Real angels don’t drop bombs - in progress
It is warm and sunny, really hot for the Embarcadero, a soft, pleasant breeze caressing us. We have the numbers action ready, along with quarter page info sheets. On one side of the sheet, we list some facts about the Blue Angels; on the other side, info about “Sir No Sir” that is playing 3 times today for free.
We have 2 other actions planned for later today: one a banner drop over the Golden Gate Bridge and then this evening, bannering at the site where the pilots will be gathering to trade their signatures for the illusion of power, as they attempt to trick jet-dazzled youngsters into signing their lives, along with their humanity, away.
But now, we are handing out the number to the hoards of visitors and locals alike. We are all struck with the quantity of U.S. soldiers walking around are normally soldier-free fair city.
They break our hearts, for they seem so small, so young, so innocent, so pleased with themselves like a child that has finally mastered tying her shoelaces. They are killers, trained to kill, ready to kill, willing to kill. Not one refuses to take the “Sir No Sir” flyer from our hands.
We tell them the dvd is free for active military; we urge them to show the dvd on their base. Their faces light up like the winner at a carnival game, as they politely say “yes ma’am” while they receive the flyer.
Judy is brilliant, sexy, and so charming as she attempts to paint peace symbols on the faces of passersby. Her goal is to get at least one soldier to get his face painted.
We are so engrossed in our public, we are late for our next action. We rush to make it on the bridge before the ‘angels’ begin their appalling show. There is so much traffic, the hoards of privileged on whom the bombs have never fallen, eagerly lining the streets, double & triple parking, even riding bikes, to thrill at the mass murderer bombers dumping pollution and consuming our precious resources as they soar overhead. We reach the bridge as everyone is leaving – the show has ended. The masses are off to their next mindless destination.
We regroup at Judy’s; her boyfriend has cooked for us and we are touching up our banner “Real Angels do NOT drop bombs”. We are determined not to be late for the pilots when they touch the ground at the pier.