Public Comment

Thanksgiving, Berkeley. Teley goes dark and the streets empty of "all the lonely people...where did they all come from...where do they belong?" 

You can walk down the desert of Shattuck or Telegraph and see Berkeley slip-sided away. Did the madding street scene ever really happen? 

The starkly homeless emerge in bas relief, the gritty backbone of Berkeley. 

As our streets empty, our neighbor churches fill with prayers to the gods. 

Among those gods is, conceivably, the God of Berkeley. We'll call him, Dude, as his name is uttered on every street corner in this blessed berg. 

For this year's Thanksgiving fest, I immodestly offer this orison for the irreverent: 

Oh Dude, hear our prayer 

The Dude abideth 

We seek not abundance, self-wealth, 

Or any blandishments of our times 

We seek your majestic justice; 

The acceptance of our own ideas, 

and the defeat of opposing ideas 

We seek not to "all get along here," 

But to make others move along 

But mostly, oh Dude, 

We give thanks for our lives 

Here in Berkeley 

We will avoid leaving the protective 

Safety net of Berkeley in fear for our souls 

Way Yay though we pass through the canyons 

That once were streets, 

We will not fear a mugging 

Even though you won't arrive 

Dude, we know we have sinned against you 

Avoiding our Dude commandments 

And your dudely ways 

Berkeley remains our strength 

Our inspiration, our very lives. 

Today, we eat the bird 

Tomorrow, the bird will be flipped us. 

You would understand, oh Dude 

But Dude, we wouldn't have it 

Any other way 

It's all good 

From Berkeley 

Ahhh…(wo) men!