Solidarity

So I was watching Lou Dobbs yesterday. Lou, as per usual, was going off on the illegal immigration topic and the protest rallies across the nation. I still don't know how I feel about the whole issue. I can't even begin to understand all of the implications of this debate but I saw something that stuck with me. Here were hundreds of thousands of people coming together for a similar purpose, supporting each other. That, in and of itself, is inspiring. It also reminded me of a feeling that I had in college. One of less noble purpose but eliciting no less a visceral response. If you have never been to Blacksburg, Va., you are missing a wonderful little town. And in this town, next door to the Solar House, down the street from the Shack and Bentwood, we had our rallying point, an attainable goal, a network of support, a kegorator, and a price of admission. We had Houston Street.

For two dollars into the head of Budman, one was given a night of bottomless beer, Asshole in the kitchen, a lost hour or two listening to the Misfits or the Beasties in E. or J.'s room, and an insane collage of humanity with which to pass the time. Hippies, punks, surfer/skater grommets looking for a good time, straight folks that liked to drink and smoke, speed metal kids on acid, and freaks on everything else. Guys with mohawks, chicks scarier and tougher than their boyfriends, some girls that looked sorority, some that looked asylum, and pricks that stole shit. All manner of man and beast; yet they all fit in for two bucks.

You could fight, fuck, get drunk or otherwise twisted, play loud music and fall down the stairs. No matter what happened, the people of Houston Street would take care of you as best they could. These were misfits that formed, if not a family, then a bizarre community that shared a bit of their lives with each other and looked out for their own. There was a drunken claim of diplomatic immunity to wrangle a backseat ambulance ride with a friend that had busted his head open on the nulepost. There were massive sob-sister cry sessions when a man had done one of the women wrong. There were several vicious beatings when some dumb schmuck hit the wrong guy at a party. There were demonic rodeo clown fashion shows, screaming matches that began with "You know what your problem is", and facial assaults with Magic Markers. There was always the next day to do it over again.

So as I was watching this diverse, teaming mass of humanity march in unity, I knew it was not for the next pull on the keg or game at video hockey. It was for a higher goal that had brought them together, one that had no next day to look to, and one I really can't understand. But I did understand the kind of group they had formed. It was an ad hoc group of different people looking for others to share one voice. E Pluribus Unum. That I get.