Here is what the plan was:
Participate in a brain-storming
session to develop “socializing games” for the duration of
Occupy.
Participate in the march through
downtown Oakland to a new site.
Camp overnight, donate various
needed goods and food. I took fresh produce from my garden, stuff to
make a cocido and also some idli mix. I was going to
OccupyOccupyOakland'sKitchen.
Reality ended with an idiot walking out
of a bar alone in SF.
1. Done: The game development session
was quite structured and focussed, there was an agenda which was tightly stuck to and a wrap-up of the meeting and plan for the next
session was e-mailed within a couple of hours or so of the end of the
meeting.
2. Did do: Various members left to
go and support the Occupy SF movement which had apparently faced some
police action. Sage and I were the only two who would join the
Oakland march, and it took us a while to get going, mostly so she
could finish the meeting notes and so we could have lunch. The
OccupyOakland website only stated where the march would end; I at
least couldn't recall where it was supposed to start, but rather
hopefully we headed downtown. We left late enough to give them time
to actually start walking. In order to ensure that we would encounter the rest of the marchers, we started at the destination and walked towards them. It felt antidisestablishmentarian, to be walking in the direction opposite to the disestablishmentarians.
By the time we managed to join the
march, we'd met various other people headed there, already at the
destination or on their way there. One of them was a woman who, it
turned out, had gone to the same small beyond liberal-arts college
where you design your own program, in where else? … Massachusetts.
Yaayy, joyful hugs between the two. (I wasn't included, even though I
was wearing my “Kiss me, I'm Indian. Diwali was only 4 weeks ago.”
T-shirt. Yes I update it, and will continue to do so until it works.)
The “sharing” seemed like a good idea: “Arrey, Jasvinder, where
did you do your undergrad?”, “IIT-Bombay, yaar”, “Yaayy, me
too, group hug!”.
I tried to get some information from
the cops at the destination about where the march was located at the
moment, I'll fill in details later, however, the last comment to me
was to look for the police helicopter and head directly under it.
“Like towards the fire-bombs?” But I wouldn't say that to a man
in a uniform with his hand on a truncheon.
The march was high-energy, lots of
sloganeering, lots of racket, numerous marching bands, including the
Brass Liberation Orchestra, and, lots and lots of smiling faces,
which is NOT what you see at the typical Tea-Party or right-wing
rallies, which is mostly bared fangs in tight rows. Two of the people
in the game group had warned me not to expect too much organization
that first night, and they turned out to be right. So I decided it
would be better to make the donations etc some other day. There was
little bit of a street party air to it, the fence around the park
came down, quite a few tents and a music stage went up.
3. It started raining, nobody I knew
was staying there, my car was a 40 minute walk away and it seemed
pointless to stay overnight with the “white kids from Marin County”
occupiers who were dancing on the street. Besides, I'd managed to get
myself invited to a birthday party in SF, where we would be occupying
bar-stools.
In SF, in the first bar, Sage
introduced me to her friend from elementary school, whose birthday it
was. The first thing I did was to join in loudly and sing “Happy
Birthday Emily”, except it was Beth's birthday. One pitch, two
strikes. Beth took it well.
We waited a bit for some more of the
party to show up. A couple joined us: one of them was Dennis, who
looked as Chinese as his name sounded. The other guy introduced
himself, “Hi, I'm Hong.”. “Well, fuck you, and I have a PhD in
Physics”, I replied. I mean, what a cheesy pick-up line, right in
front of his boyfriend too! I'm not even gay! Not that there is
anything wrong with that, I have that rainbow patterned
bumper-sticker, the one that says, what … “Straight but not gay!”
as a sign of support, I'm just waiting for the right car to put it
on. Plus, the colors are in the wrong order, don't gays know anything
about Rayleigh scattering?
I mean, come on, I am an Indian guy,
there is no arranged marriage for gays, hello-o! Who would pay the
dowry?
After a drink or two we walked into the
next bar, where there was a stand-up comic night. These guys were
bad, so bad that Sage pulled out her phone and started playing
traffic jam, and three guys immediately gathered around to tell her
what to do.
One of the comics had a bit of a riff
about American guys marrying foreign women. “Why is that?”, he
asked, I think rhetorically. One of our party -the
neck-sucking-boyfriend- yelled out, “Because American women suck!”.
