You thought we would never change

I didn't know what kind of photo would be a good lead-in to a post that includes my selection of country to live in should That Businessman Who Won the New Hampshire Primary go on and win the presidency, but yesterday as Oliver and I drove around the big shitty, we looked up and noticed this example of graffiti at its finest. Do ya'll have these McDonald's billboards everywhere in your little or big shitties that declare some big change that's coming? Evidently, McDonald's is about to change, and we sure don't know in what way. Are they going to be paying their workers as much as their executives? Are they going to use only organic, grass-fed beef? Are they going vegan? Are they swearing off sugar sodas? Are they going to stop exploiting third world countries? Are they going to work in earnest to reverse the travesty that is the American diet and food/agriculture system?

In any case, the graffiti artist known as Thrasher (according to one of my dear friends, this person unfortunately defaced her property several months ago) has answered the question quite well.

J.K.
LOL.



As I type this, I realize just how perfect that photo is -- you know -- the McDonald's, The Donald, etc.  for this post. Sweet Jesus, I wish we could just all text each other laughing emojis and text JKs and LOLs after yesterday's primary in New Hampshire.*

Remember back in the good old days of Romney/Obama when folks of a certain political persuasion kept whining how they wanted their country back?

Yikes. I know how they feel.

Mary Moon at Bless Our Hearts suggested we all start thinking about what country we might want to live in should That Businessman win, emphasizing that Mexico would work because of that wall that The Businessman would erect that would not only keep the Mexicans out but would also serve to keep those Americans that voted for The Businessman away from us as well. Hmmmm. Mexico? I'm still hankering for a trip to Bora Bora, to tell you the truth.  I imagine I could still work My New Job from such a remote location, and Sophie would love living in a little hut over the ocean. I do love this country, but I can't say that I love the people in it that would vote in a primary for such a hateful, ugly fool. There. I said it.

JK
LOL


Now I'm going to do a little research and see if McDonald's has conquered Bora Bora, yet. If not, you'll know where to find me.








*I'm talking about the results of the Republican primary, of course. If you're a new reader, you should be aware that this is a COMMUNIST site. As for the Democratic primary, I'm not ready to commit but am leaning toward the one whose name rhymes with Flanders.

Click and Read and Listen

It was Oliver that pointed to the billboard that you see above and noted the grafitti on it. What the hell? the three of us thought, quite rightfully. Even the Special Olympics isn't immune to slur, evidently. Because it's all too much sometimes, why don't we talk about books or things that we're listening to? Have you heard about Serial? It's a podcast produced by Ira Glass of This American Life, and it's utterly addictive. My eons and aeons in the car on the Ventura Highway have never been more enjoyable. It helps, too, when the skies are a brilliant blue, a near-full moon rises and the clouds are a bank of fluff.

Even Beverly Hills, that absurd suburb of luxury cars, plastic surgery, boutiques and paparazzi looks downright cheerful if you're listening to a murder mystery in your sexy Mazda.

Yes, that's Santa and his raindeer flying right over Wilshire Blvd. Or do you like this shot better?

I haven't been too entertaining over the last few days, and if I've offended anyone with my rants -- well -- I won't apologize because it's nothing personal. I'm just trying -- albeit in a very public way -- to work through a lot of conflict, both external and internal.

What are you reading? I'm immersed in Tana French's Into the Woods, recommended to me by the great writer Brittany of Vesuvius at Home fame and fortune. If you haven't read her blog or book, you have no idea what you're missing. Despite my aversion to the detective/mystery genre, I so respect Brittany that I dutifully downloaded the Tana French, and you know what? I really, really like it. That doesn't mean you should now tell me to try those Swedish detective series. I tried Henning Menkell and couldn't stomach it. Don't get me started on those bestsellers that were made into movies, about rape and murder or being skinned. I know, I know, I know. They're very well written. Hated them. I read my fair share of Agatha Christie as a teenager and a bit of P.D. James, but to tell you the truth, it's only one slot above science fiction and fantasy, my least favorite of all genres. This might be a bit negative, but here are five genres that I can't abide:

1. Anything by Dan Brown (it just depresses me that such schlock even exists)
2. Lite Fiction/Airport Bestseller/Those dreadful soft core porn books about S&M
3. Mystery/Detective
4. Fantasy  (except The Hobbit and The Fellowship of the Rings the books, NOT the movies)
5. Science Fiction

Anyhoo. 

