Carnival

In the summer of 1967, swa= rms of young people converged on San Francisco= ’s famous hip community, Haight-Ashbury. Th= ey came from all over the country; quirkily political, horny as all get-out, a= nd eager to join just about anything rock and roll. The party they crashed was called the Summer of Love.

Three runaways from Santa Monica were caught up in the pacific flow: Eddie, a little-engine intellectual, Mike, a juv= enile delinquent jealous of Eddie’s attention, and Kevin, this coming-of-age tale’s clueless protagonist.

Here Ed= die uses an accessible analogy to counsel Kevin on right and wrong. Mike is out= of the picture, having stormed off after belittling Eddie’s lack of manly respect for a gorgeous Corvette. Kevin secretly agrees with Mike, but doesn= ’t dare side against Eddie.

&= nbsp; Eddie sighed. “You mean you still don’t see why it’s wrong to take the real world seriously? You can’t see what’s wrong<= /i> with having a cushy career and a bank account? Or why it’s such a bum= mer to be all turned-on by a bunch of shiny stuff everybody else is drooling ov= er, or the reason it’s a hang-up to have wants in the first place? And doesn’t it bug you knowing what you’ll have to sacrifice for the sake of all that prestige you’re trying to accumulate? You’re g= onna buy self-respect? Can’t you see that dignity, even thou= gh it doesn’t have a price tag on it, is worth more than all the materialistic bullshit in the world put together?”<= /p>

&= nbsp; Kevin struggled to come up with a succinct response, sensitive enough to Eddie’s commitment to know the boy’s challenge was in earnest, = but uncomfortable with the way it seemed to be blinding him to everything else = in life. “Wrong?” he muttered. He looked at the car—futurist= ic, sexy, powerful, poised…the thing was reflecting the sun so dynamicall= y it appeared ready to burst into flames. There wasn’t a human being alive= who could fail to appreciate it, and, since Eddie was human, Kevin felt he wasn’t getting the whole picture here; that he’d missed somethi= ng simple but vital in Eddie’s argument. Either that or the grass…= but, ever since that damp November night of their first meeting, the friendship = had proved an uneasy alliance when conversation got into the deep end. Eddie co= uld turn the simplest issue inside-out.

&= nbsp;         “Wron= g?” Kevin sputtered. Abstracta had always eluded him. He had a sneaking suspicion that any query regarding that which was intangible—such as whether something was wrong or right—had to be a trick question, a verbal ambush designed to confuse the listener by making him th= ink. This whole jive thing about values was just some phony Government he= ad trip contrived to keep people bored and in line, and the fact that Eddie had been seduced so thoroughly sometimes made Kevin wonder just what kind of st= uff his friend was made of. So for a moment he found himself entertaining a vindictive-but-constructive urge to tell Eddie to grow up, or to put him in= his place by coolly countering with the one macho response any red-blooded, All-American Guy would make; namely, a half-attentive look of utter disdain, followed by a pointed turning of the head to proclaim complete dissociation. Because the All-American Guy doesn’t require intelligence. What he utilizes is far more valuable in the real world than something as ineffectu= al as a mind. It’s a license to bluff; unspoken, unchallenged—but understood, by every gonad in every garage from puberty on, to be the prime postulate of the streetwise: = what’s wrong is what I don’t like, and what’s right is w= hat turns me on. And if I can’t spend it, drive it, flaunt it, or fuck it, then hey, what good is it? Men killed for the sake of principles like t= hat. But knowledge existed, Kevin was sure, just to make ordinary people = feel really dumb about all the things they didn’t know; in exactly the way churches existed solely to make people feel guilty about…everythin= g. Yet Kevin genuinely liked Eddie, even though Eddie had a dangerous h= abit of asking useless questions, and of caring about things that didn’t matter to anybody who did matter. Intelligence was obviously the boy’s Achilles’ heel; a prissy quality which probably came from being short= and indifferent to football, or from wasting his time at school burying his nos= e in books instead of checking out the babes. He was hopelessly out of touch. An= d now Kevin found that having to defend the self-evident could be a real test of friendship.

&= nbsp;         “Wrong?&= #8221; he repeated. “Eddie, what’s wrong with wanting to own go= od things? What’s wrong with wanting to be somebody? I mean, I kn= ow it’s uncool to be greedy and selfish and all that, and to make money = into some kind of god or something, but how can it be bad to want lots of money = and all the neat stuff you can get with it, and then honestly do your thing to = earn it? What’s so great about having nothing?”

&= nbsp;         “Because it’s not your thing you’re doing. It’s their thing. Don’t you get it?”

