buffalo chips

Different neighborhoods and how the class system works

I'm not socialist, though some socialist ideas are interesting and possibly applicable to our society, but, it would take a moron to not see that there is distinct class divisions between neighborhoods. A glaring example is the the "frontage road effect." Lets say you are in a very wealthy neighborhood. Generally, the houses are on between 1/4 to 1/2 acre. But...if there is a road that is frontage road to a larger thoroughfare, usually houses right along that road are on 1/16 lots, smaller and more cottagy. I'm imagining that the rich people won't live near a road, but the town wants the property tax money, so, instead of allowing one house to build itself way in and have a large lawn, instead, the city zones that street for folks with less wealth, acting as a sort of bulwark from the road for all the richer folks in the interior streets.

favorite blow off recently: "We don't have enough money to do anything special at this time."

You are what you eat

max has a hard time being wiith it.

Do not try this at home

Today was a good day cash-wise, and reminded me of a glaring defect in our entire system. I made double what I usually make, 75 bucks. I sold all my books, and had delightful conversations with most of the folks I talked to. I even bought some art from another artist, in a manner of speaking. But, the very fact that my emotions are in any way affected by money, whether it be depression because it is not there, or elation that I have made a great deal, makes me a slave, at least in some sense, to the idea of money as a "bringer of good things."

I've recently been reading about collectivism, which, as far as history has shown has led to all sorts of gross inequities, but has resulted in some interesting things, albeit in ways that so far are morally indefensible. In a collectivist state (so far only achievable in a state that is on a war footing), labor is more important then immediate profits, or, in the case of the fascist and communist models, more important then the pursuit of knowledge itself. However, the one benefit of collectivism is a very healthy and well fed population. So far, the nations that have collectivized have treated their workers like gold, making them into sort of quasi-soldiers, that attain rank and distinction along the same lines. They are always well fed and well cared for, as long as they tow the party line, whatever that is. Most collectivist states, during a war economy, have a SHORTAGE of workers. There is work for all, and then some.

I think one of the great "questions" of history is this: is it possible to create a "benevolent collectivism" that will not matastisize into a political and social cancer and a vehicle for military expansion? The biggest problem with the fascist and communist labor model is that, because labor is an actual commodity, like cows, they can be butchered with same sort of emotionlessness. Corporatism is not far behind this model. Thus, losing a "few hundred" men to bad plant management is no big deal, and complaining is punished by death. Only in a regulated democracy, so far, can workers protect themselves through legislation from these sort of practices.I think that mankind, forgetting for a moment the dichotomies of left and right, would be wise to analyze what was RIGHT with the enemies of freedom's models of organization, while at the same time continuing to attack the moral bankruptcy of what they led to. Even failed programs have kernels of useful information.

As a little digression, at one point I was in an apartment buillding today, and a knocked on the door of a large family, probably celebrating the football game. One of them, seeing me, became very agitated. The hostess said "no thank you," and shut the door. However, the other man was yelling, and quickly raced out the door. "What are you DOING HERE?," He said in a huff, with a very unhappy and aggressive tone. "I'm selling my cartoons." "YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST COME IN HERE AND DO THAT? WHAT, YOU JUST OPENED THE DOOR??"(he was referring to the metal door at the bottom of the apartment complex) "The door was unlocked," I replied serenely, "and there was no "no soliciting" sign present." I smiled at him with a lot of love. He suddenly looked sheepish and said, "well, I'm sorry, we have had a lot of trouble," and he started apologizing. "No problem brother," I said, "I'm taking off." He thanked me and we parted company. A slight tear came to my eye, I'm not exactly sure why. I know it was at least partially for him.

San Rafael and the Oakland Court story

The other day i was referring to San Rafael, not San Leandro.

the other day, I told a vagabond that had had his dog taken by the police based on what I believed to be a misunderstanding, that I would help him get his dog back. I had promised to do this 2 weeks earlier as well. I woke up very early and got to the train station at 7:30 AM, after about a 35 minute walk. My friend, who is generally coherent, had always treated his dog well, and it was friendly, well fed and loving to his master at all times. He arrived at about 7:40, telling me he had had to get some medicine.

Although he had expected six different people to show up, only me and another woman, who I recognized as a person who was "there" when things are going bad for the destitute of spirit (and sometimes mind). She had her own problems to deal with that day, but was taking some time to help this genleman, who I call "the Rev," because he sometimes babbles about the bible and has introduced himself as the "the Reverend ____ _____," using his real name, which I won't be publishing.

So, she gives the Rev a 20 to buy a breakfast, takes his papers and says she has to take a bus and "she'll be right back." It is 8:30. At 9:25, at my instigation, we finally leave, realizing she is not coming back with the papers we gave her to copy. We had told her that we needed to meet someone at 10:00 at the Ashby station, so, we took off. Luckily, she was there, and so was the other person, the owner of a local nightclub, who had a note also guaranteeing the Rev's ability to take care of his dog.

We go to the Oakland courtroom where the Rev has to address charges of animal cruelty, in the opinion of all of his friends unfounded, about some nonsense about him "forcing the dog to drag a cart," which is utter tripe.

Unfortunately, the Rev has a "bullet" in his lung, from some former shooting incident 2o years earlier, and he starts wincing in pain, muttering about the "transmission waves" coming from the top of the building. We sit in the pews for about 2 hours. He practically keels over in the court, and, when finally ready to deal with the judge, is limping along, moaning in pain, and talks incoherently to the judge. "receipt, paper, dog," he says with no connecting language. The judge, a grey haired woman with a sense of humor yet at the same time a surly and "no poppycock" personality, immediately tells the Rev to sit down in the jury box.

After another few minutes, we are escorted outside, where in the corridor, the Rev is informed through his anxiety hyperbole that he has to get finger-printed before any other action can take place. You can see the wincing nature of the DA informing him of these facts in his face. He is trying to be nice to the crazy, incoherent man.

As soon as we get outside, the Rev becomes totally coherent again, and, when we suggest he go into the police station and get his fingers printed, he says, "i will do it on Monday, right now, my stomach hurts too much." We are both at this point exasperated, and finally, I throw up my hands and take off.

The Rev is totally coherent, the courtroom actions in no way reflect on his capability as a person who can take reasonable care of himself and very good care of his dog, and the level of fear that he had that caused him to react in this anxious way is solely due to the harsh nature of the building and the charges leveled against him. On the other hand, I have only so much time to give to folks that won't help themselves, and i'd say it's more than most.

Later, the Rev bought me a lemonade and thanked me for showing up and showing the DA that others besides himself respected his ability to take care of himself and the dog. So, I hope I helped.

they stole my bike!

Sadly, my nice bike was denuded of it's wheels last night. But, a good friend from the street built me another out of parts. Berkeley can be a tough place, but also a very friendly one.