Friday, May 15, 2015
Sunday, June 28, 2009
I live in Pleasure Point. It’s an unincorporated neighborhood between Santa Cruz and Capitola, hammered into the Monterey Bay by another neighborhood called Live Oak. I have wanted to live here since moving to the Santa Cruz area in 1989. In fact, the first place my sister and I lived when we came here was only about five or six blocks from the house I live in now. By my measure, what I consider to be Pleasure Point is from Schwann Lake on the western side to the actual Point on 41st ave. and for me to be really classist or even more narrowly neighborhoodinest, I’d have to say that you’re not really living in Pleasure Point unless you’re on the ocean side of Portola – which also means you have to be inside of 17th ave. (This puts me outside of The Point by the way – I’ve excluded myself by these parameters).
maps.google.com/maps/ms?oe=utf-8&client=firefox-a&ie=UTF8&split=0&gl=us&ei=KrJGSsW4FJWIMZC7kLAC&hl=en&msa=2
The Point is sometimes referred to as a surf ghetto. This is a ridiculous assertion since even in today’s real estate market, you can look up virtual shacks listed in this neighborhood way out of whack with what you might get for the same in say, oh, the Philadelphia area, http://www.movoto.com/real-estate/homes-for-sale/CA/Santa-Cruz/207-32nd-Ave-100_80926806.htm vs. http://www.weichert.com/23651081/
Or Oregon, or Fresno or Austin, Texas if a body had a mind to live in any of those places.
But, the neighborhood does have the look of a white trash paradise. Lots of rundown vehicles letting the salt water air have its way, as many overgrown yards, trees and brush as are kept, leaning fences, lotsa chipping paint, cardboarded window panes and straight plywood walls every now and again. The Baller and I saw a front yard with its plants potted in the shells of an old drum kit yesterday. Originality and creativity if you’re kind or with it. Slovenliness and trailer park cache if you’re, I guess, a dick.
I call it Never, Never Land. Folks never seem to grow up here. Hell, even the people who just come in to surf the spots regular seem younger for it.
Walking from my house to The Lookout and back I saw “Jack” Green, the subject of our documentary cruising down Portola on his mountain bike, no hands, beard and hair blown back from his speed, his eyes reflecting the ocean that’s ever rolling through him, on his way back to 7th ave. or beyond. He gave me the word that old “Vodka Scotty” passed away a couple weeks ago. Just laid back in a bank parking lot and fell into the next world. “At least he didn’t have to go through any of that hospital bullshit,” according to Green.
After The Cove, I walk by The Dream House, which for me is a two bedroom almost cabin looking place with a front porch facing out onto East Cliff Drive toward the ocean, strips of ratty lawn all the way around, little else. The dream is to sit on the front porch, ratty couch, dog, ever-present pony keg, strum a guitar and jerk my chin up at passers-by as they recognize or are recognized, “Eh, uh.” That’s it. That’s the dream.
Passed Rodeo Creek, three radio tours sprouting from its swamp on the backside of KSCO radio station and the view of our new Live Oak Library, (which is beautiful and awesome and at which The Lanky One volunteers every Monday), dipping down East Cliff Drive by Pat O’Neil’s ridiculously sick house/property which braves the quickest, most aerial and skilled short boarders ripping toward its backyard everyday. (In my imagination, Pat used to scout talent from his wall sized bedroom window or from his second story, pool-sized hot tub).
By Moran Lake and The Slab where all the cool kids hang, (from 14 to 60 and beyond), tattoos, bikinis, American Spirits and 40’s.
Up to just before Elizabeth’s Market I run into Pappa Ponza, unemployed, doing some side work for the contractor he was working for who no longer has any work and is on the hook for rent at the place he just moved into. “I don’t care about being a millionaire,” Pappa tells me, “I just want to be the lowest paid grunt doing the shittiest job out there so I can skimboard and go home.”
Peter Mel crosses the street in front of me, wetsuit clad, just out of the water as I approach the seawall project, (how did they get those cranes down the cliffs onto the beach?) We’ve never met, but Green made me cruise by his house at 3am a couple of times and blare the beginning sound effects of The Dramatics “In the Rain”, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jMn4Nwio3Bk
as some sort of inexplicable tribute. Mel is one of several world class surfers who make their home here, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wmmF-U9N2sk
who have, in fact, came up in this neighborhood. See also, Adam Replogle, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q69wLUa-ndc
Jay Moriarty, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xCUEDloC7og
and Ratboy Collins, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d1NsE7HLUwk
off the top of my head.
The Pleasure Point Seawall Project with its cyclone cordoning of East Cliff Drive, its many workers and earthmovers takes my attention some, but damn if First Peak isn’t goin’ off at 6 foot or better and guys are working out there, making the most of the sun, the ocean spray, the shape and size. Carving. I am not the only spectator seeing through the cyclone.
Just before Jack O’Neil’s house, {the only house between 33rd and 38th that’s on the ocean side of East Cliff, (Jack O’Neil, of course, inventor of the wetsuit, http://www.oneill.com/#/women/americacanada/company/)}, a whole brand new fucking house has gone up since the last time I made this walk.
At 37th I wave to the ageless Dennis Godfrey, “our lord,” as Green calls him, working shirtless on one of his many landscaping accounts. No one better exemplifies the stoppage of time for humans living in Pleasure Point than Godfrey, who came to this spot from Florida in his late 20’s? Maybe early 30’s? Decades and decades ago and is still landscaping and surfing and looking like he’s in his late 20’s, maybe early 30’s.
