by Jim Goad
The children – dozens of them at first, then hundreds – gathered in downtown Manhattan on September 17 to change the world. For better or worse, they’re still there. They may even be multiplying.
Many of them, especially the girls, seemed too young to have so much facial hair. Many…if not most…if not all…of them who huddled together to denounce “corporate greed” seemed unemployed: Unemployed street poets, unemployed performance artists, unemployed interpretive dancers, unemployed bongo drummers, unemployed Gender Studies grads, unemployed placard-makers, unemployed graphic designers, unemployed social-media directors, and unemployed soup-makers. It was a diverse group of people who were all fully involved at being unemployed. If employed at all, it was obviously not in professions that require periodic showering and rudimentary grooming.
They came vowing they would “Occupy Wall Street,” but Wall Street wouldn’t let them, so they regrouped in a nearby park. Their ongoing near-occupation was a carnival atmosphere of mutual understanding and unforgivable aromas: There was group yoga, pillow-fighting, face-painting, meditation, banner-unfurling, ukelele-strumming, drum-beating, and – who knows? – maybe even some didgeridoo-playing, communal foot-rubbing, and a circular round of anal candling to top it all off.
There were celebrity visits from washed-up screeching beluga Rosanne Barr and the perennially aggrieved Susan Sarandon with her communist breasts. Cornel West showed up and proudly displayed his woolly hair, gleaming buckteeth, and scholarly eyeglasses. Michael Moore appeared on TV and voiced his support for the protesters, saying that some people were eating more than their fair share of the pie – and if anyone should know, it’s him.