No teeth? No problem.

On my lunch break I went to a discount store to get some cheap snacks for an upcoming camping trip. There were some goofy-acting hobos on the sidewalk huddled around a shopping cart, two women and a bearded man. I noticed the sidewalk below them was littered with some kind of nut or bag snack or junk food. They were all sharing the food from the container, sticking their grubby hands in, talking and eating at the same time. The man had no teeth and he was chewing on the foodstuff (Fiddle Faddle? Poppycock?) happily as it fell out of his mouth. Quite a surreal sight.

I am more apt to donate money to the homeless when they do a little something for the coins. I once gladly gave some change to a Berkeley streetpunk because he played me a little jig on a pennywhistle, reading the sheetmusic. When the homeless do something creative or inventive or clever, it isn't just a handout, it's an exchange of pocket change for spectacle, amusement, entertainment. They're more like buskers than aggressively-panhandling homeless folks then. I think they feel better too that they earned the money rather than just being given it because of their shitty situation. But I suppose you have to be somewhat clean and reputable and not flat-out shit-crazy to be a street performer rather than a bum. Street performers can be eccentric or different but not certifiable, schizophrenic, or smelly to high heaven. I once saw an old hobo shaking crap out of his pantleg in Fisherman's Wharf, San Francisco, and didn't know if he was doing some kind of Tom Green-esque performance art, or just shaking shit out of his pantleg. Turned out to be the latter. But I was almost tempted to throw him some coin for his "performance."

I'm all for social shake-ups, well-dressed bowler hat-wearing screaming Japanese men, pranks, flashmobs, anything that knocks us out of our linear, rational, socially acceptable trajectory to ruffle a few feathers. I mean, hell, it's why we leave our domiciles in the first place. You never know what's gonna happen out there. But, please, homelessfolk, don't be aggressive and follow me into a store where I'll get some change from my purchase (San Francisco style). Do something creative, give people a little chuckle. You have time on your hands -- come up with something. You may be livin' on Fiddle Faddle, fountainwater and jugwine, but it doesn't mean you can't be the sad clown of life bolting down the beach while pissing, chasing seagulls, and yelling about Husserl's phenomenology, now does it?

(PS: Hey kids -- wanna feel really weird and goofy without doing that dangerous self-strangulation cheap at-home high thing (Space Monkey, I believe it's called), huffing Scotchgard, or robotripping on cough syrup? Just say "Fiddle Faddle" a bunch of times until it becomes meaningless, absurd, and bizarre. Or watch The Matrix Reloaded with French voice-overs without you knowing/speaking a word of French, as I did this evening! What the hell is going on?! Love it!)