I loop around, take Portola passed Coffeetopia, Paula’s breakfast place, The Corner Pocket, 30th ave and on down to 26th, passed Kong’s Market, back to East Cliff, by Moran’s Lake, (the backside of the radio station and the library), the dream shack, across the sand of The Cove this time to 15th and then back home to write about where I live.
maps.google.com/maps/ms?oe=utf-8&client=firefox-a&ie=UTF8&split=0&gl=us&ei=KrJGSsW4FJWIMZC7kLAC&hl=en&msa=2
The Point is sometimes referred to as a surf ghetto. This is a ridiculous assertion since even in today’s real estate market, you can look up virtual shacks listed in this neighborhood way out of whack with what you might get for the same in say, oh, the Philadelphia area, http://www.movoto.com/real-estate/homes-for-sale/CA/Santa-Cruz/207-32nd-Ave-100_80926806.htm vs. http://www.weichert.com/23651081/
Or Oregon, or Fresno or Austin, Texas if a body had a mind to live in any of those places.
But, the neighborhood does have the look of a white trash paradise. Lots of rundown vehicles letting the salt water air have its way, as many overgrown yards, trees and brush as are kept, leaning fences, lotsa chipping paint, cardboarded window panes and straight plywood walls every now and again. The Baller and I saw a front yard with its plants potted in the shells of an old drum kit yesterday. Originality and creativity if you’re kind or with it. Slovenliness and trailer park cache if you’re, I guess, a dick.
I call it Never, Never Land. Folks never seem to grow up here. Hell, even the people who just come in to surf the spots regular seem younger for it.
Walking from my house to The Lookout and back I saw “Jack” Green, the subject of our documentary cruising down Portola on his mountain bike, no hands, beard and hair blown back from his speed, his eyes reflecting the ocean that’s ever rolling through him, on his way back to 7th ave. or beyond. He gave me the word that old “Vodka Scotty” passed away a couple weeks ago. Just laid back in a bank parking lot and fell into the next world. “At least he didn’t have to go through any of that hospital bullshit,” according to Green.
After The Cove, I walk by The Dream House, which for me is a two bedroom almost cabin looking place with a front porch facing out onto East Cliff Drive toward the ocean, strips of ratty lawn all the way around, little else. The dream is to sit on the front porch, ratty couch, dog, ever-present pony keg, strum a guitar and jerk my chin up at passers-by as they recognize or are recognized, “Eh, uh.” That’s it. That’s the dream.
Passed Rodeo Creek, three radio tours sprouting from its swamp on the backside of KSCO radio station and the view of our new Live Oak Library, (which is beautiful and awesome and at which The Lanky One volunteers every Monday), dipping down East Cliff Drive by Pat O’Neil’s ridiculously sick house/property which braves the quickest, most aerial and skilled short boarders ripping toward its backyard everyday. (In my imagination, Pat used to scout talent from his wall sized bedroom window or from his second story, pool-sized hot tub).
By Moran Lake and The Slab where all the cool kids hang, (from 14 to 60 and beyond), tattoos, bikinis, American Spirits and 40’s.
Up to just before Elizabeth’s Market I run into Pappa Ponza, unemployed, doing some side work for the contractor he was working for who no longer has any work and is on the hook for rent at the place he just moved into. “I don’t care about being a millionaire,” Pappa tells me, “I just want to be the lowest paid grunt doing the shittiest job out there so I can skimboard and go home.”
Peter Mel crosses the street in front of me, wetsuit clad, just out of the water as I approach the seawall project, (how did they get those cranes down the cliffs onto the beach?) We’ve never met, but Green made me cruise by his house at 3am a couple of times and blare the beginning sound effects of The Dramatics “In the Rain”, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jMn4Nwio3Bk
as some sort of inexplicable tribute. Mel is one of several world class surfers who make their home here, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wmmF-U9N2sk
who have, in fact, came up in this neighborhood. See also, Adam Replogle, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q69wLUa-ndc
Jay Moriarty, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xCUEDloC7og
and Ratboy Collins, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d1NsE7HLUwk
off the top of my head.
The Pleasure Point Seawall Project with its cyclone cordoning of East Cliff Drive, its many workers and earthmovers takes my attention some, but damn if First Peak isn’t goin’ off at 6 foot or better and guys are working out there, making the most of the sun, the ocean spray, the shape and size. Carving. I am not the only spectator seeing through the cyclone.
Just before Jack O’Neil’s house, {the only house between 33rd and 38th that’s on the ocean side of East Cliff, (Jack O’Neil, of course, inventor of the wetsuit, http://www.oneill.com/#/women/americacanada/company/)}, a whole brand new fucking house has gone up since the last time I made this walk.
At 37th I wave to the ageless Dennis Godfrey, “our lord,” as Green calls him, working shirtless on one of his many landscaping accounts. No one better exemplifies the stoppage of time for humans living in Pleasure Point than Godfrey, who came to this spot from Florida in his late 20’s? Maybe early 30’s? Decades and decades ago and is still landscaping and surfing and looking like he’s in his late 20’s, maybe early 30’s.
I loop around, take Portola passed Coffeetopia, Paula’s breakfast place, The Corner Pocket, 30th ave and on down to 26th, passed Kong’s Market, back to East Cliff, by Moran’s Lake, (the backside of the radio station and the library), the dream shack, across the sand of The Cove this time to 15th and then back home to write about where I live.
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