I believe it was Bob Sinclair who a few years ago penned the words; “Feel the love generation yeah yeah yeah yeah” in his popular hit song, ‘Love Generation’. I begin this entry with these words not because my experiences over the first few weeks of living in America have reminded me of a small blonde boy riding a bicycle, but because since arriving in the U.S. I have felt welcomed. Certainly more so than I would have done in London, where the stranger approaching to ask for directions/the time/ a lighter fills the average Englishman with fear and dread. The minute I set foot in San Francisco, the self-proclaimed ‘city of love’ a girl approached me not, as I immediately thought to rob me or offer me cocaine but to kindly tell me that ‘your dress is riding UP your arse crack’. Aside from feeling humiliated that this event was taking place before crowds of people at the BART station, I also felt a warm sense of gratitude-something rarely experienced ‘back home’.
No more was the love felt than a few weeks ago when I found myself surrounded by hundreds of scantily clad men and women off their tits on a variety of substances all in the name of LOVE. Branded ‘the worlds biggest dance event’ the San Francisco LoveEvolution is now in its sixth year, and thanks to a nice group of Americans that I had met the previous week, I was able to join the party. Born romantics; avert your eyes, LoveEvolution is not the Jane Austen revelry of yesteryear. Indeed, I recall the afternoon in a warm fuzzy haze, but thanks to the vodka that had to be hastily decanted on the sidewalk. Men groping drunk women, naked people falling from floats, ecstasy fuelled snogging and a dance soundtrack that can only be enjoyed if your well and truly slaughtered*. And all this took place by the steps to City Hall.
Unsurprisingly, Sunday began pretty slowly. It continued in the same way with Hardly Strictly Bluegrass in a breezy Golden Gate Park. We joined groups of middle-aged folk fans and watched Billy Bragg sing about debt and slag off Arnie. The crowd were needless to say, easy to please. I was too after a misguided chocolate truffle that made everything go very Fear and Loathing-not good when surrounded by turbans, hoops and other hippy paraphernalia. I went to bed and put it down to good experience.
Love continues to abound here on the West Coast but the honeymoon period is over. Just today, while strolling to class I overheard a freshman ask incredulously, “So you’re going to fuck him?” To which she replied, “No im not going to fuck him. I don’t know who im going to fuck. But I’ll fuck somebody.” And that’s why I like Americans. They’re open-minded.
* I think I may be blowing things out of proportion here, but then again it may just be the vodka talking. All I know is THINGS GOT CRAZY.
