We spent yesterday in Berkeley, spiritual home of much that is left. When I moved out here, I thought about landing in Berkeley, sister city to the People's Republic of Cambridge.
But, the older I get the more morally bankrupt I assume everyone is. Telegraph, the main drag near U. Cal's campus where once people struck in the streets to end war and promote love, is an absolute shithole. it's cool and all, and if I needed a waterpipe, I'd know where to go, but flower power ain't so pretty.
There are might aggressive homeless dudes all set to lecture you on the evils of capitalism, which is clearly evident by you not wanting to slip some bills to an unemployed stoner. I got heart for crazy, down on their luck, shit just went so wrong in my life, addicts and despairing homeless. I can see where shit happens and whatever you do to the least of your brothers and all shows your measure.
But, if you are just a 20-something dick with a tie dye and white boy dreads who no doubt broke his suburban moms heart by panhandling in the big city, fuck you and get a fucking job. I'm not an evil capitalist, you're a scumbag. Besides, we couldn't tell if it was us or the nice couple walking along next to us who were the harbingers of society's downfall, when you commenced to shouting.
Someone, who attended UC Berkeley, told me she once saw one of the panhandling stoners of Telegraph Hill, not to be confused with the parrots of Telegraph Hill, getting picked up by his mom in the family Volvo after a long day of hustling people for change. Knock yourself out embracing street culture and taking a dump in People's Park, if that's what gets your mojo working, but spare me the lecture on the evils of my life.
Of course, most things in life are relative. So, to the stoner dude we were the evil consumerists, including M.'s college instructor buddy who lives on the cheap and is proud of how little he has. In fact, he's pitching a class on living simply, the movement du jour that I cynically think hinges on being just as much of a consumer, but in a hemp-y, self help kind of way. As soon as you can teach a course or buy a magazine, you ain't exactly walking the Bhuddist path. He, I'm sure, thinks we are wild consumers, driven by money and the new car smell.
At the end of the day, though, I gotta take a bit of what M. says from living simply for reals in the good old third world. Why shouldn't he get some creature comforts now that he can afford them?
The other thing that cracks me the fuck up about the living simply dude, simple as his hippie embracing of the reuse and mooch from others vibe, is overall he's had fewer jobs and more access to cash from his albeit weirdly splintered familiy. M. and I worked to get stuff we wanted, and we had that single mom thing simplifying our economic lifestyles growing up. It wasn't a movement.
Better yet, and sadly so, his 11-year-old, as she explained to me "tween" daughter, was the most money conscious kid I have ever met bar none. I found out from her that dad's pay the worst for chores, mom's second, but step dad's are the best, because they pay like double.
Chatting with a kid who wanted her dad to sell his car so she could go on a trip, because he could take the bus anyway, well it had me thinking about me and M. and our childless existence. Yup, a day with tween joy effectively shriveled my ovaries and jammed them so far into the pit of my internal organs, that I couldn't even lift a doll. I'm doubling up on the birth control pill, stocking up on the morning after and wearing the female condom 24/7.
Ain't nothing penetrating our happy, childless, double-income no kids lifestyle.
Do you really think you would raise a kid like that ? My guess is that the parents keep telling her there ain’t no money, even though she sees them spending on themselves. I cost my parents for parochial school and braces, luxuries , of a sort, but I’m still greatful for both.Don’t get me started on the homeless. . I’m always surprised at the guys who turn in a full wallet they found, and the guys who wipe their feet when they come into the center where I work. I have other things to express about many of them , but they ain’t good and they’re much worse than the trust fund homeless you were “interacting ” with . . .
I think the problem with the parents might be twofold — One of them has kept to the hippie path and doesn’t buy anything that isn’t second hand; The divorced wife figured out life was hella easier with someone who worked a lot more frequently. Combine that with a lot of cross-fertilizing on the hating other parent, and, well, screwed up values.
The hippie, though, is a total buzzkill when it comes to enjoying anything that he perceives as consumerist. Sometimes, I know damn well that I could get a better deal on food, for example, but I pay for the linen napkins and all.
As for the bums of Berkeley, they flat out suck. They’re agressive and confrontational, but they think they’re grand philosophers. I’ll never believe opting out on showers is political.
something something mugged by reality? Jeez, it’s right on the tip of my tongue.
It reminds me of the punk shows at the All Asia with all the cute lil punk kids in the $400 artfully ripped leather jackets and pre-torn fishnets. A girl (a literal girl) asked me one night in a valley girl voice “Can you go into that restaurant and tell Sherry that she’s gotta come cuz my mom is here? I’m only seventeen and I can’t go in there.” PUNK…FUCKING…ROCK!!
Contrast that to chick on the subway who scrawled “I’m the whore that fucked your honor student.”