| Herb Chain September '09 |
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As far as I am concerned our present money problems were actually foreseen long ago when Jerry Brown was Governor. Remember JB? He would drive to work in Saca-tomato each morning in his Lee Iacocca K-car. Brought his own lunch: probably tuna fish, in a paper bag, his face scowling with that Jesuit look of divine suffering. His affair with Linda Roundbuns, well and truly over. Jerry coined the phrase that first sent chills through me. Chills because even way back then I suspected he was right. Even way back then when ciggies were still a buck a pack and gas was a buck and a quarter. And the Bridges were ….oh I don’t want to talk about it.
JB spoke gravely to the media about our collective futures as his fellow Californians. He coined the phrase that would ultimately turn out to be emphatically true. He talked of a future that looked a little lean and that collectively we should hold “diminished expectations” about it. It took a long time for Jerry’s train to reach the station but surer than shit, it be here. First I had to give up brie cheese. Then twelve year old scotch. Next came sushi. I haven’t had a piece of Amberjack tuna in years. Costco hot dogs have replaced fish. Now it’s mustard instead of wasabi. With lots of kraut of course. I used to buy my trousers at Macy’s. Nice pants for sure, but they be gone too. Now I look like a Ben Davis poster child and I haven’t had a pair of shoes that cost over 60 bucks since Bill Clinton auditioned Monika. In the good old days I used to have a stein or two of Zeitgeist’ best lager. Petaluma Panther Piss or Lagunitas Labotomy Ale. Not any more. It’s Pabst Blue Ribbon in the can or a Mickey’s 40-ouncer in a parking lot somewhere. I can’t tighten my belt much tighter than that. Then a few years back, decent motels had to be dropped, too. I began to ask myself, where will it end? Will all future accommodations be confided to roadside warrens that have a number as part of their moniker? Super 8, Lucky Seven, Motel 6. Will those turnpike domiciles have a television remote that is permanently drilled in place on the nightstand? Really cheap towels? Dirty carpet with cigarette burns? And worst of all, no little paper thingies that go around the toilet seat. George Bush campaign hats. That our collective rear ends might have to touch crapper seats recently warmed by banjo-assed truck drivers from Fresno and Ukiah. Yuck. Will we be forced to turn scofflaw, like thousands of citizens did in the Great Depression? Fight back? Dodge each and every ticket and road charge? Get creative like the Artful Dodger? Pick a pocket or two? Stick it to the Man. Let’s see, we could be canny and swipe one of those cardboard dealer plates that carry only the name of Fred’s Harley/Vespa of Cotati. With that on the back of the bike we could run the bridges for free. The electronic cameras only snapping the back of our cardboard plate informing the bridge authorities that they too should buy a new H-D or Vespa scooter from Fred’s of Cotati. Let’s see how cost effective that would be, shall we? At current extortionate rates, a ride from SF to low-overhead Benicia and its toll bridge would be a four dollar hit. Sure it is true your motorcycle only weighs 280 pounds and has no impact on the road surface but tough shit. Cough it up, pilgrim. Complain to Arnold why don’t chas? Then returning via the Richmond Bridge, another four bills, you peon. Then riding into America’s “favorite” city, you can pony up not four, not five, but six bucks, for which you get exactly nothing in return. Now that little 60-mile loop would normally drain your account of $14 dollars, every day of your commute, would now be freed up, thanks to that little cardboard plate. Every day. I suggest you immediately apply that saved 14 smackeroos to your daily drinking allotment. Reclaim your stool at Zeitgeist. See how the future’s gonna work? It’s all good. All good. |