Berkeley, 2006: “People keep thinking I’m 18 and asking me, ‘oh are you starting at Berkeley this year?’ And one woman went on and on lecturing us because we talked to some old burned out hippie in the Berkeley Thrift Shop.”

Well, thank you, substitute mom, for trying to educate my already [very expensively] educated kid. Even before study abroad and gallivanting all over Europe, when you grow up on the Planet here, and attend Commie High, you schlepp yourself around town on the city bus and you encounter all kinds of people, including old burned out hippies, who, by the way, are not for the most part scary, creepy people. And sometimes, you even encounter your moom, who gives you money for an extra-good lunch. 🙂 Anyway…

Birch Point range light, 1973: “Oooh, I didn’t know the Finlaysons had such young children. Maybe you could come over and play with my daughter some day.” She paused for a moment here, I must have had a dubious look on my face at the word “play”. “My daughter is thirteen.” She definitely looked startled at whatever expression appeared on my face at that. “Uh, how old *are* you anyway?” she asked.

My brother and I had walked to Birch Point one sunny, windy summer day. This woman, who was staying at her parents’ cabin nearby, accosted us. She was friendly but condescending. “I’m [some judge’s] daugher, blah blah blah.” Well. I was 19. A college sophomore with a job and a driver’s license that allowed me to buy alcohol. And a 21-year-old boyfriend. I wonder if she would’ve wanted his friends over visiting her daughter. I think probably not. 😈

grok grok grok grok grokGROK! You’ave ALWAYS been ‘n ol’ bag. You’ave never looked like a beeyootiful young girl. So jus’ shut up. Now, ‘s’cuse me, I’magonna faaarrr up ol’ buoy 22 ‘n’ fly it on over t’ Kalamamalakazoolamuck. ‘r whatev’r ya call it. ‘n’ Schlurrrrp up some o’ them groupers. dum-de-dum-de-dum. grok grok grok Grrrrrooooookkkkkk!

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