Now that the settling in to the Airstream is (99%) complete, I can start to focus again on the creative ventures the Hobosoul is in the midst of completing/starting.
Just a few quick pictures for your enjoyment, a link to a full gallery can be found at the bottom of the post.
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A hotly debated issue in Venice, CA has taken a positive turn. The city has decided to set aside parking lots in the evenings for those who live in their motorhomes. It’s about time!
In a program that has been successful in areas such as Santa Barbara, CA and Eugene, OR, select lots in the Venice area will be open to registered “lifers” to park safely at night, rather than being on the streets. Specifics of the hours and regulations has not been released (or determined) yet, but many of the day parking lots off the beach have been considered.
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To honor a comment on the last post, I bring you a beard font. Just for fun until we are moved in and can post pics of the new place and let you in on what’s going on with the Hobosoul.
Dick,
I hope you enjoy your new home. It might not be as cool in West Covina as it was on the Westside. You might not have as many visitors as you once did. It might be a bit lonely. Please, enjoy your view of the golf course, of the open fields that surround you. The Hetzels will look after you, I’ll be by to visit every now and again, and you’ll be thought of often. Even in our new home, buddy, we mistakenly refer to our Airsteam as, “the Winnebago”. Perhaps you can come and join us sometime, but for now, sleep well. You’ve worked hard the last four and a half years.
We’ll see you soon.
Jeff
We got it.
I’ve moved to Berkeley. Tomorrow we’re going to look at this place. (Apologies for the terrible quality).
NORTH OAKLAND DESIGNER 1 BDRM APARTMENT and AIRSTREAM VILLA
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It is with a great sense of excitement and joy that I write this post, but there is also a great sense of sadness and a heavy heart that I bring to you today.
I’ve been living in a 1973 Winnebago motorhome since January of 2006. Before that, I was living in my tent, bouncing around different campgrounds for three months. I’ve lived on the streets of Van Nuys, Sherman Oaks, Studio City, Silverlake, Venice, Playa del Rey, Santa Monica, Culver City, Marina del Rey; I’ve been in campgrounds, wildlife preserves, abandoned neighborhoods, good neighborhoods and bad. I’ve lived in friend’s driveways, rented parking spaces. I’ve dumped my tanks up and down the CA coast (in legal dump stations). I’ve been ticketed, towed, given angry notes, had poop stuck onto my deadbolt, windshield smashed, eggs thrown at me. I’ve had cops knock at 10am and 4am. I’ve made coffee shops my office of choice. I’ve showered in more places than most people do in their lives. I’ve sold or given away most of my material possessions. I’ve been able to choose which jobs I’ve taken rather than having to take whatever comes my way simply to pay bills. I’ve paid off all debts. I’ve saved a ton of money. I’ve met some interesting and amazing people. I’ve grown a small company out of a tiny motorhome into one that will now span two cities.
All of these things I’ve done, Dick has stood there by my side. When the rain was coming down and tarps had to be put on at 3a, it was an adventure. When I was on detox with Vern and had to poo at 3a and my car wouldn’t start…I almost drove my home to a store. When we ran out of gas on the freeway, we pushed our house across 6 lanes of traffic to get to a gas station. When our friend Kevin Carpenter came to visit, we sat on the roof, smoking cigars and drinking whiskey…on the side of the road.
So many memories have been made because four and a half years ago Vern and I decided to buy a 24 foot box in which to live. My life has been permanently altered because of my experiences here. And for that, I’ll be forever grateful.
And thus, the heavy heart. I’ve taken a new job, a big job. For the next year and a half, I’ll be working on a Disney film with some guys from Pixar. In Berkeley, CA. And thus, the great excitement. We’re moving. But Dick, must stay. We deliberated for days and days about what to do and where to live once we get there. I looked at campgrounds. I looked at renting places to park the Winnebago. I looked at the weather. And ultimately, it’s that which defeated us. Southern California is perfectly suited to life in an RV. Weather is fairly consistent here, the same cannot be said for the north. Temperature fluctuations are much greater and it rains much more often. I’ve patched up and continue to work on better solutions for Dick’s leaks, but I’ve yet to been able to fix it.
