i have a confession
to make: i like beer.
so guess what i said when john beery offered
me a gig pulling suds at bumbershoot
for minimum wage plus tips plus all the beer
i could drink and share with my friends (all of it legit)?
if you guessed 'yes' i'm glad you're here. and it wasn't
just me. sarah, katie, and
brandon also got in on the
it was unlike anything any of us had ever seen. suddenly
the mass of humanity was nothing more than a tube to
siphon beer, a conduit from mouth to
honeybucket. as fast
as we filled the cups, the lines grew so we never got ahead.
when it came my turn to serve, i was sure to ask questions
to slow down the process. anything to break the chain
of dollars down and cup carry away. we broke from the
garden, checked out the poster expo where half the art
seemed inspired by frank
kozik, whose assistant sat
sullen with a sign below his chin, apparently not doing
too well with the sales. at night we shouldered through
the crowds to see Naz, too
late for PE. his
were: uphold the nuclear family, do not revolt, and
hold your cel phones in the air--the last of which people
did enthusiastically, the LCD screens replacing lighters
of yore, or maybe they were transmitting the scene to
friends who couldn't be there. it all felt watered down.
the only transgressive suggestion was to smoke pot,
which isn't really rebellious at all, especially when you
consider what the drug trade is all about: money, honey.
the CIA gets theirs by
smuggling large amounts,
the take keep up a good front, and the poor petty dealers
at the end of the distribution chain get locked up in
for-profit prisons. drugs and war on same is big