The Man Called Big Country and Rainbow Fingered Girl

The reaffirmation of knowledge I received from last night’s drunken/stoned jaunt downtown is that change through political protest comes on about as fast as paint drying-more like the growth of a plant. The Occupy fiasco downtown waxes and wanes, surviving off the blood of the more strange walks of life. This is why I walk among them unharmed, they smell no fear on me. It was a beautiful evening out last night which typically thaws out a huge gathering of zombies down on Colfax and Broadway so I made it a point to go down and see what might develop. Every trip down there’s a crap shoot and I love to throw the dice folks. On this particular trip I was persuaded into taking one of my offspring, one of my political enthusiast daughters that (for the sake of this blog) I’ll call Uffie (her newly deemed nickname). She is quite aware of her father’s delicate medical condition, just like Hemmingway’s kids knew of his-not to compare myself with that gifted novelist other than the fact that I tend to go on drug induced binges like he drank. I’m more of the stoned out peace freak type, not a Joan Crawford screaming belligerent type.

We hopped on the downtown bus. Uffie carryied her prized possession; a pair of multi colored light up gloves. These things are quite the show and would have gone over big in the 60’s, back when acid rock bands threw colored psychedelic backgrounds behind the amps on huge white tarps to entertain the crowds. Uffie is a big rave dance fan and loves to go into free spirit dancing with those gloves turned on. I agreed with here that the gloves would be a nice sideshow for the troops down there. By the time we arrived at the protesters encampment it was dark and the weather still held a comfortable median. No one can say from one day to the next how large the crowds down there will be; tonight’s showing was about 25-30 active protestors with big signs and bongos, whooping it up on Broadway. Diminutive in actual numbers, what they lacked in headcount they more than made up for in tenacity. They were charging out in the streets toward passing patrol cars with huge signs that said FUCK THE POLICE, raving at anyone cruising southbound like pissed off banshees. There was a parked patrol car at the edge of their rally, some 200 yards away, and a group of them decided to go over and ‘harass the pig’. My daughter being quite the political enthusiast and a teenager as well wanted to join in on the fun, earn some street cred. I was a bit reluctant as I could imagine how good that would look, me and her getting thrown in the can together, a true father/daughter moment Hallmark would cry for; what the hell I thought, let her get her ya-yas out. The police were in a mild mood tonight and I judged it to be safe-for now. If these monsters could run at a patrol car carrying signs saying ‘fuck the police’ you could pretty much assume things hadn’t heated up to a dangerous point. She ran ahead with the group of picketers who ranged in age from 14 to 65 and stood with the zombies around the patrol car while they all chanted, signs bobbing, voices howling to the full moon. My God I thought. I think my daughter’s turning into a zombie! I fumbled with my Ipod piece of shit camera to capture this Kodak moment and came away with a series of blurred head shots. Time for more dope I thought, but not in front of the cop. That might be pushing things a bit far.

Everyone had their picture taken in front of the cop car holding the protest sign, then walked back to the tarps and circled gathering of the drunk and disorderly troops that entertained vehicles diving by. I told Uffie to go over by a tree and entertain the troops with her lit gloves. The gloves were a smash with the people down there, a light show to add to the festive celebration of moderate weather on their poor bones. I like to hunt out new souls to engage at the protest site and break the ice by offering them some food, drink and/or herb. This large figure who stood about 6 foot 3 and must have weighed around 300 pounds came walking by with a small water bottle in his hand. He would take the water bottle and position it near his crotch and allow water to spurt out, giving the appearance that he was taking a piss. Oh yea, I thought. This is the character for the evening, the prize winner to speak with and indulge with some Jim Beam and a bit of grass.


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