My Town (through my eyes, old and bent)

Not wanting to raid Renee's treasure trove again, just yet, Friday has become Cellphone Camera Day here!


The bumper-sticker reads "911 Was An Inside Job".

Something tells me there's no meth lab behind that door. But I bet you could find some pot or something rasta-similar.


When I was 20 and was writing similar graffiti, I went to jail.

No, no, I mean I did it at the jail. Covered one wall with "S.O.S." and other messages, comparing the cops to the "S.S." Why so many "s"'s , I don't know. I used a circled A, too I'm sure. And I remember realizing the next day that there was a video camera trained on me the whole time (this was in 1984).

Yeahboy. Back in the day, if we wanted to take the message to the man, we took it to the MAN.

(Of course it's better to see such coarse, sophomoric sentiment and rotten looking writing on the side of a dumpster in an alley, now. I mean especially if you're a repu repub *cough* reputable, sober citizen like me, at age 44).


There are many of these posting cylinders around the downtown area. They're very active and well up to date, mostly with ads for music shows, lectures, charity events, etc. People will argue over prime space, and it's a no-no to cover up someone else's sign of course, or to double post.

These duplicate signs read: "824 Tenured Faculty. Only 24 are black. Only 13 are Hispanic.

"Black and Gold?" (I suppose those are the schools team colors)

"Mostly just White."

Work was just a half day again today, so I felt I owned the day after 12. Walking around downtown is nice, especially now that I run into so many people I actually know and like to talk to. There is a window-shop type gait people have, not a hustle-bustling on Friday afternoons. So many people in groups of three or four, laughing on their way to lunch or a drink. I looked into the barber shop and then attempted to see my reflection in the window, to see if I needed a cut. Luke on the other side figured that out pretty quick, and shook his head, honest (or tired) barber he is. Not yet. I shrugged, like, "you know?" Because you really don't know.

And what the hell am I thinking anyway. I can't afford a haircut until next Friday anyway.

Thanks for visiting, I'll be back on Monday I hope, and all sorts of cheerfulness will break through here.