the moving gallery

So those of you who know me, know that I tend to fight the whole bigger, better, faster, more paradigm of personal technological gadgetry on the grounds that, for the most part I equate it with electronic masturbation. However, I had cause this morning that I absolutley kicked myself in the dirty hind-parts for not having a phoen with a camera in it. And, yup, you guessed it, I'm'a gonna tell y'all why...

Pulling onto Brighton Ave this fine, frigid-@$ first part of the day, I got stuck at the train crossing. Now, normally, I bring the hard-hearted hate when I'm behind the wheel. I mean really, with the sheer number of sh@theads that are allowed to have licenses and feel it necessary to drive at the same time of day that I need to, I feel downright obligated to drive offensively. Straight CARWARS-stylee. For those of you not down with Steve Jackson, that means I drive like MadMax as a matter of course. Why? Cause stupid should hurt and the weak need to be culled from the roads...but more on this later.

The point being, normally when I get stopped at a railroad crossing, it turns into a self-directed maelstrom of hot hate in my car. However, with the self-discovery trip I'm on right now, I chilled, pulled into the left lane and watched the cars go by.

First thing I thought of was Baldy (that's my grandfather, you sickos, getcher minds outta the gutter) and watching the trains out behind the greenhouse when I was a kid. Such a simple thing and yet whe you're a kid, that kind of thing is the hotness. Period.

The next thing I noticed (and here's where I start ot bring it back in. watch...) was that the quality of the graffiti on the cars was far and away better than most of what we see up here in the southern northern reaches and I was seeing the work of several writers recurring. I'm a fan of graffiti, but one of my big pet peeves is the schwag bollocks that passes for writing around these here parts. This stuff was waaay beyond the stuff we normally get around here. It was on the level, yo.

And I really wished I had a camera in the communicator-box or a real-camera to document and capture the images and give props to some pros who truly set me day spinning in the right direction.

So, my apologies to my faithful readers for having failed in being able to share the dopeness, but I guess I'll throw out a little moral, if you'll indulge me: keep your eyes open. You never know where the dopeness will hit you...