ridiculous village of hypocrites

That's right, you know what town I'm talking about...


BERKELEY


My reunion was last month, and I was delighted to use the excuse to get back in touch with many amazing, warm and deeply good people. Last Sunday, a few of us went to see Yellow Jackets at the Berkeley Rep. The play got poor reviews, but since it was about our high school around the time we were there, it seemed worth the $40 (yikes!).

The play started a bit disjointedly. A series of disconnected scenes introduced us a series of characters who we didn't know the relationship among. They presented interesting stories themselves, but it hardly seemed like it would sustain an entire play. Then, right before the intermission, a story began to reveal itself. I was on the edge of my seat.

Everything about the play was so familiar: the tracking problem, the teachers and the administration and their dynamic, the buildings discussed, the pranks completed, even the slang I knew. I completely suspended disbelieve without being conscious of it. Art imitates life, and life imitates art; this art reminded me of things I don't mind remembering but that live in my memory beneath layers of things I'm dying to forget.

During the play, I was completely right there. This state continued even when the end went on too long. But now, thinking back, I loved that sound bite:
"...this ridiculous village of hypocrites..."
I paraphrase the response: This is where you are from, and this will always be where you are from. So, you might as well deal with it.
I loved grad school at Berkeley. It might be the best thing that ever happened to me, as well as the most challenging, but the town and its townies (with many exceptions) frighten me. I don't want to spend too much time there partly because I think I am allergic to the air quality and party because the politics and social dynamics make me feel like a pile of rotting fruit.

My friends from HS remain awesome tho. The play will give you a vivid picture of my experience coming of age.