it was ready to freeze

Some memories loom larger than others:

1. During my senior year of high school, I hung around with some punk rock kids from an upscale suburb a few towns over from Woburn, mostly because of a crush I had on girl who was part of the scene. (My romantic aspirations would eventually be sunk due to my adolescent obnoxiousness, but that's neither here no there.) This was smack dab in the middle of the recession caused by the 1987 stock market tumble, and one of my conversations with the object of my desire turned to the present state of economic affairs.

"This has affected my family so hard," she told me. "My parents have to decide whether to sell our ski lodge in North Conway or our vacation cottage on Winnipesaukee." (At the time, I was living with my widowed grandmother and collecting my mother's Social Security survivors' benefits, while trying to figure out how the budget cuts were going to affect my Mass Health coverage.)

2. Right after the 1992 L.A. riots broke out, I was walking through McCormick Hall at UMass Boston when I overheard a group of three, very white and immaculately groomed students wearing all manner of political buttons exult "The revolution has started, brothers!"

3. During one of my rare appearances at a family gathering, I discover that a cousin of mine, a nice kid with a privileged upbringing and degree from an elite school, was hoping to get a job at the national headquarters of the union I happened to belong to, despite her never having worked in the environments the union operated within.

4. The death knell of grad school days came when I got into a tense debate with a professor, a white woman who commuted into the city from a tony South Shore community, that her "liberal" theories of social reform failed to take certain social realities into account, realities that could be seen up close in personal if one were to take a walk across Morrissey Boulevard and stroll Dorchester for a couple of hours. Or by simply talking to the people who were the subject of her grandiose theories.

She quickly turned nasty and refused to accept that her abstract methodology (in a friggin' social science, for Christ's sake) was flawed.

5. On my way to a dentist appointment last spring, I was on the JFK/UMass shuttle bus with a group of very white and immaculately groomed students wearing all manner of political buttons who were discussing their summer plans. "My dad's an influential lawyer, so he pulled some strings and set me up with an internship with the Socialist Workers' Party."

I'm all for a big tent. We really are in this thing together in the grand scheme of things, like it or not, and it's foolish to reject a sincere offer of help. Just don't patronize, pander, or presume based on a position of privilege. I freely acknowledge the advantages granted to me, which is why I tend to stick to a broader egalitarian view in my sermons, rather than harping over details that can be hashed out once we've leveled the playing field for all.

I still fucking hate condescending rich folks, though, and those who feel obligated to defend them. The latter, especially.

Fear - I Don't Care About You (from The Record, 1982) - But I fully expect you to follow me without question, and allow your crushed and ruined bodies to be my stepladder towards greatness.

The Dils - I Hate the Rich (from a 1977 single; collected on DIY: We're Desperate - The LA Scene: 1976-79, 1993) - But I still oppose raising the capital gains tax, just in case I do happen to become a (self-loathing) millionaire someday! Thank you, false consciousness, for making me laugh about the falures of capitalism again.