Nostalgia Isn't What It Used To Be

This young guy was telling us a story as we kicked back by the river. One time he'd been hitchhiking in Santa Barbara before the freeway passed through town, back when 101 hit the city streets for about ten blocks or so, traffic lights and all. He, a couple heading up to San Luis Obispo, an old hitchhiker, and a Navy guy going back to San Francisco, all got picked up in a big American car by a guy in his forties. Soon as he had the car full and they were on their way north, the driver asked for gas money. Up the road a ways when they were away from civilization, the guy pulled a pistol from under the seat and started waving it around, not pointing it at anybody and making no threats, but it freaked everybody out. I asked what the old road dog did then, and the storyteller said that oh, he'd asked to get out right when the guy asked for gas money. In my over twenty years on the road, whenever anybody asked for money for gas, if I had any cash I'd give it to them, but then I'd get out of the car. Or if I couldn't spare any cash, I'd still get out. I had lots of jobs on the road, but paying for the gas wasn't one of them. Drivers didn't get gas money AND my company. They hadn't stopped for me because they wanted to be alone. I've several times had drivers tell me of times they had to sit by an on-ramp until a hitchhiker with money for gas showed up because they were out and broke. That I can understand, I know it takes a lot of money to drag a car around with you every place you go. But unless it's prearranged that a passenger share the expenses--which I have done a time or two, and I'm sure there's a lot of that going on these days especially--the idea is the drivers were going where they're going anyway, and they have their own reasons for stopping for somebody standing along the way. And right now I'm thinking the higher gas prices go, the better. It'll mean less exhaust being released into the air, and the sooner alternatives to gasoline and diesel fuel will be found. Necessity is the mother(s) of invention. (Who said that? Somebody said that, right?)

It's not easy being a rebel anymore when grandmothers sport tattoos and ten-year-old boys have long hair and a pierced ear or two. And really, there's not much new to do to test yourself. I heard on the radio yesterday that there were 75 people on the top of Mount Everest at that time; might as well be at Wally World. You can hack your way up the Amazon for a week, then get a cell phone call from your mother or a helicopter can drop in with pizza and beer. But they did just land on Mars, now THAT's something nobody's gonna do again anytime soon. (I remember seeing President Nixon talking on the phone to the first men on the moon--Imagine, on the MOON!--and there he was reading a prepared statement to them. How pathetic was that?) For laughs, there's still the presidential campaign. Multi-millionaires running around acting like they're one of us is amusing enough--just folks--but now their preachers are talking in public. How embarrassing for the candidates. It's a fine line to walk: "My preacher makes his living representing invisible people in the sky, but I always thought he was totally sane. Honest. I don't know how I could have been fooled all these years. Honest. And yes, I myself talk to invisible people in the sky every night, but only in the most rational and sensible way, not all crazy like him. Nothing for you to be concerned about when you go to vote. We all do it." (Hey, I could be a preacher. "All the tornadoes and the high gas prices are because God is punishing this country for its war on drugs. Repent!") (Eat your heart out, Jerry.)

I really like those new TV commercials that have strong, confident women walking along talking following a moving camera. Good stuff. The phone one is the hottest. Then the one telling us how her oil company is the solution to global warming. And I do like the car one, too, but we only get a couple flashes of her. I sure hope they do more.

Talking about the war on drugs, have you been hearing about all the shooting going on--yeah, right here in L.A., too--but down on the Mexican border? Just like the Twenties with beer and whiskey! Hot times. Innocent folks get blown away in the crossfire, just like then, and the heavily-armed gangs, and all the justifiable reasons for the police to go around kicking in doors. It's great. And people die from bad drugs, just like they did from bathtub gin and abortions when they were illegal. And just like there's less opposition having a war without the draft, not near as many people squawk about drugs as they did alcohol, so it's way better. Cigarettes would have been great to outlaw if the drugs slowed down, but folks are just stopping that with public opinion so they're out now as a potential controlled product, but hey, how about coffee--no, too much like alcohol, everybody does it--but how about . . . skateboards!! By golly, talk about job security for the criminal justice system! And nobody likes them punks anyway, and they'll keep it up no matter what the penalty is. I'm a genius.

Today as I type is Memorial Day. Many have died to keep us free to openly write blogs like this, and I don't take that lightly; I hear about all the places in the world where it's not allowed. We're free to move and travel and read and pretty much say what we want. But we're not so free if you like to smoke a little weed, or are gay and want a legal relationship, or would rather simply pay for sex than get married, or want a President who doesn't answer to invisible people in the sky.