This morning I walked to Arizmendi to get a muffin for breakfast. I do this once a week or so. I got a bran muffin and damn it’s good. Anyway, as I exited the bakery and started walking down 9th toward Irving, I noticed this loud squalling and screaming emanating from the nearby Burger King. A woman emerged with her three sons, two of whom were behaving, one of whom (the youngest, natch) was throwing a huge atomic tantrum. Crying, whining, throwing himself down, refusing to walk. The mom gathered herself, handing her jamba juice to one of the other kids, and threw the screaming kid over her shoulder. He of course continued yelling, probably at this point having forgotten what he was so upset about.
The four of them continued on. The kid screamed and struggled, his head over his mom’s back. I was afraid he would flail even harder and send himself face first into the street. At the corner, he was set down, but of course rebelled again, sitting on the sidewalk furiously. I unfortunately missed the ending of this little drama, as I had to get my train. But I sure felt bad for that mom. Kids that age have no logic around these situations, and they haven’t yet been socialized to the point of knowing when they are creating an embarrassment for themselves. They are single-minded and have this idea that they WANT something and they didn’t get it, and it is therefore the greatest injustice in the history of humanity. Cutehead developing egos.
So I rode the train. It was very crowded. I just try to stay inside my little space bubble and not stress out, listening to music, counting the stops. At Duboce, it seemed like no one would be able to get on at my door. But a few people got out. At the very last moment, this kid gets on next to me, right by the door. He was a white boy with a mess of caveman dreads in his hair. Dressed in the punk rock uniform that’s been around for about 15 years now — dirty black hoodie, dirty black skintight pants, dirty sneakers, and a dirty overstuffed bag, all of it covered with patches, stitches, etc. And he had that SMELL.
I used to be very familiar with the smell. I thank god never had it myself, as I enjoyed things like bathing. But among the kids I hung out with back in ’92 – 95, there were always a few who didn’t care to wash their hair or clothes, and it always produced the exact same odor. You have probably smelled it yourself, on homeless people. It’s the smell of Aaron Cometbus. Of socks worn for a few weeks. Dirty necks and scalps. Maybe it’s also the smell of beer and cigarettes stinking through the pores.
Smell is tied to memory, of course, but I don’t have good memories associated with stupid drunk gutter punk kids. I was always different than many of the people I hung out with, in that I didn’t get drunk or high, I saved my meager earnings, I took showers. I didn’t think being poor was that rad. But when I was poor, I sure did have a good time most of the time.
There were these girls who lived in a house in Oakland back then who were playing at punk rock for a year. Three girls all from New York City, who came out here to lay around and go to shows and be free. What do I know, maybe they weren’t just playing, but I doubt they stayed here long. I found out later that they were the daughters of one of the most famous movie directors in the United States, one of the most famous actresses, etc. But no one here knew who they were, or who their parents were. So they could be normal girls. Man, they had great clothes.
But I digress.
Last night my husband took me on a date, which was rad. We tried out this Indian restaurant in West Portal called Roti. Twas fantastic. You can always tell it’s a good Indian restaurant when the raita is thick instead of watery. The only odd thing about Roti was that I didn’t see a single Indian person in the restaurant. The waiters were all white, and the kitchen staff was all Latino. Huh. In fact I think that is the first time I’ve ever been waited on by a non-Indian at an Indian restaurant. She was all carefully explaining the menu to us until we clued her in that yes, we have eaten this food before, and we know what we want.