in.ruins

I discovered the photography of Yves Marchand & Roman Meffrey via The Post Family website this afternoon. Their photographs documenting the urban ruins of Detriot immediately caught my eye. They remindined me of driving through the streets with a co-worker of many years ago and thinking "how can the city which the auto industry grew upon be in such a state?"

But there it was, many abandoned structures with Tiger Stadium rising up from the ashes.

not.in.kansas.anymore

This morning I discovered the artwork of Betsy Walton via BOOOOOOOM. Betsy is an artist who was originally from Kansas and now resides in Portland Oregon. I love the simplicity of her website and her pieces which have a sense of dark whimsy to me- plus they are extremely affordable I might ad.

oh.shit

Having a pet, especially a small cute dog generally bridges any type of social awkwardness that may exist. Crazies from Somerset Place often times quiver with delight when they see Luke, our roommate's Jack-A-Bee.

I received a phone call from Martzipan asking if I might be able to let Luke out this evening as he wasn't sure he'd be home at his usual time. I only had to utter the word "outside" to Luke and he leapt up from his perch on the sofa and excitedly pranced towards me.

Not more than mere seconds after attaching his leash and crossing the street he pooped several lil' nuggets, which frankly is better than his usual soft-serve.

As we approached Margate Park, about a block away, two young girls came running up to me. Ooh! they cooed. "Can we pet your dog?" I told them of course but that he wasn't the most social of creatures and not to be offended by his demeanor. The one girl commented on how long his nails are. The other one asked if he was "neutral" when I got him to which her friend immediately corrected her by saying "neutered".

"Yes he's neutered" I replied. They thanked me and said goodbye.

Understand that walking Luke is no day in the park per se. He is most often asphyxiating himself by pulling on his collar in a quest for any food that may have been dropped- and in this neighborhod you have to be quicker than him because there are a lot of scraps to be found.

Quite unexpededly on our way home Luke decided to make another present. I was mortified as I had already used the one bag I brought with me. I waited for him to finish and briskly returned home already feeling a bit like Hawthorne's tragic character Hester Prynne. I can hear the crazies chanting "guilty of leaving a dogs feces" as they slap a big brown "FO" on my chest, for "fecal-offender".

Worse yet, what if those two little girls lived inside the building that Luke pooped in front of and left a sign like the one above?

possible.prospect

Having recently subscribed to 20x200 I was mildly amused to see the Wednesday Edition feature the photography of Scott Whittle.

This image taken from his Prospect Park series reminds me of some of the images Wally and I try to capture right here in Uptown.

In fact if I had a nickel for every time I've picked up one of these plastic coverings in the past year off of the sidewalk in front of our condo I'd have at least 50 cents.

broadcast.news

Mobile phones are a wonderful invention however, like most tech items that provide convenience, they are abused. Phones keep getting smaller and sleeker, while the end-user gets louder. Don’t get me wrong I’d be a hypocrite if I weren’t admittedly guilty of not using my indoor voice while talking on the cellie- but these people literally broadcast their issues and insecurities for the entire world to hear.

When did this become commonplace or, for that matter acceptable? Spring is obviously a time of renewal but it is ridiculous how many people I’ve heard presumably breaking up via their cell phone.

Here is a sample of a conversation a male patron was having at the store I work at this morning. Props to him for getting in touch with his feelings, but no reward on his vocal delivery to an invisible recipient.

“What you were saying last night hurt my feelings…I don’t know - I’d like to change that.” pause. “See this is you always controlling the situation and that’s the problem.” I feel old school for saying this, but most city dwellers are much less likely to have land lines and use their cell phones as a primary method of communication.

So please, take it inside to your own home or better yet, make some time and meet with the person in question and talk it out- not everyone needs the broadcast news.

these.dreams

With Fringe on hiatus until early April and no sleep deprivation chambers to climb into, I've decided to send a couple of recent dreams to our Barista cum Psychoanalyst Holiday Mantis.

As an additional bonus I'm posting the message I sent to her so that you the reader may put your spin on what they mean. Hopefully Ms. Mantis will digest the recently consumed head of her mate and bestow her prophetic vision upon me...

Dream One (March 10, 2009):

Last night I had a dream that my mother took Wally and I to a non-denominational church that our neighbor in Clarence had started. I always felt that her homily’s were a bit too autobiographical for my taste, but if you can get a group of people together once a week to listen to you then you’ve got to be doing something right.

In this dream we arrived at the church and I was dressed in drag. I looked like a cross between Lily Allen and Amy Winehouse, with a bit more emphasis on the latter. I had a crazy headscarf that was keeping my wig attached, which incidentally was blond.

Suffice to say, as dreams are wont to be, it did a quick cut to me performing a song with a band. I was wearing an ill-fitting black slip dress and at the end of the number the two straps on top feel down revealing my man-chest. I ran off stage and woke up.

Dream Two (February 27, 2009):

Wally and I were living in a dicey neighborhood- I realize this is ironic as we already live in Uptown, but I guess I’ve gotten somewhat used to all the crazies. In this dream I had to run an errand and exited through the back of our apartment. The geography of the back area was like San Francisco- hilly. There in the backyard was a beautiful old school building with Neo-Grecian friezes adorning the exterior. There were pudgy Hispanic women scrubbing what appeared to be red and blue pigment off of them.

As I moved forward to get a closer look, I walked on the elevated edge of a parking structure that spiraled down like the Guggenheim Museum but from the top down. On my way down I noticed severed arms and legs swept to the side of these walls. They appeared rather fresh and I was confused as to what had occurred. I surmised that these cleaning women where actually scrubbing off blood that had gotten onto the friezes.

Somewhere between these two dreams I had another one where Elton John was detained by mall security at what I think was an alternative universe version of the Shops at North Bridge on Michigan Avenue -- he had been seen vandalizing a Lego sculpture.

What does it all mean?

tarnished.gold

Little Golden Book characters for the modern tot.

yes.please

In my voracious exploration of shelter sites I came across this wonderful gem. It makes me think of something idyllic that Wally and I would do -- if we were both trust fund babies and owned a farm, or in this case affiliated with Martha Stewart.

Beekman 1802 is a shared experiment in seasonal living. Suffice to say I got a major dose of inspiration upon visiting the site.

Plus did I mention this estate has a crypt on it?

local.color

When is it to early to enjoy a cold 40 ounce can of Miller High Life? If you answered "never" then you'd fit right in with the motley crew on Argyle this morning on my way to the "L" train. I overheard two black men talking about their lady loves. It went something like this. Man 1 "you've got to make her giggle and shit." followed by man 2 "that is fucked up"- after which he popped open his 40 and took a sip.