Travelogue #23
....BERKELEY
"I don't like people who play Devil's Advocate" said Giggles. Giggles was pissed that I asked why a dedicated busline down the major drive of Telegraph Avenue would be a bad thing. Meanwhile, my friend 300 was passed out on the City Hall steps, his shopping cart full of recyclables blocking up a major portion of foot traffic. 300 himself was dressed in multiple layers of self-styled "habberdashery" (his word), making him look more like some stranded nomad dragging a camel through the harsh terrain of urban Berkeley than your average street bum. Facially, only were his deep suntan, his puffed-down nose, and the girl's hoodie-used-as-a-sunvisor were visible. The grey-furry hoodie obscured his eyebrows, giving him a perpetual "are you serious? You can't be serious!" vibe. It only enhanced his persona... Plus, his handlebar mustache was fantastic.
Near the street, kneeling, was Zach Running Wolf. Can't be quite sure of whether that's his name...something Native American, though. He was drawing with dollar-store chalk on the sidewalk:
Devil's Advocate-mode again swept my being and I pointed out that to have "NO BRT Recall" may support the idea that they 1) wanted the BRT to go through the legislative process, or maybe more intensely, 2) they wanted to burn the bridges behind them, leaving no namby-pamby decision-making. City Hall, THIS IS IT!
Certainly, Giggles and 300, waking up, clarified that the BRT would be the first step to erode the businesses that have been on Telegraph Avenue since time-immemorial, syncing up with such hard-won struggles as annexing People's Park from the city's clutches of urban development. With the businesses having less foot-traffic, the UC Berkeley would expand their campus eastward. All of this, funded by federal money. Palms greased, secret board meetings, et cetera, et cetera.
300 told me to get ready to sing an improvised song for the 3 minutes of mic-time that would be broadcast on television. People entering City Hall to collectively argue the merits of BRT stepped over the supine 300. What would I sing? Should I play an original? Will they like me? Would this be a good career opportunity?
And, then I realized that I was surrounded by crazy people in front of City Hall.
....BERKELEY
"I don't like people who play Devil's Advocate" said Giggles. Giggles was pissed that I asked why a dedicated busline down the major drive of Telegraph Avenue would be a bad thing. Meanwhile, my friend 300 was passed out on the City Hall steps, his shopping cart full of recyclables blocking up a major portion of foot traffic. 300 himself was dressed in multiple layers of self-styled "habberdashery" (his word), making him look more like some stranded nomad dragging a camel through the harsh terrain of urban Berkeley than your average street bum. Facially, only were his deep suntan, his puffed-down nose, and the girl's hoodie-used-as-a-sunvisor were visible. The grey-furry hoodie obscured his eyebrows, giving him a perpetual "are you serious? You can't be serious!" vibe. It only enhanced his persona... Plus, his handlebar mustache was fantastic.
Near the street, kneeling, was Zach Running Wolf. Can't be quite sure of whether that's his name...something Native American, though. He was drawing with dollar-store chalk on the sidewalk:
"NO BRT Recall Mayor Bate$"
Pastel colors, no less. Devil's Advocate-mode again swept my being and I pointed out that to have "NO BRT Recall" may support the idea that they 1) wanted the BRT to go through the legislative process, or maybe more intensely, 2) they wanted to burn the bridges behind them, leaving no namby-pamby decision-making. City Hall, THIS IS IT!
Certainly, Giggles and 300, waking up, clarified that the BRT would be the first step to erode the businesses that have been on Telegraph Avenue since time-immemorial, syncing up with such hard-won struggles as annexing People's Park from the city's clutches of urban development. With the businesses having less foot-traffic, the UC Berkeley would expand their campus eastward. All of this, funded by federal money. Palms greased, secret board meetings, et cetera, et cetera.
300 told me to get ready to sing an improvised song for the 3 minutes of mic-time that would be broadcast on television. People entering City Hall to collectively argue the merits of BRT stepped over the supine 300. What would I sing? Should I play an original? Will they like me? Would this be a good career opportunity?
And, then I realized that I was surrounded by crazy people in front of City Hall.
