7:54pm :: So it's been like, a year, since I wrote in this thing. Big deal, right?
I have a lot to write about tonight though, so I brought it back out.
So I started my trip with the idea of camping for the night, even though it's hot as hell. I started in Sonoita at the crowded little market in the middle of town. I bought a sandwich, taquitos and some potato wedges. I took off for Parker Canyon Resevoir, where the entrance was blocked off with a combination lock and a note from the park ranger. I just walked in, sitting by the lake, taking in the cool, greenish water while the masses swarmed in their kayaks and rowboats, making their noises to kill the surrounding silence. After that, I drove to Lochiel, which used to be a tiny border village until the customs station was closed in the 80's. Now there's a chain-link, barbed-wire fence that sort of comes out of no where. The difference between the US side and the Mexican side is nil. The same light green, sloping hills extend onto the other side of our imaginary boundary, and the same endless, blue rises just as beautifully off of the distant mountains. Lochiel is very surreal, just like most of this area. It's quiet, isolated, but you feel like you're being watched...and you are. A Border Patrol agent came rolling up not even 10 minutes after I arrived there. "I'm just patrolling the area" "I'm just taking pictures" I think we both lied. I'm here to give immigrants a free ride through the bustling desert and into Tucson where jobs as landscapers and taco chefs await them. So he tells me these over-elaborate directions to a house he says John Wayne once filmed a movie in, and is now owned by the state but not open to the public. I don't see why he would lie about this, but it seems far-fetched. Just like the idea that the hot springs I visited in Taos were used in "Easy Rider."
Right. So I then went into the Huachucas, seeking a campsite. I guess i passed the road I had wanted to turn on, and ended up on this other forest road, greeted by ruts and large rocks. I turned and went further into the forest, finding something that looked like a decent campsite. I got out only to find flies and reasonably-fresh cow pies. I stayed for about 5 minutes.
I went further down the forest road until I reached a sign for "Copper Canyon." It looked nice, so I stopped and walked up the now dry creekbed. A very primitive forest road also made the ascent, and I began to follow that. I found a place I thought might make a nice campsite, but then noticed that someone else had already made a camp not even 50 meters away. I decided to give them their privacy, and headed back to a fork in the road to take the other route. As I ascended towards the Huachuca Mountains (which are always in front of you), I began finding empty water bottles and gallon jugs, the jugs being "Ojo de Agua" which is produced in Sonora and can't be found state-side: illegals. Apparently they have been wandering through the Huachucas towards Sierra Vista. As I made my way back down, I began thinking of what it would be like to be in this situation; to have nothing except an insatiable desire to start a new life. Halfway down, I spotted a small side trail, and decided to try it instead. As I began following it, I noticed that it was lined with trash and was too poor to be a forest service trail. I came to a small clearing, where you could clearly see the road, as well as the mountains and valleys of Mexico below. Here there was a huge collection of various bottles and jugs, as well as a sock and a young woman's pink shirt. The trail got steep after that, but was still lined with bottles and the occassional dusty article of clothing. I finally hit the road, and began walking back, feeling that I had come a little closer to feeling like whom I consider the modern pioneers: Mexican immigrants, winding their way through the desert dust and heat to emerge ready and willing to jump on new opportunities. I got back to my car, happy that it had not been broken into, and tried to start it: nothing. There was no electricity, not even the radio or the lights would turn on. I cursed the car, poured some water, and began walking back towards where I knew there would be people. I got maybe 50 meters and a white car approached. I waved, and asked if they had jumper cables. It was a mother and daughter, with the daughter driving. The daughter was from Bisbee, while the mother never said where she was from, and I really was never clear on why they were out here. She said that we could turn the battery, and I had no idea what she was talking about, but glad that someone was anxious to help. She backed up to where my car was parked and popped her hood. She then pulled out some tools, and we began disassembing the battery as she told me her plan. Before it was fully off, we popped my hood to examine my battery. As I removed the wires from the terminals, I noticed that one came off with just a slight touch. "Maybe that's the whole problem." So we began fiddling with the wires to tighten them on the terminals and got it tight enough where it took a bit of effort to remove it. I turned the key, and the car immediately started. Dumbass. I thanked them, and they went on there way.
After that whole experience, I decided that camping would definitely be forsaken for the time being. I might just wait until I get my truck so that I can get up some of those more desolate roads to the better camp spots.