&= nbsp;         “No, Eddie. I really, honestly, totally, truly, absolutely-positively-super-seriously don’t. If I’m earning it, why’s it their thing?”

&= nbsp;         Eddie puffed out his cheeks and stared at the gas pumps. He squinted and grimaced, rolled his eyes heavenward. Finally he exhaled.

&= nbsp;         “Look, let me explain it with an analogy. You know what I mean by analogy?”<= o:p>

&= nbsp;         Now Kevin was getting pissed. “Eddie, who the heck’s gonna be aller= gic to money?”

&= nbsp;         “No, Kevin, not an allergy. Analogy. A way to explain a certain quality using an example where it’s obvious.”

&= nbsp;         “You mean like a story or picture where you use different stuff to show what you’re trying to get across?”

&= nbsp;         “That= 217;s close enough. In this analogy I’ll use dogs, okay? Okay. So here we’ve all these dogs in this house, and the dogs’ master comes = up like he does every day, with a big box of Liver Snaps in his hand. And he s= ays to the first dog, ‘Speak!’ The first dog goes ‘yap! yap! yap!’ and his master gives him a Liver Snap. The master says to the n= ext dog, ‘Play dead!’ Down goes the second dog like he’s been shot. Then he jumps back up to get his goodie. The master moves down the li= ne of dogs, going, ‘Fetch! Heel! Roll over!’ and each dog obeys and gets a Liver Snap. Finally he comes to the last dog and he says, ‘Sha= ke hands!’ But this dog just looks at him as if to say, ‘Go shake = your own fucking hand.’ The master freaks out. ‘Bad dog!’ he s= ays. ‘Bad, bad, ba-a-a-ad dog! No Liver Snaps for you until you behave!’ And he walks away shaking his head and wondering just what t= he heck’s wrong with that dog anyway, and trying to figure out so= me kind of punishment that’ll straighten him out. Now, all the other dogs are tripping on this dog who won’t behave, and laughing at him. They = think he’s too stupid to perform simple tricks. Anyways, they’re all = fat and happy, and have more important things to think about, like when the next Liver Snap’s coming. So time goes by and the good dogs get better at their tricks, and hang around snoozing on their cozy circumstances, knowing= how choice it can be for a good dog, and how the meaning of life is just a Liver Snap away. But the bad dog refuses to perform, and he gets scrawny and isolated. Eventually he dies, with only his dignity for company, and the ho= use breathes a sigh of relief. More time passes. The good dogs have puppies, and the puppies grow up learning the same tricks by imitating their parents, who are now slow and clumsy and can’t compete with the young dogs. But the master doesn’t care about the old dogs anymore. The old dogs are bad = dogs because they don’t perform with the enthusiasm of the young ones, and anyway Liver Snaps don’t grow on trees. The old dogs begin to feel the pinch. So what do they do? They tell the young dogs a story about this wise= old dog who wasn’t greedy, but instead had the self-respect to not jump up and down making a fool out of himself on account of a lousy Liver Snap, for Christ’s sake. The young dogs are made to feel guilty, so out of a ki= nd of peer pressure they try to not make a big thing out of performing, but secretly they dream of pigging out on Liver Snaps, and wish the old dogs wo= uld just hurry up and die.” Eddie paused, all the frustration gone from h= is expression now, his winsome features made even more so by that rare gratification that can only come from giving the priceless gift of insight. “So now do you see what I mean about dignity, and about not ta= king the real world seriously?”

&= nbsp;         Kevin, chewing his lip sadly, tried to not sound condescending. “I…= guess so, Eddie. You’re trying to tell me I should feel sorry for skinny do= gs, shake hands instead of being a real prick, and never listen to my parents i= f I don’t wanna die on an empty stomach.”

&= nbsp;         Eddie’s jaw fell.

