Postcards from the Counterculture: A Fosco Lives! Special Report

Unless you live in a college town, you may not be familiar with yesterday's 4/20 holiday (it's "clever" because yesterday's date was 4/20). It's that day of the year when pot smokers come together at 4:20 PM to celebrate "cannabis culture" by smoking up--often in public. It is a particularly popular holiday at two major US public universities (as noted in this article in the NY Times): University of Colorado at Boulder and (wait for it) Fosco's own University of California, Santa Cruz (UCSC). In fact, the holiday has become so closely associated with UCSC that a picture of UCSC's 4/20 event is used to illustrate the 4/20 entry on Wikipedia. (And yes, the above picture is of UCSC's mascot, the Banana Slug, smoking pot.)

The event has always been unsanctioned by UCSC, of course. However, as the holiday has become larger and more public in recent years, the UCSC administration has become more concerned about the questionable PR. This year, UCSC sent an email to the parents of all first-year students asking them to discourage their sons or daughters from participating. As the email suggested (with keen insight into the mind of today's youth):

"I encourage you to talk with your student about his or her plans for 4/20. Ask direct questions about the choices they make and express your expectations regarding marijuana, alcohol or other drug use. Although students may not initiate discussion on this topic, your opinions and expectations can influence their behavior."

"Golly, Beaver, I sure hope you aren't planning to take the pot on April 20th. Remember that anyone who offers you drugs is not a true friend."

But that was just Prong ONE of UCSC's two-pronged attack on 4/20. Prong TWO was to essentially shut down the campus for the whole afternoon, in an attempt to prevent easy access to the Porter College Meadow (traditional home of the gathering). This meant shutting down the bus routes, closing the West Entrance to campus, and beefing up parking enforcement. Of course, there was added benefit of inconveniencing any non-pot-smokers who remained on campus: "Can't get home? Blame the potheads!"

Normally, Fosco would strenuously avoid an event like this, considering that he considers any group larger than twenty-five people to be an unpleasantly large crowd. And when that group is made up of pot-smoking hippies... well, let's just say that Fosco has aesthetic objections to "cannabis culture." However, this year found Fosco in class at Porter College until 4 PM on 4/20. Essentially, Fosco was a within an easy quarter-mile walk of the whole gathering: could his inner anthropologist resist a glimpse of the spectacle? Would a giant crowd of pot-smoking hippies be enough to convince Fosco to stay on campus for an extra half hour?

Yes, of course, I went to look. You would have too. And this is what I saw...

By 4 PM, the people walking toward Porter Meadow had become a steady line (see Monterey Bay in the background?).


It's kind of like watching pot-loving ants, no? And look at the smoke cloud.


Here's a view of the line looking back from the Meadow:


One thing I didn't mention yet: this was the hottest day we've had this year. It was 97 fucking degrees. (And yes, even with my canteen of water, I was regretting the quarter-mile walk by this point--anthropology is hard.) Of course, the heat did give the Santa Cruz Sentinel the opportunity to use the "twice-baked" pun in their coverage, so I suppose it was worth it.

One option for beating the heat was to smoke in the woods that surrounds the meadow:


Other heat-beating options I observed: umbrellas, parasols, shirtlessness, sweating profusely. These photos were taken around 4:05 or so--note the giant crowd and smoke cloud.



For the first time in the history of UCSC's 4/20 event, there were some party-crashers: local Christian nutballs showed up with signs to protest. Seriously!



Don't these guys have something better to do? Like picketing AIDS funerals? Or throwing blood on abortion doctors?

This guy was my favorite:


Who would have thought that God could hate so many things! Luckily, this guy has made a list for us. Can we go to a closeup? Yes?


Let's just take a moment and convert this sign into a list.

People Who Will Be Judged (Presumably Unfavorably) By God

• Sex Addicts (tough luck, David Duchovny)
  
• Baby Killers
  
• Witches
  
• Dikes [sic] on Bikes
  
• Pencil Neck Weak Kneed Gutless Men (hmmm...)
  
• So Called Christians
  
• Pot Smoking Little Devils (Bingo!)
  
• False Religions
  
• Lewd Women (well, duh!)
  
• Porno Freaks
  
• Homos
  
• [something I can't quite read]
  
• [another something I can't quite read]
  
• Sports Nuts (Seriously?)
  
