"That which is overdesigned, too highly specific, anticipates outcome; the anticipation of outcome guarantees, if not failure, the absence of grace."
-- William Gibson, All Tomorrow's Parties
"This city is getting so bizarre"

Walking up South St is always an adventure. You never know what you're going to see, what diverse and overly specialized sub-culture you'll get to interact with. It's like going to the zoo, without the cages. However, you'll still see the same depressed looks you see in the lions or bears eyes, wishing they were anywhere but here, living this life, entrapped by social forces they can barely comprehend but have little choice pushing against, acting out in whatever way they can. Their little rebellions.

Eventually giving up and just wanting it to end, rubbing their fur off against the tree branches and fences that contain them. Genetic memory telling them how wrong this is, living like this, constrained and tame.

Maybe that analogy was too much.

But really, I like South St. Overhearing the random conversations as you walk and weave between the bubbles of cliques, you hear the damnedest things. You also begin to realize that while these groups of people, these punks or preps, gangsters or nerds, the old, the young, no matter how different they look, they have things which bind them together, culturally. They wear different colors and clothes, they put their hairs up in liberty spikes or dye their hair black and wear thick nerd glasses and whine about ex-girlfriends who done them wrong, but they're all really the same people.

It doesn't matter if they're a big fat black woman or a big fat goth chick, a hardcore Hell's Angels wannabe, or a Honda-riding crotch-rocket toting pretty boy.

They all use the word "like" every two goddamn seconds.

(Also, sometimes you get random crazy people demanding if Scarface was Cuban or not. Poor Adam.)

February 21, 2004 5:13 PM