&= nbsp;         Kevin had to look down, feeling he’d overextended himself by encapsulating = in one breath what Eddie found moving enough to spin into some weird speech ab= out dreaming dogs. And, goddamn it, that was precisely why smart people always ended up looking like such fools, and why they had to be ditched in public if you didn’t want your reputation ruined: they always alienated themselves by talking about things that would bring down the happiest party in no time fl= at. Like rapping about if we were justified in going to war, one of Eddie’= ;s favorite sermons. Now, it’s no big secret that war can be a real bumm= er, and the kind of trip any happening cat doesn’t want to get into if he doesn’t have to. But…when somebody’s fucking with your country and all that, it’s like what’s the use of talking? The = guy you’re up against is rowdy because his country’s rowdy, and if = he doesn’t dig apple pie nobody’s saying he has to open his big mo= uth in the first place. If you love peace, if you care about your fellow man, t= hen you gotta be ready to kick his ass to prove it. Everybody knows that, wheth= er they want to make speeches about it or not. Sitting on your thumb discus= sing your differences is like John Wayne playing Confucius to Genghis Khan. A co= uple of pithy maxims and slash: no more John Wayne. Or like babes: what the hell good are books and speeches when you’re dealing = with a hefty pair of knockers in a fuzzy pink sweater? The very thought caused Kevin’s palms to perspire, and he wondered if Eddie, finding himself alone with a hot and long-legged bunny, would respond with a sermon about s= ex being wrong. All real men know intelligence is a turn-off to chicks, and like a total insult to what it means to be a Guy in the first place. And that’s why the smart kids in school hang out in the library instead of joining the crowd: it’s a way to avoid getting your ass kicked for being intellig= ent. But Kevin liked Eddie, and respected him despite his flaws. In the e= nd, Kevin realized, you simply can not argue with intelligent people!= You can only feel sorry for them. Furthermore, Kevin was painfully dependent on= a reciprocal relationship with Eddie, the only friend he’d ever had. So= , in the name of friendship, he now compromised himself, blushed credibly and sa= id,

&= nbsp;         “Am I warm?”

&= nbsp;         Eddie stared straight ahead without replying. After a minute he said, “You’re cooking, Kevin. But maybe I shouldn’t have been so elaborate. Too many images. Look, what I was trying to say is…a good = pet isn’t a good dog. A good pet is a dog who’s sold out. And when = I say wrong I don’t mean unprofitable or stupid. A ‘winnerR= 17; is a man who’s sold out. And the Mephistopheles in this picture is appetite. Anybody whose motivation in life is profit, or pleasure, or any k= ind of gratification not stemming from the heart, will do or say anything to get what he or she wants. It’s their instinct. They’ve total= ly fucked up the whole world since Day One, and they’re the enemy. Be= cause they want they take. That’s all the justification they need. It’s not, you’ll notice, in their nature to contribute. B= ut at least they’re not hard to spot. In fact, they’re impossible = to miss, because they want you to notice them. They wear their appetites like badges. So listen, Kevin. Any time you see somebody wearing expensive clothes, or driving a sharp car, or displaying any signs of prosperity, that guy’s telling you what his priorities are, and if he says anyt= hing like he cares about the Movement, or about people or positive values, well,= you know he’s just handing you a line of bullshit. He wants to impress you about how wealthy and successful he is, and in the same way he wants to convince you he’s basically a really deep person. See? Since he wa= nts you to believe him, there’s nothing wrong with lying to you, a= nd to him you’ll be wrong if you tell him he’s a liar, beca= use that’s not what he wants! So you’ve got to mean it when you believe in something, and use your life to help make this world a better place for everybody who lives on it. Otherwise you’d might as well wa= lk around wearing a sign that reads: ME NO KNOW. ME DUMB FUCKING HIPPIE. And you don’t want to be a public creep, do you? Of course you don’t. You see, Kevin, human bein= gs are hung up on being mammals. That means they instinctively join the crowd = and imitate everybody else. And that’s why almost all the people in this story are caricatures. They don’t, for the most part, have the balls = to develop independent identities, because it pays to be a clone among clones. What really blows me away is that it works! I mean, it’s okay for mon= keys to see and do. They’re just monkeys. But what about this marvelous advance, this human brain we’re all so proud of? Nobody uses it. Inst= ead our heroes are…what? Athletes? Why? Are we trying to outjump kangaroo= s, outrun horses, outswing chimpanzees…run and catch the ball, little hu= man! Attaboy! Good human! And let’s not forget…actors. Yeah! Let’s all worship some dink for pretending to be somebody he isn’t: somebody with character. And just look how big he is up there on the screen! Boy, am I impressed! And on and on—Homo sapiens: Man of Wisdom. Ha! Try taking wisd= om to the bank!”

&= nbsp;         “But Eddie,” Kevin interjected, “if what you say’s true, then = what are we but a bunch of monkeys for joining the Movement? We’re just a different brand of clone.”

&= nbsp;         “Uh-uh, Kevin. You’re being over-literal. We’re not taking the Movement= to the bank. A guy can be a head and still be an individual, still have merit.= You can use your mind to be a follower, if what you’re following is worth= y of being followed. That requires judgment with a proper bias, which is a requi= site of wisdom. Anyway,” Eddie closed, watching a pair of apparent twins coasting exhausted to one of the gas islands on their bicycles, “I’ve got lotsa faith in you, Kevin. I’m pretty good at gauging people, and I can tell you’ve got what it takes to be a total= ly together flower child.”

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