an experiment to test my belief in the recuperative and inspirational power of boredom.

Huckleberry Finn

ricothunder — Tue, 09 Aug 2005 20:32:02 GMT

When I was a child I read Huckleberry Finn and I thought, "Of course! Why can't my life be like that?" I know it is fiction, but seriously, shouldn't it be something of a standard for how full of mystery, and adventure, and the unknown our lives should be? In a few days I'm leaving for a two week adventure floating down the Missouri River, roughly following the route of Louis and Clark in reverse. For me, this trip was inspired by my friend Lee. Hobo Lee who's gone for the summer hopping freight trains all over Europe. He had this vision of a punk rafting trip. Train hop out to some river town, build a floatilla of rafts and float down some major American river. When I heard that, I thought, I've been looking forward to a trip like that all my life. We've been talking about it for two years now. Last year drifted on by, with no rafting. I thought damnit, I have to do this. So I picked an arbitrary month and an arbitrary date to set out. And the date's been slowly creeping up on me all summer.

Cop Harassment at GDI

ricothunder — Mon, 01 Aug 2005 14:42:23 GMT

Cops harassed us at last Friday's Guerilla Drive-In benefit for a high school group. Made noise about disturbing nearby residents, noise after 10pm blah blah blah in an industrial area with no houses for blocks. I say, ahem, bullshit.

River Rafting in August

ricothunder — Thu, 21 Jul 2005 19:59:50 GMT

Who's joining me on a punk rafting trip on the Missiouri River? I'm building a raft out of found and scavenged materials and floating for two weeks Huck Finn-style down a major American river. Second and third week of August. This is not white water rafting. We're talking a river with class zero rapids. A floating river. A lazying hot summer day eating found apples sort of river. A trip that will remain low on specifics, high on general concept, mood, and emotion. Part of an experiment and a belief in the power of boredom to inspire. You building a raft and coming along? Rico

An Evening Drive Epiphany

ricothunder — Thu, 21 Jul 2005 19:32:07 GMT

I was driving to the summit of the Santa Cruz mountains on a quixotic mission to pick up Annie who actually had already gotten a ride over the hill. It was a dusky evening drive, the lights already on, the sun already gone down, the sky already turned from orange to dark blue to deep indigo. The air was warm through the open windows. I sat in the twilight evening watching cars zoom past on highway 17, a steady shwooshing wavescape. Sitting and listening and letting the music of Rage Against the Machine wash over me. And suddenly I realized that as full as my life is, it is not full enough. A longing came over me to take part in everything, to be part of it all, to make trouble, and create and live a life so full that there was no room for bullshit. I was full of wanting. I want to fight in the streets. I want to write, complex multi-layered stuff to get lost in. I want to take drives at dusk. I want to be a powerhouse, an unstoppable bundle of energy. I want to do radical history projects of enormous scope. I want to read voraciously. I want to never stop learning. I want to be part of independent media. I want to drink deeply. I want to connect to important people who inspire me. I want to be powerful and sincerely humble. I want to inspire others. I want to be generous with everyone. Rico

Fambly Road Trip or How I Spent My Summer Vacation

ricothunder — Fri, 15 Jul 2005 17:47:08 GMT

Just back from a 3 week road trip. 22 states. 7500 miles. Eschewing the interstate and sticking mainly to secondary roads.