I've never read Thomas Wolfe's You Can't Go Home Again, i once had a copy and believe i still do sitting in a large bin of books in the old garage, truth is i have a shit ton of books and while i've read most of them some do sit and sit and seemingly never get read... but there was an article i once read by an author (whose name escapes me at the moment) about the books we have lying about that we don't read are just as vital as the books that we do read... interesting theory and one that brings a bit of solace to this philosophical loner as he paces the room and ponders all the while fending off the BW's admonishments to get rid of some of these books... problem is i can't... they're the only friends i have that are still local...
It's said that as you get older it's harder to make friends, at least any meaningful friends and i now find myself in the position where all three of my best friends live in other cities... two of which who have moved in the last year... granted it's not like the old days where i ran the streets and met a bunch of people, now a night out means the next day i go to bed early and i do still regularly spend a night in with the mushrooms and the cats which is a bit like a night out... of course i was always one to do shit on my own, i have the advantage of one, being male, two being 6'4, three being perfectly okay with my own company... still i wouldn't mind a place to sit and toke and booze and wax philosophical, bullshit about the futbol, spin dub records or have the occasional night out at my favorite local boozer while not looking like the sad and lonely old man in a Clean, Well-lighted Place, though the more apt title might be A Dark and Smoky Dive...
So what is our hero here to do? well under the current regime i've veritably thrown myself into "my studies", reading books by philosophers, critical theorists and political thinkers as well as some new fiction to just to keep my head from fucking exploding due to the aforementioned regimen of texts... it's like my own personal curriculum, my own degree, the self-educated human is the most dangerous to the hegemony so i figured fuck it, be as dangerous as possible, when out being a gig economy serf talk to people and hip them to books and ideas they may not be exposed to, drop the knowledge of Fred Hampton and others and explain we shouldn't be fighting each other over race or religion or sexual orientation but over the fucking class war that's currently taking place... don't look left, right or down, look up, those are the bastards...
In an effort to still get out of the house i've taken to perusing the web to see what sort of things are happening in my fair city and doing shit... one of which was stumbling upon a DJ set by the Channel One Soundsystem with Mikey Dread... better yet it was in some new spot i'd never been to, the kind of place that reminded me of my early years in the Burgh, basically a small, old warehouse repurposed to hold shows as well as teaching the local youth about production, sound and lights and staging and what not, community run and i'll just say fucking lovely... on this night there was Jamaican food, a bar where you had to donate for booze (they didn't have a liquor license so the way around this is "donations" instead of actually charging, i fucking love it) where i drank a shite beer of my youth, Hamm's, and a great set up where they had couches along with high tables and chairs towards the back but still in a place where one could see the stage... perfect for an aging stoner with a shite back...
The Hipster Yinzer is an interesting species and one could go as far as having sub-species of this animal based on the neighborhood in which they grew up as the Hipster Yinzer is quite protective of their habitat, not being a native but having lived here long enough even i could be deemed a member of this species but believe i fall under the title Ersatz-Hipster Yinzer and since i didn't live in one specific neighborhood but more like an area, the East End (where i lived in North Oakland, Bloomfield, Friendship and Shadyside, hung out in Polish Hill and Lawrenceville)...and while i won't say i don't have that same level of emotional attachment to my old habitats it's slightly different... of course this is about the native Hipster Yinzer so let me get back on track.. some characteristics of the Hipster Yinzer are of course their undying love of the local sports teams or conversely the fact they don't care about the sports teams cuz that's "fucking lame", the aforementioned devout and religious levels of feelings towards their neighborhood (which i'll add is not a bad thing), a pride in having rarely if ever left the city, an exotic locale being at worst Erie or at best some eastern seaboard tourist town (like the one i used to work in...) these are just a few of the things as well as their own special accent and dialect called Pittsburghese...
In this instance the Hipster Yinzer was from Carrick, what one might call a gritty part of town, a sorta non-descript neighborhood in the city with a mixed population so CHY (Carrick Hipster Yinzer) was fluent in both hip-hop, indie rawk, DJs and whatever other genre of music one might throw out at him, mainly because Hipster Yinzers tend to be experts in everything... he walked over when i mentioned the hash and so i proceeded to pass him the joint and he and i and an African American gentleman began talking... there is a defining characteristic of the "i think i'm cool as fuck" Hipster Yinzer and that is this... they speak as if they are the UN, talking about how they're cool with everything (and some might be but it's also known some talk this shit but are not)... at one point my smoking buddy felt the need to express the fact that he was down with everyone- black, brown,, gay, straight, trans and anything else he could think to throw in, why? because our CHY was giving a diatribe on the opening DJ set and while ostensibly i agreed with him, it was a bit of an odd choice, there was really no need to go into an in-depth critique in the manner our guy did here, in fact it was in his soliloquoy that he saw the Black Dude sorta look at him which lead to the diversion into how he was "down" with everyone... certain Hipster Yinzers have this strange talent of simultaneously praising something while at the same time shitting all over it and then trying smooth over the mess... sorta like what he did...