Here are the top five books that I've ever read that I can come up with on the fly to balance things out:

1. Middlemarch
2. The Brothers Karamazov
3. The English Patient
4. To the Lighthouse
5. A Little Princess

So, between the murder mystery podcast and the Tana French detective novel, I'm really branching out of my comfort zone --

Here's a poem about a different kind of violence. Click and read and listen.

Man in Space

BY BILLY COLLINS

Street Art Anthems

MMXIV

graffiti artist unknown*** 

Today's no different than yesterday, really, other than it's 2014, four new numbers, a new year, an imposition. Dirt lies in three pyramids in our back yard -- some of that dirt, I'm certain, unearthed for the first time in nearly a century. I fancied something discovered while the men were digging -- pottery, perhaps, or arrowheads, some fine bones, a skull, even oil. The men filled plastic buckets with big brown clumps of it, and they filled wheelbarrows, trundled it toward the pile. The men smile when I come out to stand at the edge, look down. They wear long-sleeved dress shirts despite the heat and the swing of the pick-ax. They speak no English. I imagine they have only recently crossed the border from Mexico, picked up clothes at a Goodwill. They are the Italians and Irish of yesterday who built the bridges and mined the minerals, lay the tracks and dug the wells, raised the buildings, built the country. The pyramids in my backyard are dirt. There are rocks and roots. The clay pipe lies exposed at the bottom of a seven foot trench, the dirt around it clean of anything primitive or even civilized. The trees that grow alongside the trench are a deep green. Their secret is their roots, twisted and preternaturally strong, or naturally so. They've crept through dirt, worked their way through cracks in clay, pushed into man-made cylinders, a relentless search, reaching toward water like fingers and eyes toward light. They've nourished themselves on waste, channeled what's left back up through wood and out toward branches and leaves, thick and glossy.

It's a new year, and we're fourteen years into an age. Our minds are thoughts, our thoughts are thoughts, only, just.










***Henry and I saw this on La Brea as we walked home from breakfast yesterday. Henry thought it might be Banksy, but I doubted it. What do you think? Anyone know? Steve Reed?

Carpet Stores, Nightmares, Wallets and Cranes

My Facebook friends know that my voting place on Tuesday was a local Middle Eastern carpet store. I got a lot of funny comments when I posted the photo below. If you look below that grand carpet hanging from the ceiling on the left, you'll see some fellow citizens at the voting booths. It cracked me up that I was voting in a Middle Eastern carpet store, but I refrained from expressing the irony.

When I walked back to my car after voting, nervous and hyped up, I saw this on a wall in an alley:

I had just gotten off the phone with my dear friend whose sister is dying of cancer, and  I had mentioned in one way or another how weird it is to live one's life when such things are happening, to make coffee, to chat about one's day, to vote in a Middle Eastern carpet shop in Los Angeles, CA. Then, I looked up at the sun in the brilliant blue sky behind these fantastic cranes on the corner of Wilshire and La Brea. I actually love construction sites and cranes, in particular. There's something magical about them, like ballet, maybe, or an angular spider's web.

I had another nightmare the night before I voted about losing my wallet, although this time I was in college, trying to register for my classes. I woke up suddenly, sweating with my heart pounding, and felt near elation as the realization dawned that it was only a dream.  I'm always struck by how trivial the content of dreams can be and how weighted their interpretation. When I snapped this photo, I was sitting in my car, waiting for one of the boys to finish their football practice. I think I look Middle Eastern, which I am, a bit, having a grandfather from Syria, which leads me back to the carpet store where I voted and the end of this post.

Layers of Street Art

I'm not sure who painted this on a telecommunications box (Steve Reed, do you know?), but I love the Shepard Fairy wall across the street and behind it. I've grown to really appreciate graffiti and sometimes even downright love it --

This Speaks to Me Today**

Corner of La Brea and 2nd - Shepard Fairy - Los Angeles

**I'm not answering.

You saw it here

Last week, I posted about the photos I take while driving around. This one struck me as cool and exciting:

As it turns out, that was actually THE Shepard Fairy, graffiti artist extraordinaire, creator of the iconic Obama HOPE poster, working on his latest installation in Los Angeles. One of you commented on it, and I did a little exploration.

Here's the finished work:

How cool is that? I'd say a lot cooler than running into one of the Hilton kids at the dentist's office, which happened to me once when I brought the boys to get their teeth cleaned.