Thursday, September 21, 2006
327 on 327
I arrived, breathless, in my room in 327 in November of 02. I had been kicked out of my room in another neighboring beach town and 327 found me at the last minute. I traded the use of a van with an oboe player for a small desk that was "perfect for carving reeds" to move my stuff across the freeway. The girls I moved in with announced that this was the Marriage House, and that women only left to get married. Since I have been here, 2 have left for grooms, one has left for a bald man, another for Cambodia and one for a better place in closer to the beach. I think the marriage thing is wishful thinking cooked up by horny christian single girls. Or maybe not. I certainly wanted to believe it at the time.
327 commands a view of Market St that is unrivaled by any other house number. It sits on the powerful southeast leg of an isosceles triangle in the heart of the B-40 district. The B-40 used to be a village that sat on the opposite side of the river from the Mission Santa Flip Flop. The Padres and the B-40ers had notorious fights over grazing rights and when the pirates invaded Flip, the B-40ers most likely rolled out the red carpet. All that is left of those days is a little bit of adobe wall on the other side of the Creek. If you wander a few blocks on Market towards town, you'll find handy iron rings in the sidewalk where you can tether your horse. When I dig in the garden I am always finding bits of rusty rakes, railroad ties and nails.
The Creek Today
Pros great party space, mocking birds, proximity to trees, ocean and freeway, the location of my beddie-bye, nifty housemates, hooks to hang hammocks, plentiful blackberries and the immortal Porch.
Cons structure is currently being consumed by termites, I don't own it, and the garden has gone to seed.