And so, I’m moving out of the motorhome. On June 19, 2010, I’ll spend my last night in the place that’s been called home for the last four and a half years. I’ve lived there longer than any place in my life, except the home where I grew up. I’m saddened just writing this post. This is as real as I’ve allowed it to be for me thus far.
I’ll miss the Winnebago. It’s a 24 ft haven. A safe place, a comfortable place. A place I’ve come to love living. A place I’ll miss living.
Thank you, Dick. You will always be a part of my life.
(If you’re reading this and interested in carrying this hobo torch, please email me at jeff@thehobosoul.com. I’d love to pass on this life to someone else, who would appreciate it and grow as much as I have.)
It’s been a long time since I’ve posted anything about the current battle in Venice, CA over the RVs and their right to park on streets overnight. I read an article months back (August, to be exact) that claimed that Venice residents were going to be suing the California Coastal Commission because they just won’t allow it. According the Commission, if parking is restricted on streets in Venice, it will prevent visitors from having access to the beach. Find that article here: http://la.metblogs.com/2009/08/15/venice-residents-sue-california-coastal-commission-over-denial-of-parking-restrictions/.
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Recently I received a call from royalty. The National King of the Hobos, Mr. Tommy from the Railroad, the Inkman, was calling to catch up.
Inkman was the first hobo we met when we attended the Hobo Convention in 2007. Vern, Melinda and I were walking the mean streets of Britt, IA, feeling lost, alone and confused.
And there he was, wandering those same streets. With stories. With encouragements. With lots and lots of words. He’s certainly a talker…and a hobo politician. Our paths crisscrossed a number of other times throughout the event, with meals, interviews and events.
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It’s been quite a while since my last post…and for that, I apologize. This one won’t be very long either…but interesting.
Back when I was working on Where the Wild Things Are, Production Coordinator Randy Bol invented the “Hobo Line” as a way to determine how hobo I really was…as you can tell, I didn’t get good marks.
At the beginning of the year, I said it’d be the Year of the Hobo. That proved true. Many people make New Year’s Resolutions or goals for the upcoming year…and then forget them by February. Not us. It might have been the most productive, most enjoyable, busiest year of my life, full of huge life changes, important decisions and huge strides forward in career and life. And so, here’s the summary.
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Apparently, while all the Hobo festivities were going down this year in Britt, many were up to no good. In my recent talk with current Hobo king, “Inkman”, he gave me some bad news…at least from the sinner’s camp perspective.
To give you the background: the National Hobo Convention is held every year in Britt, IA…for over 100 years. You can imagine it was much more vibrant and hobo-esque when it began, with many true hobos riding the rails searching for work. They’d stop in here for a week or relaxation with old friends and people they only see once or twice a year. While that still hangs true, most of the people at the convention are not hobos in the ‘true’ sense of the word – meaning they are a wandering worker, eeking out a living hopping trains from town to town, attempting to find work or the good graces of a generous housewife. Most there now are those who appreciate the hobo culture, hobo music, hobo terms and hobo ideals (at least, in a white-washed, polished fashion).
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As part of the The Society of Interested Persons Salon we presented for last November (2008), we presented this little piece.
In August 2007, Vern, Melinda and I traveled to Britt, IA for the National Hobo Convention. Our plan was to learn more about the true hobo, to find out if they truly exist and to bring our brand of hobo-ness to the culture that already existed. It was a wake-up call for us all, in many ways. As a topper to the forthcoming documentary, “The Winnebago Experience”, this will tease your little hearts, I’m sure.
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My brother Ashley and I attempting to make money playing harmonica on our last trip to Las Vegas. I made only 4 cents, but looked the part real good.
(This was directly outside the Flamingo. We were kicked out very quickly.)
