Back home in Berkeley

My jaunt to Lake Tahoe truly felt like time away. There was no fog, blue jays galore, the aroma of pine trees and green tea sunscreen as well as beautiful, clear, blue water. But Friday evening, barrelling down 80, I did experience a frisson of excitement at the sign flashing: Berkeley - 14 minutes.

This is my eighth year in Berkeley and I am dug in. I recommend the Derby St. farmer's market on Tuesdays, Monterey Market strawberries over Berkeley Bowl's, and the Elmwood bookstore, Mrs. Dalloway's. I worry that the opening of PaperSource on Fourth St. will hurt Castle in the Air's business; Castle has a much, much better selection of fountain pens and inks. I worship the holy trinity of Acme Bread, Cafe Fanny and Kermit Lynch, and get the cheapest gas on the corner of San Pablo and Cedar (alas, no windshield cleaners). My favorite Peet's is the original on Walnut and Rose, and I was shocked, shocked, this afternoon to find the last Hear music store papered over and shut tight.

So you see, Berkeley has all you could want and a host of treasures to discover. It has the rich, intellectual life of a university town, the political infighting of a major metropolis, and the entrenched challenges facing any urban center. I'll be telling you about the battle over relocating my beloved South Branch of the library, the new school year at Malcolm X Arts Elementary School (where the boys go) and the city's other public schools, and the kerfuffle surrounding the plans to open a Trader Joe's on MLK and University that's just starting to escalate. One concerned neighbor is already worried about the potentially crippling traffic jams on Big Game Saturdays.

Relocating to the East Bay after years of living in San Francisco was more of a homecoming than a move. Both my parents grew up in Berkeley -- my mother was elected student body president at Garfield Middle School (now King Middle School, renowned for Alice Water's Edible Garden project) and my father played baseball and the trombone at Berkeley High. Following a tradition that continues to this day, mi padre actually lived in Oakland, but used a Berkeley address (either his grandparents' or his aunt's) to attend the Berkeley schools. His parents and extended family moved to Berkeley and Oakland during the 30's and 40's, migrating from Guthrie, Oklahoma. I live around the corner from my great-aunt's hardware store on Sacramento St., which remained in business until she and my Uncle Bill passed away in the early 90's. I love Berkeley, it feels like home. Except for all that navy blue and gold.

As anyone who's lived in a college town knows, summers are golden since the students go home! In Berkeley, early June is marked by huge numbers of U-Haul trucks and varied pieces of furniture and household items abandoned on the sidewalks for the city's trash collectors to pick up. But the real booty is what's left behind in the dorms -- clothing and books, sure; but the current student body has no qualms abandoning land line and cell phones, old printers and computers, microwaves, mini-refrigerators, coffeemakers, etc. It's like they load all they can (or want) into their mode of transport and abandon the rest as though a magic mover will come in and clean up the remains. Quite a change from decades past -- is it that today's students are used to being taken care of and don't register they need to clean up their mess? That they assume they're in a disposable environment and have no sense of what these items are worth? Hard to gauge, but this is happening on college campuses across the country, adding to the already taxing end of the year workload of experienced administrators while leaving them baffled about how to change the wasteful behavior. Lots of concern about this generation of undergraduates and twentysomethings, and I'll be posting on this subject from time to time. What does it mean for us (the legions of boomers) that we'll be relying on a generation of coddled, self-absorbed workers who have little experience handling any sort of adversity and expectations that they'll achieve at least as much as their parents? Will they be able to support us all? Or will Rome be burning?

On a happier note -- Bonds broke the home run record while I was away, and I missed all news of the event. But thanks to the wonders of technology, I can access as much print and visual coverage as I'd like right here in my own home! Thanks to the Internet, I can also read a virtual edition of the Sunday New York Times, and Woody Allen has a powerful, deeply felt tribute to Ingmar Bergman in the Arts and Leisure section. Reading it, I got why Bergman was such an innovative voice and I was impressed, yet again, with Allen's range of knowledge and his marvelous ability to capture and communicate ideas. I took special note of Allen's homage to Bergman's genius, and that he views himself, still, as the student in the presence of a master. That's such a change compared to current directors and stars, who seem so sure of their own unique talent and genius, while having such a limited understanding of the history of their craft. (I'm thinking of actors who can command astronomical salaries, like John Travolta and Bruce Willis. They pale in comparison to Paul Newman or Robert Redford, Al Pacino or Robert DeNiro -- never mind the greats like Burton or Brando -- who have created an incredible body of work, but are still out there pushing themselves in new directions). Okay, okay, I know this is the old art v. commerce argument, but you should read the article, which is titled The Man Who Asked Hard Questions.

On the book front, at Tahoe I definitely had the biggest book on the beach with Hermione Lee's Edith Wharton biography. (Hey, where were all those Harry Potter readers?) It's riveting. It's one of those works only a professor could write. It's 869 pages with notes and index. It can't be digested on the library's 21 day time frame. It's a definitive work. If I have it on my bookshelf, I can consult it whenever I want, for the rest of my life. I was an English major. I love Edith Wharton. I must have this book!!!! Okay, it's $23.10 on Amazon which is a better discount than any local, independent bookstore would have on a $35 book. I'll buy the Chabon in hardback at a local independent, I promise...

FYI, I have a feeling this week's posts will focus on pop culture. I had a dream last night I was in Gray's Anatomy. Which means ... something.