People Watching and Californians
I sit upon a perch, in San Francisco. Directly on the corner of Jones and Sutter on the 2nd floor. Excellent people watching spot. From here I can observe the absurdity of the kids at hut SF (skate shop focused on really expensive wigger clothing), their habits, interaction with people (like watching a silent movie, or at least a movie turned down so you only hear the loud parts, perhaps a poor-white-boy version of an alternate-universe Eddie Murphy flick), and their ridiculous attention to personal apperance. The homeless. One man who sings, one man who habitually snipes cigarettes and jacks peoples bus fares (and many more). The Sutter ST homeless are largely not aggressive so it’s usually a good viewing experience (watching how people handle themselves around the homeless).
Anyway, I find people watching interesting. It’s got to be why coffee shops always are placed corner-side instead of more droll places, such as in the middle of a block.
Californians. Anyone who’s read my blog for any length of time, or read through the archives, knows that I am not shy to the idea of stereotypes. Stereotypes are real, and I happen to love obsessing over them from time to time.
There is one stereotype that I did not understand until recently. The Californian.
The Californian does not have an opinion, except hating the current US Administration, but all Californians have that opinion, and that’s what makes it a stereotype.
I find that whenever I have to interact with these folks, opinions are not taken lightly too. Californians think people with opinions are “opinionated.” Oh shit, they chose a side.
There is logic to their madness. Maybe. Without an opinion, what will you argue over? Nothing, and I believe that’s the point. If I point out “dem dere wiggers ovar dar!” a Californian will disregard your observation, or perhaps pussy foot around it with their own, extremely tamed version. I don’t know how they do this because I hand-picked this example. Wiggers are a subset of rich white boy culture that has latched onto an un-attainably cool black hip-hop culture and re-appropriated it into $200 t-shirts with Tupoc’s face on it and shorts that are 2 inches shy of pants. They dress in the brightest clothes, the most over-sized clothes, and won’t be caught dead without their hat and shoes in perfect color-coordination. They are provide a nearly undeniable existence. Californians know they exist, they just won’t admit it.
Another example, hussies. San Francisco is packed to the roof with hussies. But I’ve yet to hear the word spoken here, and I unashamedly listen in on conversations if I can hear em.
So, why? I guess they just don’t want to make a rift. Californians are largely satisfied with their liberal state and city-level governments. Marijuana is practically legal here and can be had by a selection of delivery services. The police leave you alone, and, like I said, the government is already filled brim-full with liberals, so what do they have to complain about? Living here all your life, I can see someone becoming a very passive individual, a Californian.
And that concludes my first rant since replacing this blog. Jesus titty-fucking Christ, it took one [post].