I'm proud of you, man, don't let anyone domesticate you! Ever!
“Apparently not well enough!”, I yelled back.
There was group of three beautiful
brunettes in front of us. Two of them were tall, hair was the same
length, their asses were the same shape and size, the hint of a roll
just above their pants was the same shape as well. They even had the
same smile, just toothy enough to draw attention to how attractive
they were, and they were drinking the same beer. The third one was
not drinking anything, must have been the DD – designated dyke. I
went over to them, since I'd already struck out with two of the women
in our group. After a run of really bad misogynistic jokes from the
stage, I said something to the pretty ladeej about their seeming to
really enjoy the show. One of the tall ones looked at the full beer
in her hand, “As soon as this is done, we are out of here.” How
bad were the jokes? The third woman grabbed the beer and proceeded to
chug it.
Unfortunately for me, she didn't finish
the beer.
The last comic was actually pretty
good. Plus, the ice had been broken.
The comic picked on a guy in the
audience, “You, yes you, you don't look American. Where are you
from?”.
Big bright smile, “Europe!”.
The comic: “Europe isn't a fucking
country, what country are you from, unless your parents were
Euroswingers from 30 countries?”
“Moldova.”, came the reply.
I interjected, “Moldoova is the
unhappiest country in the whole world!”
The comic: “Who said that? You?”.
Addressing the audience, “This guy's from India, and he's saying
the saddest country on the planet is Moldova? Besides, Euro-trash
here doesn't look too sad to me!”
Me: “That's because he's OUT of
Moldoova!”
Comic: “How do you know about all
this, anyway?”
Me: “I'm a physicist, I read a book
about happiness.”
That ended up being a bit of a
non-sequitor, and the comic moved on to jokes about dating women. I
leaned towards the tall brunette who was still drinking her own beer
and said that the comic had women who are dating pegged, he must have
been reading a lot of profiles of women on dating websites, that I
didn't know if she, the brunette, was on those sites.
She said, “I'm on the dating sites,
everybody does that nowadays.”
Me: “I don't know what men's profiles
are like, and you don't see women's profiles, so ...”
She: “Oh I do, I'm a lesbian so I see
women's profiles.” I should have read that, I actually had, but
refused to recognize it and refused to allow myself that stereotype.
Me, digging myself deeper now: “Oh, I
thought a lot of these sites prohibit ...”
She: “No, that was a long time back,
now I'm on all these sites, and I'm a lesbian.”
I saw the opening, and I took it: “But
you are too attractive to be a lesbian!”
She, freezing up now: “That is such
an offensive stereotype! Look at my girlfriend, she is gorgeous.”
Me: “Well, yes, which is why I was
trying to chat her up. But, I'm sorry, I hope I haven't offended you,
I was playing off the stereotype...”
She: “I'm not offended, it's just
idiotic! It is so old and repeated so often ...”
The Comic, from the stage: “Ma'am, is
he bothering you?”
She: “No.”
Me: “No! I'm complimenting her!”
Comic: “Complimenting her? You looked
like you were trying to kiss her!”
Me: “No, no, you are not
understanding sir. I'm from India, and we Indians we are liking to be
close to peepul.”
She then proceeded to lecture me. I
listened for a while, tried to excuse myself again, no go. When I
could get a word in, I said, “Of course you are a lesbian, you have
no sense of humor!”
Just then her girlfriend said, “Dee-Dee
is done with my beer, let's go.”
As the one I'd been talking to turned
to leave, I tried to excuse myself again, “Let me just explain
where I am coming from. Can I do that?”
She: “I'm leaving now.”
Me, further abasing myself: “Just
half a minute, please?”
She assented with a nod of her head.
Me: “Look, I go to International
Women's Day marches, with a T-shirt that says, “This is what a
lesbian feminist looks like!”. Please sleep with me!” I didn't
mean that! Or I must have meant it but not meant to say it. How
fucked-up can I be on two beers?
To top it off, at the end of the night
birthday girl Beth says to me, as she and Sage prepare to drive off
into the sunset together, “You are such a sweet guy!” Oh those
magic words of death!
Sometimes, you see an opening, and you take it. Often though, the opening is a trap you've set for yourself.
