The sign, of course, is probably no bigger than a grocery box and does not seem to possess the
attention to detail of something manufactured by professionals, but it is black with white lettering, and I know for a fact the young guys who live in this home (demolition bait) are white and work day jobs and do not appear to be millennial techies or surfers or the kind of terrorists ready to bomb federal buildings or take out the Lincoln and Washington memorials.
After spotting this BLM sign, I became hungry to discover another. Everybody knows that BLM
participation is intense and also largely populated by young white people, even kids, and is looked
upon as a malignant force by our president and his followers. These white kids are vehemently scorned by the law and order crew in the same way hippies were despised back in the anti-Vietnam war/civil rights era by Joe 6-pack and his marauders, including those National Guard troops who murdered some students at Kent State.
So I began driving up and down every street in Cayucos, from Lucerne on the north end to Shearer on the south end, though I did not walk along the sand for several miles and perhaps missed out on flags and signs in some of our sprawling and luxurious beach front homes.
Well, I never saw another BLM sign. I did come across a lone STOP THE SPREAD, WEAR A MASK
sign on a corner. I stopped counting American flags at around 120. Some of these flags hung from our new mini mansions while others were on a scattering of remaining older, simpler homes. There were Trump reelection flags and signs popping up at a steady rate, a couple Marine Corps flags, an Air Force flag, and at least ten homes had two American flags and a few had three.
I was disappointed in not finding another BLM sign. I thought there at least had to be a couple young white kids in their twenties or thirties who might put a sign up in a window, like a whole slew of young white people did back in the early 1970s in Manhattan Beach down south, which in those days was affordable to a lot of rebellious young folks of the working class.
We had peace signs and rainbow flags and when I walked or rode my bike to work as a bartender along the strand early evenings, the windows sprouted such quotations as MAKE LOVE, NOT WAR; IF YOU'RE NOT BAREFOOT THEN YOU'RE OVERDRESSED; and, most prescient, Mark Twain's,
WHENEVER YOU FIND YOURSELF ON THE SIDE OF THE MAJORITY, IT'S TIME TO PAUSE AND REFLECT.
This was before radical gentrification turned Manhattan Beach into a place where cops helped you get home when they found you drunkenly stumbling along the street or strand to now putting you in jail so as to protect the rich folks from tainting.
I see some young folks around town, but none of them give me any indication they are inspired or
behind Black Lives Matter. I know San Luis Obispo has had some chaotic marches and protests for
Black Lives Matter in that very white town that does have some black athletes from Cal Poly. There
has been storefront damage and extortion and the shut down of highway one and harassment of diners on Higuera street, provoking law suits and ugliness among the firmly establish right wing.
They are angry and shocked, almost to apoplexy.
But, in Cayucos, why would anybody really care? We are so far detached from such mayhem, so
isolated in our comfort, so entrenched in our languid contentment of lacking little if nothing, and most of us, like me, are old, and most of the old timers here like Trump and find Black Lives Matter
offensive and threatening to their security and certainly deserving of firm law and order.
Old scrunched up boomers sit at tables outside of coffee shops outraged and stunned and utterly
confused by the protests, which are classified as riots consisting of disrespectful millennial delinquents knowing nothing of life's true hardships and unappreciative of THEIR climbs to success and financial security in perhaps the most opportunistic generation in our history.
When thing were easy and college was cheap and sometimes free and we did a lot of our own
Cayucos has become too clean and sterile. And there's something dirty, though vibrant about the BLM crew, kind of like those dirty hippies back in the day, with their ugly clothes and the young women growing hair under their arms—YUCK!
Though many of those girls, with names like Sky and Sunshine, ended up behind white picket fences and, along with their husbands (boomers), now drive BMWs and complain about heavy taxation and big government and the disgusting sight of supposedly homeless ne'er do wells occupying areas on the seawall and parking lots and perhaps influencing their grandchildren in a negative and corrupting manner.
Anyway, as Trump flags continue to pop up seemingly everywhere, a Biden sign did appear the other day on a Pacific Avenue front lawn, and Becky and Bert Adams added one more BLM sign. So we have two.
Like shooting a bull moose with a pea shooter.