We’re building a garden.  In further extension of our mini-quasi Northern Californian “back to the land” project, we’re constructing two 10×4 foot raised beds for the backyard.

We drove my minitruck into Pierson’s Lumber (site of the World’s Largest Hammer) and I was skeptical, I wanted to look at things and think about things, weigh all of the options, but they were full service, hands on; no time to look, no time to speculate, just give ‘em the specs and they’ll load you up.

So we bought a backyard full of lumber, and I spent the day staining it Sierra Gold.  When night fell, it became time to investigate a new portion of Eureka, the divey pizzeria across from the Grocery Outlet, Angelo’s with the 60’s medieval billboard, glowing Old English lettering, and faux brick facade.  I was curious.

Inside it was a true dive, but in a nice way.  A family establishment, with a large arcade and washed out big screen tv’s displaying sports.  There were checkerboard tablecloths and twelve taps, though four or five were taken up by swill.  But they had 1554 on draft, 6R IPA, Steelhead Pale and Sierra ESB–that’s a solid parlor collection.

Quite a few of the employees were wearing camo, and some were missing teeth, but the pizza area looked clean, even if there was a bottle of Lawrey’s Taco Seasoning on the center island.  We ordered a pie and a pitcher of Steelhead and took a booth to wait for the rest of our dinner.

I’d been home all day, so I was feeling particularly wide-eyed.  I couldn’t stop looking at the man in the next booth with the silverhaired mullet, or the hunters with their mustaches, or the uptight drunk guy txting in his swim trunks with the really cool faded t-shirt that read, “Patrick’s Point Fire Department.”  It reminds me of a proclamation Matt made back in college, whereas he said it was more than likely I’d meet my premature end due to staring too long at the wrong guy.  I tried to tone it down.

But then a pair of hunters took center stage, depositing coins into the 1975 Gremlin “Trapshoot” wall game.  I’d been eyeing it since we walked in; it was a primitive video game in a huge wall mounted light box, with animation achieved by bulbs switching on and off behind static images.  The game was super cool, and I was watching them play, smiling, happy, chuckling a little–”Hey, that guy’s laughing at us!” one of them proclaimed.  They were smiling, I was smiling, I looked away to give them some space as Beth’s eyes met mine with the look of what the heck are you doing, man?

Our pizza arrived and it was good.  The situation gradually calmed over at the Trapshoot.  I poured Beth another Steelhead.  During Happy Hour, from 11am to 6, they have $2 pints.  Angelo’s Pizza Parlor, the oldest pizza joint in Humboldt County–I think I’d like to become a regular.

These days the family pizza parlor is a rare phenomenon in the big city.  They’re all wood fired, with fancy toppings and waiters with ties.  Italian food in all of its fashions has grown up.  But I’m glad that here on the periphery, we still have places like Angelo’s.  And Angelo I’m not staring at you because I’m trying to start a culture war–I’m staring because I’m fascinated, and friendly.  I’m drunk on all of your details.