• Perverts
  
• Racists
  
• Money Lovers
  
• Two Faced People (sorry, Harvey Dent)
  
• Rebellious Women
  
• All Non-Homemakers (wow, I bet these guys get lots of dates)
  
• Party Animals
  
• Drunkards
  
• Jesus Mockers
  
• And Catholics...
  

Whew. I don't know about you, but that's the kind of God I could really get into. Watch out, Sports Nuts.

Anyway... the golden moment, 4:20 PM PDT, finally arrived and the smoke got even thicker:






These pictures don't quite capture the moment adequately--for one thing, you can't hear all of the drums. Consequently, allow me to offer the brief video that I recorded (and uploaded to YouTube):



Sadly, I cannot make this experience available to you in "Smell-O-Vision" because, as my college roommate David noted, the whole thing "must have smelled unspeakably awful." I cannot disagree.

All in all, I managed to stave off incipient heat-stroke until about 4:30 when I gave up and walked back to my car at Porter. I wasn't the only one leaving:




Caption: "We'll always have these stupid memories."

Walking back, I passed the only official UCSC presence at the event:



And what did I learn? Well, for one thing, I thought there would actually be a more communal atmosphere at this thing. I had envisioned people passing joints and conversing. Instead, everyone just broke up into their own friend groups--and most of them weren't actually very nice about it. I had kinda been expecting to be offered some smoke (not that I would have indulged), but that didn't seem to be the vibe. I've been to much friendlier football tailgates. And I've had more pot offered to me at concerts.

For another thing, I wonder how many actual UCSC students were there. Walking down, I was in front of a group from Berkeley. In the Sentinel coverage, they interviewed students from everywhere but UCSC: UC Berkeley, UC Davis, CSU-Monterey Bay, Cabrillo College. N.B., some kid from Berkeley was named in the Sentinel coverage as "Skittles." Delightful! Also suprising: I didn't see anyone I knew there. I've been at this school for three years and have a pretty large circle of acquaintances: colleagues, grad students, current students, former students, etc. Of course, it's possible that my students saw and avoided me...

Random 4/20 observations:

• You could not pay me enough to eat the vegan food being sold onsite by the Hare Krishnas.
  
• Hippie guys are not very attractive.
  
• God is surprisingly wrathful. That's probably bad news for my afterlife plans.
  
• Too many people brought their dogs (which are prohibited on campus). And too many of them were pit bulls.
  
• I thought there would be more music (of the non-bongo variety). Where were all the people I saw walking with acoustic guitars?
  
• It was SO FUCKING HOT.
  

All in all, I think I learned some important lessons. And I hope that I have created a precious anthropological record--especially for those of you who wonder what undergrad life is like nowadays.

Oh, and of course, I will NEVER do this again.

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Are Pubes Making A Comeback?

Fosco has made clear his policy on pubic hair (hint: he likes it animal style). Whether it's women or men, Fosco just can't understand why anyone would want (to have or to touch) the genitals of a ten-year-old. Maybe I'm abnormal, but I like having sex with people who look like adults. And no, the irony that Fosco Lives! is the Google destination-of-choice for Koreans searching for "pubic hair shave" is not lost on him. But last week, for just a few days, it finally looked like someone may have gotten Fosco's message.

That's because, as you probably heard, New Jersey was considering a ban on Brazilian bikini waxing. Granted the ban would have been for health reasons, after two NJ women were hospitalized for infections from Brazilian waxes. And, in a sense, it wouldn't have been a new ban so much as enforcement against an already prohibited practice (genital waxing was never actually explicitly allowed in NJ, but regulators tended to look the other way). But still, it would clearly have been a victory for the forces of follicular rationality.

Of course, this is the kind of story that bad newspapers live for. And so naturally, Rupert Murdoch's New York Post had an early Christmas party. Here are some choice excerpts from their story:

The Garden State may be extra lush this summer.
[...]
Two women were recently hospitalized for infections stemming from no-follicle-left-behind procedure
[...]
But New Jersey spa owners say officials have no business legislating what women do with their Pine Barrens.

Now that's classy journalism! Why do I suspect that there were some pretty sexist lines in the original draft of this article? Because anything that has to do with female genitalia is inherently funny! Women have different genitals! Teehee! Actually, I'll admit I kinda laughed at the "Pine Barrens" line.