Despite all of this, I had a great time, as I always do, and got some interesting pictures, which is always half the fun of these trips.

10:50pm :: So the night is not young, but at least I got to watch Cops tonight. You have to keep your priorities straight, you see. Who needs it. Man, it's hot in here.

10:10am (Palm Springs, CA) :: I guess the up-side of last night was that I got to see the majority of northwestern Riverside County, albeit in the dark. The downside was that I ended up driving around for close to 3 hours, blowing over $10 in gas. But I guess that can be taken off what I ended up not spending for a motel.
So enough bitching. Stereolab was life-altering for me; everything that I ever could have hoped for in them. It was hot, crowded and smelled like a pig farm, but it was worth it just to get that close to a band that I admire so much. I'm going to try to get as close to Mogwai today, but I'm not sure that I'll be able to. In the meantime, I have to kill close to 7 hours. But isn't that what I've been training myself for all of this time? Maybe. After Starbucks, I'm thinking about seeing an IMAX. What do you think about that? You think nothing.
I sit red-faced and dirty at a Starbuck's in a somewhat-posh (actually kind of ghetto for Palm Springs standards) strip mall with fellow festival-goers buzzing in and out, all in one big damn hurry to be no where. I have somewhere to be, although I don't know exactly where right now. I worry about work, but not in the usual way. I just worry about how I'll feel when I get there. I'd like to try to get at least 2-3 hours of sleep, but I don't know if that's going to be able to happen. I guess I could have spent another few hours at the parking lot where I slept, but the place just seemed weird. Last night, about 3:30, I was awoken by a small pick-up that pulled into a relatively perpendicular position next to a trailhead. I tried to hide my head, being paranoid already. He stayed only for about 3 seconds, but then circled back around and pulled into the exact same position. Someone got out of the driver's seat and ran behind the car (I could see their profiles in the brake lights), but I didn't see where they went. This incident scared the shit out of me, and I purposely kept myself awake for a while, waiting for the sound of crunching feet on the gravel near my car. This didn't come, and I took a few more swigs of Carta Blanca (which I opened with a tire iron) and quickly passed out again. Nights. I enjoy the nights typically, but not when I camp. Things get more dangerous, and I get much more paranoid as a result. It's detrimental to be as worried about boogie men and other bumps in the night, especially at my age, but I feel that my paranoia is my vigilence. Anyway, I fear no animal besides the human when camping, because they are the most dangerous to my safety and sanctity by far.
So where are the humans? Most of them are here I think, standing in line looking blankly at the employees who they feel should be making their over-priced coffee- or tea-flavored drink.
I was just thinking that I could go to church for a while. It's air-conditioned, there are plenty of seats, and I'm just expected to stand occassionally. I don't have to pay attention, I can just read. I kept my HS Thompson book with me all yesterday, but never picked it up, even during the hour of sitting in the limited shade of the food court and being told what a "sick" book it was by a guy that really would have had a difficult time seeing it (the cover fell off and the title is only the binding now).
So here I am, losing it with fatigue. Worse than dehydration maybe; I just can't sleep. I just decided that I'm going to go see a movie and just sleep in the theatre. Why? Because I can. Apparently the matinees are $5 (according to the not-so-flamboyantly-gay Starbucks clerk). This is what I have to look forward to for my afternoon: falling asleep in a movie theatre. My evening is of course much more promising. Air, Mogwai, The Flaming Lips, Bright Eyes and someone else that I'm forgetting. Damn, I shouldn't have gotten this other tea. I don't think that I'm going to smoke at all today, I'm much too burned out from yesterday and don't want to be that way at work tomorrow. I'm thinking that I should just go into work an hour or two late, so as not to be a god damn zombie and allow myself at least 2 hours of sleep. No bullshit stops this time though, only gas. I'm missing my apartment, and my shower, right now tremendously. I'd love to just flop down on that futon with its soft, suede pillows and drift off to a random, Sunday morning 80's action movie on UPN. Instead, I'm stuck in the hot desert, waiting for this now-ubiquitous hour to arrive. When it comes, I will not dance, but rather take a picture of myself for the record, looking much more like a bum than I have in some time. Damn it, I'm reputable, here's my business card. That's right, I'm only 23! Oh, did I write that on there? Oh, you thought I was 19? Well, I guess I can't blame you then.