It's even better with the German subtitles!

In this episode, Boomer steals a black man's wallet.

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Though I regretted my mistake, it was hardly a disaster, given that my primary purpose in going to Pittsburgh was to visit my parents, who still live in the same 'upper-middle-class' suburb (by Midwestern standards, of course) where I grew up. I was also excited to spend time in their garden, which I had not seen this growing season.

Saturday morning was overcast and drizzling, which did not prevent me from admiring a patch of orange gerbera. At first I thought they were zinnia, but my father corrected me after (to my slight horror) he retrieved the plastic identification card from the ground where they were planted. 'I bought them at _____,' he said without a trace of irony, referring to the notorious 'big-box retailer.'

I was amazed at how tall the Dawn Redwood had grown, which made me relieved that Stephen and I had opted for a columnar version of the tree in our own garden. My parents' garden is structurally anchored by a series of birch and pine trees, which is also similar to our New York City garden (if you substitute 'one' for 'a series of' and 'spruce' for 'pine.') I found this comforting, as if it proved that a shared aesthetic could endure across generations, when so much else that I have admired seems headed into the fires of obscurity.

As pleased as I was by this thought, when I strayed from under the dripping boughs of the evergreens, I could not help but contrast the sepulchral silence I encountered on the street to what I imagined downtown a day earlier. It occurred to me that perhaps future G-20 protest marches should be routed through the outlying suburbs, which are so often populated by the worst offenders in terms of egregious consumption and bland uniformity (i.e., the very things I crave on a daily basis in Washington Heights).

That afternoon, Jennifer picked me up and we went out for coffee at a nearby shop (but not at ____, which is not to say I never go there). She heatedly described not only the intensity of the marches in which she had participated (both the sanctioned and unsanctioned events) as well as her frustration with those she had met in the meantime who had asked her: 'Exactly what were you protesting, anyway?'

She described the terror of being corralled into small spaces (although in one case this included a functioning bar, somewhat awesomely) and being subjected to the 'sonic canon' and tear gas, along with having the surreal sense of being in a 'war zone' as a result of the circling helicopters and advancing battalions of robotic militia. This predictably led to a wider discussion of our disillusionment with the Democratic leadership and speculation of a Santorum/Palin candidacy in 2012. Santorum, of course, has roots in Western Pennsylvania. By the time Jennifer dropped me off at my parents' house, I was exhilarated, agitated and despondent all at once.

I returned to the garden and wondered if I could ever be overtly 'political' again, the way I had been years earlier, when I had lived in Washington, D.C. and protested ___ and ____ and ____. (Oh right, and ___.) Had any of it done any good? It's hard to say, at least in practical terms. Having recently watched Easy Rider, I felt as if-more than ever-I could identify with Peter Fonda's concluding sentiment of having 'blown it,' even if I can't specify exactly what 'it' is.

As I listened to the rain and observed the nearby trees and plants, I tried to reconcile my love for the ornate and pervasive pessimism of the likes of Arthur Schopenhauer-AKA, the hater of Hegel and 'the bitchiest queen' of all the great philosophers-with a subsequent admiration I hold for the more expansive and optimistic notions of solidarity expressed in the work of Richard Rorty. I knew it would be impossible, but as I considered a hemlock in the waning light, it didn't seem to matter, either; for a second, the beautiful ambivalence of this tiny piece of nature felt like the best protest of all.

Previously: Grapes

Matthew Gallaway is a writer who lives in Washington Heights. His first novel, 'The Metropolis Case,' will be published in 2010 by Crown. The G-20 photos by Jennifer Baron, who is an artist and writer who lives in Pittsburgh. She is the editor of the Pittsburgh Signs Project.

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On this, we can all agree. Who's not mad? This could have been taken at any town hall in August.

This is, I think, a conceptual statement from the left that is the equivalent of "Drill, baby, drill."

Well, yikes! Pretty much exactly what John Bolton thought about the UN, though, to be honest.

I do not know what would possess anyone to demonstrate on behalf of the metric system. I think the right-Libertarians are divided on this issue-some think it is bad, and the Europeanification of America by NATO. But I think Ayn Rand would approve.

Annnd then there is some divergence!

This, also, is not something we saw at the town halls. Um, well, you are going to get really clubbed.

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Demonstrators, well, they get what you'd expect them to get: teargas and sonic weapons. There is some impressive footwork displayed here, of demonstrators kicking teargas canisters back at the cops!

Also here is a weird video of military people hustling some dude into an unmarked car and taking off with him. Neat.

And the above is how a group of cops in riot gear decide to dispose of two annoying hippies. Clubbing helps, I find.

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Live from beautiful downtown Pittsburgh.... well, don't try and get a grande latte, world leaders! Don't try anything in fact. Da Picksburgh is ready for you.

Well, Greenpeace has arrived! They are the kings of making really big banners. That is one big banner!

The highlight of the G20 will be the mowing down of adorable children.

Some people would like the world to know that some obscure Buddhist prophet is going to save you, even though Buddhists don't recruit, except I guess they do.

Some people who like Jesus are not crazy loons!

These people would like some international bike lanes installed across the Atlantic or something.

The streets are adorned with poetry!

And boards.

On one thing we can all agree: buses SUCK. They suck so hard. Screw you, buses! Take back the buses, the night does not belong to buses!

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