But terrible jokes about lady parts aren't the only examples of regrettable rhetoric that appeared in articles about this ban. Consider how cosmetologists, waxers, spa owners, etc. (who, by all accounts, would have lost huge sums of money under the ban) decided to cast the potential effects of the ban on their clients (as per this AP article):

"It's huge," [a salon owner] said, adding that her customers don't think their bikini lines are anyone's business but their own. "It's just not right."

She said many customers would likely travel across state lines to get it and some might even try to wax themselves.

Sound familiar? Yes, standard pro-choice abortion rhetoric has been redeployed to conjure up images of back-alley waxing and home waxes gone awry. Of course, Fosco is entirely sympathetic to this rhetoric when it's applied to abortion; however, there is something about using this argument to talk about bikini waxing that seems a bit trivializing--especially since this is not government telling women what to do with their pubic hair, but rather, the regulation of a specific voluntary hygienic procedure which may, under certain circumstances, be dangerous. Women are free to wax, pluck, or shave themselves however they want; this ban would only affect practitioners who charge for a certain kind of service. In Fosco's eyes, this ban has more in common with the regulation of tattoo parlors than it does with the regulation of a woman's right to choose abortion.

But alas, in the face of opposition from the powerful salon and spa lobby, the NJ ban is dead. We can all rest assured that women in NJ are still allowed to pay people to pull out all their pubic hair by the roots! Hooray! This is a fine day for feminism. Well, except for that part where Fosco suspects that Brazilian bikini waxing is one big male fantasy (and not a very savory one) in the first place.


[Actually, to be honest, Fosco didn't really understand the difference between Brazilian and other styles of bikini waxing until he researched for this post. Shouldn't he have learned all about that in health class? Luckily, Wikipedia has pictures!]

Image Credits. Fosco actually had fun picking out the images for this post. They are

• The album cover to Amorica by The Black Crowes.
  
• Treasure Trail (2003) by fabulous American artist Marilyn Minter.
  
• Bad Boy (1981) by the occasionally hilarious Eric Fischl. And yeah, that's probably like his mom.

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Geertz, Levi-Strauss, Timberland

Fosco and Oz were watching football Sunday morning (morning football? Welcome to PST.) when Fosco stepped out of the room for a bit. When he returned, Oz had the TV paused (TiVo!) and had a big grin on his face. Oz: "You have to see this!" And then we watched George W. Bush get shoes thrown at him.



Yes, it's funny--no doubt. But equally funny has been the media coverage. Fosco particularly loves how every media outlet (and he's followed this story pretty obsessively for a day now) has to explain how being hit with a shoe is an insult in Arab culture. For example, here is the NYTimes explanation:

Hitting someone with a shoe is a deep insult in the Arab world, signifying that the person being struck is as low as the dirt underneath the sole of a shoe.

As opposed to how Western cultures view being hit by a shoe?

But the NYT as cultural anthropologist is even more helpful. Here is their explanation of the reporter's shouted words:

Compounding the insult were Mr. Zaidi’s words as he hurled his footwear at President Bush: “This is a gift from the Iraqis; this is the farewell kiss, you dog!” While calling someone a dog is universally harsh, among Arabs, who traditionally consider dogs unclean, those words were an even stronger slight.

Again, the NYT wants to make it clear: being called a "dog" is not a flattering thing. Now we know.

Although, while I make fun of this Kindergarten anthropology, I suppose there is a purpose. For one thing, it limits the Bush Administration's opportunities for spinning the incident. Just imagine:

White House Spokesperson: The liberal media has clearly misunderstood Mr. Zaidi's message and intention. It is our understanding that, in Iraqi culture, the giving of footwear is a traditional sign of gratitude. Clearly, Mr. Zaidi intended to thank Mr. Bush for bringing freedom and security to Iraq. And do I need to explain that the nickname "dog" is a popular way to express affection within African American hip-hop or college fraternity subcultures? The President would like to reply to both Mr. Zaidi and the Iraqi people: "You're welcome!"

But anyway.

The other thing that interests me about this incident is the ineffectiveness of the President's Secret Service detail. Seriously: I've always been told that the Secret Service is, like, a gang of ninjas. Why didn't an agent jump in front of the second shoe? Why didn't they push Bush to the floor? Why didn't they tackle the reporter? Actually, I'm a little surprised they didn't shoot the guy before the second shoe left his hand. Is it possible the Bush's SS just doesn't care that much anymore? Are they already on Christmas break?