Your guess is as good as mine on this one.
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titties
Some writers will tell you there is a finite amount of editing you can do before you cut the soul out of your work. They will say that at some point you have to stop with the rewrites, stop with the second guessing, stop with the over analyzing and just send it off. Another school of thought is that you can’t edit enough and that a deadline and printing press are the only reasons you should stop revising your work. While walking around in Dogtown I found what can only be described as the most perfectly edited piece of public literature, perhaps in the entire history of the written word.
The author didn’t waste time with useless story, didn’t get bogged down by lofty purpose, and avoided every possible extraneous word. There’s no question about what is being described, and it’s written in such a way that a child could instantly understand it, while not catering to that demographic. A senior citizen would have no problem deciphering the intent. But what of the message itself? It’s something everyone can support and rally behind. Blind to lines created by politics or religion or race. It’s a flag anyone can wave, and proudly.
Most notably, the author didn’t even care to take credit for this masterpiece. There’s no signature or attribution to speak of. It’s as if this is a gift from some anonymous scribe to the world, asking nothing in return. We can all learn something from the selflessness of this message. I know I have.
Leftovers
I don’t think anyone can be held responsible for what happened last night. Not after the 7th bottle of wine anyway. Regardless, none of it was my idea. I can swear by that at least. So if you do have to start pointing fingers at people just be sure to point them somewhere else. Who invited those girls anyway? I thought they were friends with one of the neighbors but Mr. and Mrs. Every-god-damn-thing-is-an-issue were over here first thing this morning complaining so that theory is right out. All I know is they weren’t there at first, but after they showed up it was as it they’d been here the entire time. As if they were supposed to be here. Like everyone expected them to be. And they kind of did, after a while anyway.
Now I can’t even remember their names, but last night I would have told you they were my closest friends on the planet. And I’d have meant it. Even with all that monkey business. It’s weird because I honestly never want to see them again, and at the same time I’m going to be disappointed when I walk into the living room and they aren’t there. Don’t look at me like that! I already said it wasn’t my idea.
swimming with sharks
It used to be such a nice, quaint neighborhood. There were flowers and landscaping, welcome mats and ornamental mailboxes. On weekend, wives would bring lemonade on a tray out to their husbands while they washed the family car by hand. It used to be a place you where you never thought about if it was safe, because you just knew it was. That changed after the war, kids playing in yards were replaced by gangbangers standing on corners. Pitbulls replaced poodles. Windowsills with cooling pies were replaced by wrought iron bars. And the graffiti. That was the worst. The thugs occasionally went inside, but their tags were ever present. A clear sign to anyone passing through telling them exactly who was in charge around here.
No Glove No Love
“Is that a banana in your pocket or… oh, it is a banana. Figures.”
Cristal is the hooker that works the block in front of my apartment in the Mission. I feel like that should be a weird thing to say but when I think of the places I’ve called home over the years it’s anything but. Frighteningly normal even. Cristal is friendly enough, she knows I’m not client material so has no need to front and always has something to say. And the fact that she is missing several teeth hasn’t seemed to impact her sense of humor in the least.
Fake Camels
Anyone who tells you they know what is going on in Japan is totally full of shit. Even if they live there, and even if they are Japanese. I mean look at this – so cats and dogs dressed up as camels is pretty normal but that zebra isn’t fooling anyone. The camel humps don’t even match! It’s like he thinks we’re all too stupid to notice that 90% of his body is all black and white and striped but these big humps on his back are just naturally brown. I guess you could argue they were dyed but it’s not inconspicuous in the least.
And what’s the motive behind this anyway? It’s not like camels live some life of luxury that zebras could only dream of having. If anything zebras have it better off because you know there’s some elementary school kids in the midwest who they are pretty much the same thing as unicorns. Hell those kids probably think they can fly anyway. I mean, I guess there’s all those lions and stuff to look out for but surely there’s a better way to avoid them then some bullshit camel costume. Goddamn zebras.
No Standing on Motorcycles
Murderers. Rapists. Thieves. Gangs. Drugs. Holiday yard decorations.
Cities have a lot of problems to deal with, and arguably the worst of the worst is that filthy cesspool known as Santa Barbara. While Santa Barbarians have to deal with these problems, they also have an added horror that shocks and awes even the most jaded city dwellers. Motorcycle acrobatics. The streets there are thick with these punks taking their lives into their own hands, throwing safety to the wind and riding to and from on motorcycles while standing on the seats. It’s a goddamn shame really.
Obviously, it’s extremely difficult to reach the brakes but also do you know how much it sucks to get hit in the face by a motionless stop light hanging over a street that you are traveling down in excess of 45 miles per hour? If you are lucky you don’t, but if you live in Santa Barbara chances are you know all too well. These signs show that law enforcement clearly has a zero tolerance policy and isn’t afraid to play hardball.
I still hate Morrisey
I shot this photo in early 2008 while walking around NYC. This was only a few weeks after the then current administration has signed the United States Allegiance to Morrisey Act 2008 into law in their reactionary efforts to get a nation full of whiny emo kids to just shut the hell up already. As you know the act basically made it illegal to do anything except worship every sound that ever came out of Morrisey’s mouth and generally rambled on for 173 pages about what a genius the guy was. This hastily written voice of dissent was the epitome of what many Americans where thinking, but too afraid to say. While it was revoked a few months later, those 4 months when it was in effect were unforgettable.