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| Jack Kerouac. He wasn't with me on my walk but is often on my mind. |
Time to check in.
I’m doing well.
The novel I’m writing is a massive project that threatens to overwhelm but I keep grinding. Showing up. Putting in a shift.
On my walk.
Walked by hordes of high school students emerging from my alma mater on their lunch break. My what a scruffy lot. No one seems to dress well anymore. I was not known for my sartorial elegance as a teenager but I put in an effort. Also a proliferation of studs and rings — never found that look attractive, traditional ear rings aside (my old fogginess is showing) even an occasional tattoo. Most boys wearing shirts with writing and emblems and symbols and pictures on them. Hair askew, guess they’re not big on brushes or combs. Been over fifty years since I was a high school student. What a strange lad I was. I was a hippie, jock, revolutionary, druggie, sports fan -- the combo package. And a straight A student. But I was mostly happy in those days. Didn’t know what to make of myself in the future. That is, if I thought of the future at all.
Previously had been walking on and near the Cal campus. Striking difference between high schoolers and college students even though some are but a year or two apart in age. College students are more focused, more comfortable in their skin, more relaxed. They’ve already taken the first leap into adulthood. Most are living away from home and enjoying the consequent independence. Many are exclusively taking classes they’re interested in. They also know a little bit about love and romance and sex and are slightly more at ease on those topics. In Berkeley they have the added benefit of attending the top public university in the world. Some high school students are oozing in confidence but even they have inevitable insecurities. Peer pressure a greater burden for teens.
I’d gone to Berkeley’s infamous Telegraph Avenue to trade in some CDs and DVDs for store credit. The damn store was closed on Mondays.
Live and learn.
Never mind, the bag I carried wasn’t heavy and was listening to a podcast so continued my stroll.
Some of the “action” in my latest novel is set on the university campus. Specifically late sixties/early seventies demonstrations which morphed into riots — often it was the police who were running amuck. So I walked the ground were events in the novel take place. Space is always bigger in reality than in your mind’s eye — at least for me. I visualized the protagonist running about, evading police officers, choking on tear gas, watching his brethren getting beaten by nightsticks.
Later made my way downtown. Walked by a pizzeria. Was hungry and noted that the pizza of the day (they only make one kind a day at Sliver) looked delish. I had a slice. Ambled the rest of the way home. Here I sit. Writing this. Almost finished.
Been re-reading Kerouac in recognition of his 100th birthday on Saturday. Currently breezing through the deliriously wonderful, Desolation Angels, his most poetic book. Going to the Beat Museum on Saturday where they’re having an open house in honor of the great day. Will I write here about it? We’ll see.
I’m going to end this post with the next sentence as I’ve got to get back to the novel. The day’s been okay so far.
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