I handwashed three loads of laundry with a washboard and a big metal basin. The whole loft smelled like a steaming vat of synthetic mountainside springtime. I felt so bohemian, stringing clotheslines across my bedroom in my painted-up button-down, some Jimmy Hendrix album sc-sc-scratching on a record player in the background. It felt like a throwback to another era, nearly an idyllic moment, but I was wrenched from bliss by the resounding chorus in my head: should have been twenty forty years ago. That's when things were happening, man.
Peace, love, protest, drugs, rights... It's like we've got to find something to bring us together. A generation organized in twos and threes and tens and twenties will never revolutionize, and a cult of underfed Williamsburg suburbanites living off their parents' trust funds can hardly qualify as a counterculture.
3 comments:
There were a lot of bad things, though, about that time -- a horrible war, women and minorities didn't have the rights they have today -- personally, I'm glad they fought the fight for us!
the real counterculture is based out of the Upper East Side. Come visit--- it's Molotov Monday next week.
It's Mike Segal by the way.
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