"People are strangeee, when you're a stranger..."

I haven't done anything touristy yet- no museums or anything but maybe I'll do those tomorrow. I've just wanted to walk around, try and take good pictures (I'm learning, I think), and overall, just hang out. I've been wanting to read and write alot, so I went to the school's computer lab yesterday to post something. Mid post I look up and there's this lady standing cross-armed, facing me from across the room, giving me a serious stink eye. "Oh shit," I thought, "I'm found out." I'm not a student here, obviously, and had snuck in. I was just getting flustered when she directed all her anger at my feet which were propped up on a chair and shouted across all the heads of students bent over their work: "YOUR SHOOOOOOES!" really drawn out, just like that. I was barefoot, and this offended her, I guess, and I felt absolutelty naked in public. She shook her finger at me (really) and stomped off. At least she didn't ask for my student ID and drag me out by my shirt collar, but dang. It took me a second to understand that being barefoot might be socially inappropriate, which might be common sense to some, but I kept thinking about Isla Vista and Java Jones and how not only would all those students be barefoot if I could switch their back drop just like that (you know, from this city to my little beach town), but they'd also have longboards propped up against their tables.

"And they wouldn't be wearing black!" T added when I told her about it, later. Born and raised in San Diego, T misses her florals very much. It's also out-of-place in this town to show your legs, and I mean at all.

But aside from up-tight old ladies, I've met some really cool people. I met the coolest man the last time T and I went down to that Piazza to hear K, the musician I mentioned before. It was night (K plays from 9:30-11 nightly) and we were lounging on another set of stairs a bit further away from the music so we coud finish up this chat about energy, vibes, and that infamous, life changing trip to Santa Cruz I'll write about one day. I was just about to get to the part in the story of the adventure when I met this guru, when a bum approached us on his bike. T tensed but something about this old guy supressed her "basta, basta" (like:stop, or go away) reflex she developed living in Florence, always dealing with the street sellers of things. He asked for a smoke.
"No, sorry, man" I told him, "we're out. I'm sure you'll find one, though."
"Honey, I can find anything," he countered, confidently and good naturedly. A down guy, you could just tell. With his worn-looking fedora, Obama shirt, British accent and rickety bike, he exuded...just what I was looking for. I wanted to know his story and ask him about energy, since he came in right at that point in our conversation, perhaps sent from the marble gods looming above us, but Ian had his own questions.
"Three of them. One: favorite Beatles song"
"Let it be, " I answered quickly. Easy.
"Yellow Submarine," T, whose symbol (if people had them and mine do, so scratch that..her symbol) IS the sunflower, answered. Getting this characterization yet?
Ian answered "Hey, Jude," I think and went on with his other two questions, which were really maybe 4 other questions, athough he did introduce them as questions 2 and questions 3,you see,twice. He asked us about our favorite actor and had alot to say about film, he asked us about literature and had a lot to say on that subject as well. He recited two of his own poems to us, one short one I can't remember and one longer one about painkillers and alot wine, which was styled like Bukowski's poems, except Ian ryhmed the very end of it in a happy, whatever kind of way.
"It's like Bukowski, except you ended on a happy note.." I told him.
"Ohhh Bukowski was a drunk," he said as he pulled out another bottle of wine from his improvised bike basket, "the difference between us is, when I wake up at 4 am and reach for the bottle, I know it's bad."
Ian asked us about where we'd like to go we've never been, asked us about our favorite god, and fucking taught us things as we all sat there. Who would have guessed? He knew quite a bit about traveling and religion. We had a conversation about why Buddha is maybe the raddest god (you're responsible for yourself), and answered his own question with "Baccus."

Also in the course of this wonderful conversation, Ian mentioned in one of his stories, pretty off handedly, about how he knows K, the musician that was playing. "That's one of his own songs," Ian told us at one point. He told us also that K had opened for Simon and Garfunkel once, and used to be a street person with Ian. I guess K saw Garfunkel playing somewhere, went up to him, and told him he wanted a job. Garfunkel heard him and I've already said the rest.
"I kept asking him if Garfunkel was gay, you know? K said, 'I dunno man, he was never gay to me, but he's pretty weird,' right? Right, he's a weeerd [Ian's British accent] guy, Garfunkel, real weeerd." P.S. I asked him K's name once he told us he knew him, and everything seemed to check out. Meaning, I don't think Ian bullshitting.

It got colder and Euro-store one euro wine was out, so I promised Ian a cigarette for next time and T and I bounced, reluctantly.

I'll spare you a reflective paragraph on how life teaches more than books and things, but I will suggest talking to strangers. Sometimes they can make your night. Probably, also, they will say something unexpected, something new, and at any rate, something more than they would if you just walked by them, or "basta"ed them away too quickly. For sure, not everyone you meet is going to be cool, but also for sure, I hope to see lots of Ian around. And I have a hunch he wouldn't give a shit if I had shoes on or not (my kind of person).

Pace