Wednesdays in Santa Cruz

I must admit that since we've decided on a "date of departure," I'm starting to feel a little warm and fuzzy about Santa Cruz, a town I had declared my mortal enemy a little over a year ago. It's early spring, the flowers are so pretty, we had a helluva a hot weekend, and I really can't imagine living without Shopper's Corner -- which is kinda reminiscent of Met Foods in Greenpoint, except with an awesome butcher department and not-kidding fresh produce.
So, I'm fine with Santa Cruz and my forced exile. What I cannot quite swallow, though, is the distant sound of drummers circled together under a tree celebrating the weekly Farmer's Market that takes place a block from my apt. Not that it hasn't been educational. I never really spent much time around drum circles, so I don't know a lot about them. Now I realize that the point of drum circles is not so much to make music with your buddies, having fun with the different sounds you can create with percussion instruments. It seems to be purely about zoning out (or zen-ing out?) to a beat that does not alter, at all, for four hours straight. The same, ritualistic beat, over and over.