Now being one of the fucking original hipsters i can't say i'm not a raging fucking dipshit as well, in fact i think it's almost part of the territory, we Gen X wankers who take some sort of strange pride in our Gen X-ness due to the fact we were the last of the feral children raised without tracking devices in our pockets, the internet, social media... the bright side? when one got their ass kicked we didn't have to relive it endlessly with fucking Tik Tok videos... lately as we Gen Xers skip towards the void i've noticed the pissing contest about age, and call me guilty as charged though i don't try to bring it up but on this night as we stood outside smoking a spliff the CHY brought up the fact that he was 47 and something something something, Black Dude stated he was 45 and i laughed and said i remember those days (told you i'm not immune) and after stating my age Black Dude said really? apparently i look younger than i am and then stated i believe it's my love of psychedelics and swimming that help maintain my youthful vigor... what a fucking laugh... shortly thereafter we said our goodbyes and i wandered back in and grabbed a seat at a high table and waited for the music to start...
I found a seat at one of the tables that gave me a good view of the stage and settled in with my cheap beer ($3 can of Hamm's) and creaky back feeling much better after the hash-infused joint... the first song played was a hymn... at least to those of us who are what one might call devout followers and fans of this music... Selassie in the Chapel... fucking blinder, granted some of the crowd wondered how you dance to it but you don't dance to it you listen and appreciate the song and it's meaning... it was followed by a couple more Bob tunes, dubbed out effects tossed in here and there, Mikey Dread and Ras Sherby taking turns talking to the crowd between songs with Ras Sherby adding in some vocals during certain songs, the kids started dancing... it was heavy into the roots vibe which of course is right up my alley, i sat and grooved along enjoying the music and being out of the house... but as usual, even when i'm not off my head, strange things happen...
As i was sitting at my table a young man came over, mid-20s, and asked if i knew anyone who was smoking weed? as this seemed like the kind of event which would be conducive to getting stoned, i smiled and pulled my pen from my pocket, his eyes light up and i handed it to him and said have at it... he took a few hits, turned and looked at me and stated, "that's fire" as the kids like to say... i told him i'm a lover of heavy indica strains and that this was one, Pre-98 Bubba Kush... though i still have no idea why it's called that and have never seen a Post 98 Bubba Kush... my new pal handed my pen back and asked about a notebook sitting on the table and i said i had no idea where it came from to which he grabbed it and the pen and started drawing, he said he was a pro skateboarder but that there was no money in it and that he had been in Europe for a bit, asked if i'd ever been to Barcelona and a few other places and i explained i hadn't been across the pond for 25 years now but did make it twice in my youth, it being loud it was tough to carry on a conversation but my new friend tried but i really just wanted to listen to the tunes...
It was around this time that an older gentleman wandered over, roughly around my age, he sheepishly waved hello and then began talking to Skate Rat... except it was a lot more touchy feely than one would expect, i could tell Skate Rat wanted his friend to keep it cool and so the older guy walked off and Skate Rat turned to me and smiled... then the older guy came back with a couple beers and took up, for lack of a better word, more canoodling, all over the Skate Rat, a few nibbles on his neck and such and at this point Skate Rat stood up and they had a brief conversation before the older guy walked away again but not before looking back at me with what one could call an almost pleading look... it was pure comedy and i wanted to inquire if Skate Rat didn't just happen to be a rent boy? it was quite obvious the older guy was smitten while Skate Rat was doing his best to downplay the fact there was more going on here than friendly banter... it was clear there was some sort of coupling taking place and after the older guy came over again, looking at me imploringly i almost leaned over and said, listen man i'm not trying to steal your boy here he just asked me for weed and being a kind and generous stoner i hooked him up, there is nothing to worry about as he is all yours as you two make a lovely couple... needless to say it was amusing to say the least and i slipped away as they canoodled some more...
Granted i wouldn't have minded getting out on the old dancefloor as there were some rather fetching lasses out there (age appropriate mind you, Gen X girls out for the night and tearing it up and ridiculously attractive to the shut in) but alas i didn't want to do my Fred Sanford imitation as i limped and lurched with a bad back... of course a few more hits of the old Bubba Kush and i probably wouldn't have felt much, truth be told the super-joint did a swell number on any pain but i also realized i might actually hurt myself due to the medicinal effects... getting old is fucking grand!
As the show wound down i stood near the door and when it ended i slipped out and into the cool November air, took in the city neighborhood and felt that pang i sometimes get realizing how i much i miss the city proper, walked around the block to my car and made my way home... another fine night out, never a dull moment and a reminder as to why i like to get out and do shit, yes predominantly on my own as part social misanthrope and part cultural anthropologist...
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