From Pathetic Life #20
Saturday, January 27, 1996
My eyes popped open at 4:30 this morning, and sleep was over. That’s hours earlier than I’d hoped, and the first thing on my mind was taking yesterday off from selling fish. What was I thinking? I can’t afford days off. Funds are low and income is limited.
February’s rent is ready, but after that, even one trip to the grocery would empty my wallet. And yet I took yesterday off, for behold, I am a nincompoop.
There are other worries and blues, too. I took a look at what’s written for the January issue of the zine, and it sucks. It’s not the worst writing I’ve done, because I’ve done a lot of bad writing, but it ain’t worth the three dollars I’m asking for it.
And then there’s my mother. This morning I’m hearing her parting words at the airport last May, as I walked toward a plane taking me home. “Keep in touch,” she said, but I very much haven’t. I simply can’t bear to, for reasons only Freud could explain (and he’d explain it all wrong). Everything’s better when I’m as far out of touch as possible, but still, Mom’s hammer of guilt swings over my head.
And of course, I’m kicking myself over Sarah-Katherine, as she relocates to New York City. She wanted me there, but instead I’m still here. I could take the rent money, plus sell this typewriter and my microwave and mini-fridge and whatever else I own, and maybe have money enough for a discount ticket to LaGuardia, but I’d land with empty pockets and no prospects, and I’m not even sure she’d be happy to see me.
Ah, screw it. Screw everything. Enough with the self-pity. To whatever extent my life sucks, it’s entirely my own fault. Time to either get a gun and end it all, or quit my fat-ass bellyaching and make some toast.
I’m going for the toast, and spreading someone else’s jelly from the fridge over it.
♦ ♦ ♦
As if I wasn’t blue enough already, now I’m reading yesterday’s paper, reminding myself what a shitty world this is. Says here that Wells Fargo, the nation’s 17th largest bank, is acquiring First Interstate, the 15th largest. Combined assets will be a few billion more than $100,000,000,000. About 350 branches will be closed, with thousands of people pink-slipped.
Judging from the Chronicle‘s report, we’re supposed to think this is a good thing, but it’s not, of course.
Oh, and it says here that National Public Radio has won a DuPont/Columbia University Journalism Award, for such shows as Morning Edition and All Things Considered. I listen to those shows sometimes, and find them about 1/3 journalism and 2/3 piffle, but what surprised me wasn’t the presumably bogus award; it’s that DuPont Chemical has apparently acquired Columbia University.
Here’s a completely fucked-up letter to the Chronicle‘s editor. Seems a book review in the paper had mentioned in passing that “soldiers on both sides [in the Vietnam War] fought and died for no good reason.” The letter-writer is furious, because even decades later, he still thinks America’s war on Vietnam was a just and great cause. The war was only lost, he writes, because of all the 1960s boys who lacked “the humility to accept their draft notices.”
It’s hard to even grasp the stupidity of that argument. It’s breathtaking. Life-taking.
♦ ♦ ♦
Ten blocks from my designated corner for fish sales, the skies began sprinkling. Six blocks off, it became a cloudburst. When I reached the Avenue it was still raining, hard, and Umberto and a few other vendors were packing up to leave. In every direction the clouds were thick and dark, the weather hopeless, and I was drenched, so to hell with it.
Another day off, without pay, and another day of worrying about it.
♦ ♦ ♦
Come with me now to the semi-monthly staff meeting for Free Radio Berkeley, held in the back room at the Long Haul Infoshop. That’s a pretty good zine shop that doesn’t sell Pathetic Life, but I ain’t mad at ’em. They only sell good zines. I’ve bought zines there many times, but today I was too broke.
I am not on the staff at Free Radio Berkeley, but the Long Haul is only a few blocks up the street from my place, and Josh had tipped me off that the agenda for today’s meeting might make for a raucous ruckus. It’s about theft, he said — there’s been a lot of stuff stolen at the station, and people are pissed.
With the rain-out on Telegraph I had nothing better to do, so I darted through the downpour and settled into a back row seat.
Apparently past meetings have gotten out of hand, because the first thing they wanted to do was appoint a facilitator — someone to keep it a discussion instead of a shouting match. And my man Josh might be a better man than I even knew, because someone shouted, “It ought to be Josh.” Nobody nominated anyone else, so Josh took charge, and laid out the ground rules:
“If you have something to say, just raise your hand. I’ll call on everyone in order, and you’ll all be heard, but no interruptions, please. If someone says something inflammatory and you want to respond, raise your hand and wait till I point at you.” Better than Robert’s Rules of Order.
Free Radio Berkeley is a pirate station that broadcasts 24/7 out of a shared house. The people who live in the house have had stuff stolen during the night, several nights, and that’s what they’re pissed off about. One of the house residents read a list of stolen things — a pair of galoshes, a can of coffee, food from the fridge, two backpacks, three bicycles, etc. The housemates want to start locking the house overnight, which seems logical, but it might make the station no longer 24/7, since hosts couldn’t get in. Which would suck.
So someone asked, why can’t the overnight shows be pre-taped? Then came much lively but polite debate, and it was agreed that, for at least a while, the house will be locked from midnight to 8AM seven nights a week, and broadcasts during that time will be tape-delayed.
The overnight DJs are supposed to come in, one at a time, to meet with house residents. They want to know the strangers using their kitchen and bathroom, to assess for themselves whether each individual on-air person is welcome in their home, reserving the right to bar anyone who doesn’t pass the vibe inspection.
Josh had predicted fireworks or a fistfight, but instead of a bunch of rabble-rousing radicals screaming at each other, it was all very civilized. Probably because of the facilitator. The United Nations could learn a thing or two from Josh and Free Radio Berkeley.
After that, Stephen Dunifer, the aging hippie and technogeek who started FRB, gave a quick rundown of the station’s latest legal battles with the FCC. It’s a depressing litany of threats and ultimatums, cuz there’s nothing the federal government hates more than freedom of speech.
More optimistically, he then read a list of new pirate stations on the air or coming soon, in San Francisco, San Jose, San Leandro, West Berkeley, East Oakland, Mountain View, Fruitvale, Fremont, and Valejo. And that’s just in the Bay Area. FRB is also helping six new stations get up and running around Los Angeles, and one in the town of Williams, Oregon.
Which reminds me again, if you believe in freedom of speech and have about $500 to buy the equipment, you too can go on the air. Mr D says it takes no great expertise, and it’s safe and perfectly illegal.
If you’re interested, just call or write me, and I’ll let Josh know, and he’ll let Stephen know, and Stephen will get back to you.
— — —
Addendum, 2023: I am pleased and kinda proud that two people contacted me way back when, for info on pirate broadcasting. I passed their names and numbers to Josh, who passed ’em to Stephen Dunifer. I’ll never know what happened after that, but I certainly hope laws were broken.
Information on pirate broadcasting is quicker and easier to come by in our internet age. If you’re interested, just click on freeRadio.org.
This is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago, called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting things, so parental guidance is advised.
Leave a Reply