The Trifling Blog

Everywhere you go….Curly Larry and Moe. From Bob Latchaw’s lips to God’s ears.

Here in fact, where we are is clearly marked. And so it was.

This particular map shows the location of my recent jaunt north to the county known as Plumas.

In the county known as Plumas, there are many interesting phenomenon. The first, and by far the most spectacular can only be called the Brigadoon effect.

It was most obvious when watching the parade on Saturday, or just listening to neighbors gossip at the fair. Quincy which is the county seat, is only one Goober short of a Mayberry.

And sis, just so you know….I only pretended not to be afraid of heights. These were taken from high atop the kiddy Ferris wheel. Boy am I glad the big one wasn’t running.

And it’s not just about the rides oh no. This is the real deal County Fair.  For instance, ya got yer rodeo…

And ya got yer friendly pet rooster.

And even Arnold the pig from Green Acres.

The big grandstand event on the second night was the Lumberjack contest. The stands were SRO.  And since lumbering is an important commercial enterprise in the region, these were real lumberjacks.  When interviewed after the performance, not one of them could even hum the Monty Python “Lumberjack” song. I rest my case.

Next – The parade. Episode two. Check back often. Both of you.

First, an update to the travelogue…I am in Quincy California. I got here yesterday for the county fair, and no, I am not 100% sure what county that would be. However, county fairs are a) cool b) ) great places to see things like monster trucks and antique hearses. The following pictures are of the latter not the former.

I place them here if not for my general readership; then for my son the horror writer. I will add more frothy and fun postings for the general readership later, but for now, this one’s for Doug. I saw this horse drawn hearse and knew you would be all over it like….well you know…. a zombie on a drumstick.  Bon appetite!

Stay tuned for more scary stuff from the road.

The year was 1975 and cruisin’ had a different meaning. The thing to do back then, was to take your car over to Van Nuys blvd and cruise up and down. That’s all. Just go up the street…….then down the street…………then up the street.  Shortly before my 18th birthday, I got busted in Van Nuys for going up the street (or was it down) after the witching hour of 10 pm. This put me in violation of the curfew law; and started me down the path of a long criminal career – rogue that I was.

Cruisin’ now is a more genteel repast. On any lazy Santa Barbara day you will encounter buttloads of people on their bikes. My friend Sterling bought himself a “beach cruiser” the other day, and with me on his mountain bike, and him on the wheeled lazyboy, we set out for the beach. It is worth noting that the afore mentioned Bootiesatva (nickname for Mr. Sterling Branton) carefully mapped out a nearly flat route to the beach on his built-in tomtom.  He climbed atop his trusty steed, and out into the neighborhood he rode…

I followed shortly behind and Bill and Ted’s big adventure began. We road past the bakery….(yummmmmmm)

Then we continue to peddle our asses off (not really, but had to work that into the post somewhere – I was originally going to use it as the title) arriving at last at the starting point of any good bike ride down the beach – the Santa Barbara marina.

Finally we arrive at the beach.  See? It’s the large body of water on the other side of the sand. I am gesturing to it in this picture as a public service for my many readers who are directionally challenged. And yes, we know who we are…

Becuase, like the moon launch there will always be skeptics who, for their own twisted political purposes want to subvert the truth, here is another picture of the previously discussed ocean. This time with boats – real boats. And a palm tree. A real palm tree.

And of course, no trip to the beach would be complete without chick watching. Here is Bootiesatva preparing to watch chicks.

And actually watching chicks….

Finally we made it back to the hood….

Good nite Santa Barbara…

Be prepared for this particular portion of our tour of Don Warrick’s life to be a little longer than usual. We have some catching up to do. Yesterday, I headed down the 101 through Oxnard, Ventura, then a hop across the Filmore freeway (remember we have already discussed the differences between freeways and highways) to Simi Valley. I can only describe the experience as surreal. I was prepared with map, emails, netbook, GPS, cellphone, and a small stack of wood to make a smoke signal fire. Needed none of it. Turns out, there is an inner me that I have not been in touch with for a while. This inner-me has been storing information, taking notes and recording driving directions since I owned that 73 Pinto. Yes, some of you remember it. This offers as good a segue as any to the following photographs. Once I got to Simi, as if there were an “Auto Pilot” mode in my car, I drove straight to the place on Tapo Canyon Road where I took said Pinto off a cliff back in 76. Back then, we would time trial to the top of the windy road. Now, there is a golf course there. It was more than a little freaky. I believe however that this is exactly what I saw back then before I uttered the immortal words “Ah, shit” and became the first Pinto in the space program.

This was the curve in the road that I approached at 70 MPH. Remember I had just dropped the pinto down to 1″ off the ground. Why? because I could. The upside was, she handled like a go-cart on sterio-roids. The downside was….well if you know the story…I didn’t make the curve.

This last picture doesn’t really capture the image that the Wright Bros and I saw when we first became airborn. Since then, the gully that you can sort of make out here has filled in with brush. It was an interesting stop on the tour however. “May I play through?”

I was meeting an old flame and dear friend (Brenda, you know who you are) for lunch, and had a bit of time before the lunching hour so I let my fingers do the driving and ended up at the second stop of our tour today….

I wish that I could sing a verse of the school fight song for you here. Since I cannot, I am going to wager that my good friend and partner in many juvenile crimes, one Mr. Nosmo King will be commenting on this post and will bring with him a copy of the verse for all to enjoy. The following picture looks down the hallway toward the room of the most universally hated and despised teacher of our junior high experience. I don’t remember her name, but again I am quite confident that my comrade, the afore mentioned Mr. King will. What I do remember is an incident involving a tennis ball can, and a partially dissected fish from the biology lab.  I challenge Mr. King to fill in the gaps for the readers of the Trifling Blog.

The quad…

7 little Tyroloftovornochevskavichskyvornachevskys. The following picture is of the MPR (Massive Punishment Room) and the stage door sans Johnny. (extra points for those of you that got that one) This was the scene of an early crime from the brothers King. On this very stage they performed, for no particular reason, their own version of  the Marx Brother’s skit “The Doctor’s Office”.  T he running gag in the skit was the name of a patient: Tyroloftovornochevskavichskyvornachevsky.

This was the second stage that I had performed on. The first was at my elementary school in Lompoc, and no travelogue would complete without a picture of that fabulous theatrical space as well, so a little backtracking reveals…

The play was called “Dick and Jane in Wonderland” and I played the roles of both Dick and Jane, causing serious psychic injury which probably explains a lot to my friends and family. But really folks…ba dum bum… And who could forget the quaint little house on Arlington? Actually, I could. For a lot of reasons all resonant with the odd theme that keeps reappearing in my life that we lovingly call: “Sins of the father” – but that’s for another post. In the meantime it is nice to know that the old homestead still stands proud. Could stand a brisk sage-ing though.

The next pic is for my sister Trink. She was a year ahead of me in school, and when we got to Simi Valley we both hung out at a little rec center at the top of the street. The reason that this one is for Trink is….well kinda private. But I remember. Hope this brings a big smile to your face.

I was taught by my southern mother never to wear out my welcome, so I will close this little entry in our travelogue until the next issue where we will return to high school. In closing I would just like to share a random picture of marijuana.  Love to all…smoke em if you got em.