Not in Kansas (Baraboo) anymore

First day of school.

Baraboo HS Parking lot & Elementary school teacher parking

Like a fish out of water, I was searching for a place to dive back into the calm waters I once knew. My father dropped me off at the stop sign near Santa Barbara High School. As I walked through the parking lot, I gawked at the luxury cars—BMWs, Mercedes, and other high-end foreign vehicles.

I must have looked completely lost. A stranger approached me and asked if I needed help. I told them I was new to the school and joked that the teachers must get paid a lot to teach here, considering the expensive cars in the lot. They laughed and corrected me: "This is the student parking lot." Just like that, my reality shifted from the beat-up, rusted-out cars and trucks of the Midwest to the lifestyle of the rich and famous.

The beautiful green lawn, the grand entrance covered in red clay Spanish tiles, and the expansive hallways filled with sun-kissed skin and ocean-bleached hair welcomed me. I stumbled my way around the school, searching for my classrooms and feeling more self-conscious than usual. It seemed as though I was surrounded by glowing immortal beings, and my low self-esteem felt more apparent than ever.

My first semester included classes in art, creative writing, algebra, social studies, children's literature, and PE. As time went on, I realized that teachers fit certain stereotypes in any region, whether in sunny California or dismal Wisconsin. My art teacher had long dark hair with grey streaks, wore loose-fitting linen shirts, and clanked with colorful necklaces and bracelets. I'm sure you can picture someone like that from your own experiences.

I have incredible stories to share about my children's literature class and PE class, perhaps in the next post. Let's just say stereotypes exist for a reason, and I seemed to fit the one of the guy who enjoys music and taking LSD. I definitely loved music, and as luck would have it, I also turned out to enjoy LSD.

As the semester progressed, I felt increasingly out of place. I would bring my bagged lunch to school and eat it alone on a small hill behind the school, overlooking the “Hesher Hangout” where the kids who smoked and caused trouble gathered. Part of me hoped they would see me as a lost member of their tribe and take me under their wing, but fortunately, that never happened.

My path crossed with another student named Tom a few times in the counselor's office. Tom was a true foreigner from Germany, and the school was struggling to reconcile the classes I had taken with the requirements for graduation. My transcripts from Baraboo to Santa Barbara were confusing, and I often found myself trying to navigate the complexities of my schedule.

Tom and I quickly bonded over our shared confusion about how to navigate the world of Santa Barbara. The school felt very insular; many of the students had known each other for years. Here we were, two complete outsiders, trying to make sense of this sun-soaked world.

German Tom and I.

I had never enjoyed coffee until I moved to California. My father would stop at Pierre LaFond, the local cafe near where we lived. It was always bustling with celebrities who had second homes in the area, away from LA. Within a year, I found myself working there and becoming friendly with some of the local stars.

German Tom was also a coffee drinker, and being from Europe, he appreciated the coffee culture. With enough cream and sugar, I eventually grew to enjoy drinking coffee too. After school, Tom and I would go to a local coffee shop on State Street in Santa Barbara to kill time while I waited for my father to pick me up around 5:30 or 6 p.m.

At first, sitting around and sipping hot, bitter coffee didn’t appeal to me. But as I got used to the flavor and the idea of hanging out with others, reading, smoking cigarettes, and meeting girls, I was hooked. I drank coffee for 34 years straight after that. Some of the friendships I made in those early days are still going strong today. It’s pretty remarkable when you think about it. Over the years, I worked at numerous cafes and coffee shops, even starting a coffee roasting business. We’ll dive into that later.

It was a new world. This was a departure from the sun and wind-kissed Santa Barbara crowd. There was cool music, interesting people, and inspiring art—everything was just plain cool. I found a place where I didn't feel like an outsider. We had amazing, spirited conversations that often sparked spontaneous road trips, where I’d head home to pack a bag and be on the road within an hour to some random spot in Northern California or even to New Orleans.

I found a great group of friends who introduced me to new music and art. The memorable experiences we shared in these coffee shops over chess games, fueled by caffeine, left me feeling hopeful for the future.

At school, though, lunch was a different story. I would sit on my little wall eating a sandwich made of healthy whole grain bread, natural mayonnaise (yuck, I was a Miracle Whip fan), healthy sliced turkey, real cheese (which I thought was awful), and sprouts (really?). I’d scrounge up some money to buy a bag of Doritos from the corner shop just to make lunch somewhat bearable. Oddly enough, Tom and I never had lunch together; instead, I always found myself alone on my little wall, struggling through those sandwiches.

WI waterfalls and Locker Hunks. Not the sun kissed CA kids .

When I wasn’t with Tom, I spent most of my time skating. Back in Wisconsin, I was one of maybe eight skaters, but in Santa Barbara, there was a large and talented group. A few semi-pro skaters even went to my school, but I kept my distance from them. In Wisconsin, skating was limited to about six months a year, and there was no real support to foster a skate culture. My lack of confidence was undeniable.

Then I noticed another group of skaters around my level, a ragtag crew who seemed more interested in having fun and doing tricks than competing. They were the type of people I could relate to.

This was before skateboarding became mainstream and popular. When you spotted someone wearing a specific skate brand T-shirt or shoes, it signaled a mutual understanding, a nod that you were part of the same club. Halfway through my first semester, I met a few of these skaters and formed some friendships.

However, there always seems to be some troubled individuals within the skateboarding scene, and I seemed to attract them. In the next post, I'll introduce you to these ragtag skaters, tell you about Tutti-frutti, and share the story of why selling catnip to Eastside Mexican gangsters is not a good idea. Stay tuned!

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Mister Moyer Dispatch:

Thank you again for taking the time to come along on this journey with me. I greatly appreciated everyone that comments, subscribes and a deep bow of gratitude to the paid subscribers. You ARE awesome!!

My “Punk” jacket I had in WI. I took this to CA, but took all the crap off it.

I have been really enjoying this album lately. It was just released and such an amazing mixture of old and new Indian tones and style. Really quite mind blowing.

When I was at the Vedanta Temple in Santa Barbara I picked up this copy of Ramayana, the classic 300 BC epic story. It is quite riveting and I am on page 480m and Rama is about to hav his final battle with Raven.

Seems that I am on an India kick at the moment. If you live in the vicinity of Madison, Wi I highly recommend this super legit and yummy Indian restaurant.