There is a certain brand of person that you can pretty much only find in Northern California. You
pretty much have to live here in order to know what I'm talking about, but for some reason, NoCal
is littered with them: aging hippies who decided during the 60s that there were no limitations on
life, and then went about proving it to themselves and everyone who surrounded them. They've all
made and lost several small fortunes, been all over the world and back again, tried every
profession in the book, been friends with famous people, and are somehow still living their
ideals. They've never been made cynical.They've never grown up.
I spent some time with one of these characters this weekend, and it was a really interesting
trip. Leon, the Chutney Man, was close personal friends with Jerry Garcia. He's been a limo
driver, a tv producer/director, a musician, a bookie, and now he's a food entrepreneur. He makes
these delicious chutneys and jellies and jams and sauces and sells them every week at the Marin
farmer's market.
Panda got a contract to develop a website
where he can sell his chutney and she needed someone to help navigate her to his house, so she
dragged me along with promises of free samples. I went gladly.
The first thing Leon asks is if we want tea. The second thing he asks is if we smoke pot. He says
"If you aren't comfortable in my house, it's your own damn fault." I find his enthusiasm for life
infectious, his tea delicious and his pot unbelievable. He's made us a vegetable curry for lunch
("We eat a little of everything here, but I thought you might be vegetarians so I cooked vegan
for you.") and it's delicious. He spends a good hour or two telling us stories about
everything (how he was orphaned at age 12, fun stories about the Grateful Dead, his
autistic child) before he brings out the Sample Tray. Fifty-nine products and some melba toast. I
want to try it all, but the fact of the matter is that there's not enough room in my stomach.
Everything is, of course, delicious. He takes us into the back office so that Panda can show him
her prototypes. He pulls out a guitar and sings us a song he wrote about his friend who was 'like
Lenny Bruce till Vietnam changed him' and tells me about another song he wrote that's the
'perfect closer' and that my band should cover it.
I had a lot of fun hanging with Leon. It's impossible to dislike him, even his arrogance and ego
are part of his folksy charm. He's 59 years old and he's never grown up, which is a quality that,
unlike most of the rest of the world, I really admire. He's got more creativity in his little
finger than most people have in their entire bodies, and he makes some damn fine condiments. Next
to him, I felt old, at 28. Old and bitter and wisened. Here's this guy who's 31 years older than
me, and he knows more about how to inject the fun into any given situation than I even learned as
a child. He's inspired me.
Now, I'm not gonna join a drum circle, or start listening to Phish or wearing tie-dye. Nor am I
going to start writing protest songs about the 'war' on 'terrorism'. But I have all this creative
potential, all this talent, that I'm wasting. I'm just sitting on it. I used to draw. I used to
write. I used to make cute little fashion statements that smacked of social engineering. I used
to think absurd thoughts. Now I sit at home and think serious ones and have non-serious
conversations all day with people about my life which pretty much consists of one thing, and one
thing only. It's a beautiful thing, and a wonderful thing, and a creative outlet, but it's not
enough. It's just simply not enough.