Andrew Letter 41 -- Greetings from GrandpaWorld, August 1991 (partial scan)

 

Hello there!

 

Greetings and salutations from GrandpaWorld in Chico, California, Butte County's mecca for students, seniors and screen­printers of the world. Time is measured here by the heat of the day (6am -- the only cool time of day -- time to turn off the fan).

The day's activities hinge around three critical daily rituals: the morning and evening diner runs and the 3pm nap. I am currently taking 9 units of GE required courses at Butte college on M-W-F. This has fit in perfectly with the diner and nap schedule and also allowed for some time helping Steve in his shop.

Uncle Steve. Steverino. The Big Unk. Working at the Print Shop. Helping the old Stevo. Printing posters. Hanging around the old shopperino. I envy his lifestyle. He's got to be the most laid back dude I know. And I always thought I had the corner on that. He has his little niche in the local screenprinting world and has never had to go out looking for work. He waits for it to come to him. Which it does. He does good work and his customers do all his advertising for him.

The local job market, for the non-business owner, is pretty much a minimum ­wage, student-saturated, service oriented, female-dominated economy. I'm not kidding, there are females everywhere. Banks, public services, restaurants and retail stores all hire young women (pretty ones) because they are in such abundant supply. As of yet, I haven't really met any of them socially.

I have been here for almost a month, and I still don't have any friends my own age. I guess I just don't know how and where to mingle. This town is made up of the Old School (Steve's Generation), the New School (Chico State and Butte College students) and the Local Redneck Crowd (diner patrons and high school age youth). This place is just as much like Bakersfield as it is like Santa Monica. I don't know just where I'll eventually fit in. I relate pretty well with Steve's crowd (not a crowd, really, more like a web of friends). They are all pretty friendly, liberal-minded folks.

One of his Old Time artist friends (who makes huge, slow­ moving, steel-constructed, abstract statues--and restores classic European economy cars) took us windsurfing one Sunday afternoon. The lake was 68 degrees, and the wind was just right. Steve and I took turns floundering while this older fellow (a beer-bellied, grey­haired skipper-lookin' guy) sailed circles around us. He eventually had to rescue each of us by hitching a rope and towing us back to shore.

Let's see, what else? I bought a motorcycle (horrors!!) with some of the last of my worldly money. It is the only way to travel this time of year. I no longer have a demonic need to rebel against speed laws as in previous motorcycle riding days. Of course, it is still dangerous, but not much more than riding a bicycle in this town.

As long as Grandpa is on the road none of us is safe. He's a demon on wheels. On the occasions when I have ridden with him, I found myself contemplating death. Steve won't ride in the car with him at all anymore and has told him so. It's kind of sad because Grandpa likes to drive. He relishes it. He just scares the hell out of anyone riding with him. He is in his own world, and it shows.

 

 

 

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