Speaking of Berkeley types … I lived in Berkeley during the Loma Prieta quake in ’89. On the evening of the I walked past the offices of the local commie groups (it was on the way to a fine brewing establishment) and spied a group of aging Che Guevara wannabes crowded around a little B/W TV set.

“How’s the revolution going?” I asked.

They looked up from the images of death and devastation, smiling to the point of gloating. “We’re just waiting for the oppressed masses to rise up and riot,” they replied, earnestly.