I have a regular Tuesday night class and a new woman showed up tonight. She needed a ride home, and being the kind and generous soul that I am, I offered to take her.
(Are you sensing that this may not be as simple as it sounds? Because otherwise why would I bother blogging about it?)
I had forgotten that there were a few issues with my car. First, a pile of crap a foot high on the passenger seat and floor.
Books, magazines, files, reporters' notebooks, lunch tupperwares with mystery food scraps, empty water bottles, all piled up in true Suebobian pigsty fashion.
(If you are saying "Oh, it can't be that bad" go over to Bamboo Lemur Boys are Mean to Their Girls and ask Gandhi Rules. She lived with me. She will tell you).
Hey, give me a break. I've been busy.
But then there was more in the back seat. Doesn't every So. Cal. girl have a ski pole in her car on the day before Summer Solstice? Suebob does! (To whack marauding Pit Bulls, that's why).
A spare purse, some shoes, one sock and yes, of course right on top of the pile - underwear. Underwear? They were from the Vegas trip. I had left them in Mr. Stapler's luggage and had retrieved them at lunch and, well, there they were.
The poor woman had to be wondering what she had gotten herself into by now.
Then - the smell. Oh, God, the smell. One spilled cup of milky coffee plus three 80-plus degree days equals THE SMELL. It was enough to knock you back a bit.
Yes, nice woman, welcome to my car. Feel free to stick your head out the window. Everyone else does.
And in other news...
I have been meaning to share some of my city's lovely public art with you.
We start with something simple, a historical mural downtown. Nice, colorful, typical.
Along the river trail there are pieces of art about every kilometer or so. I like these brightly colored tile mosaics. This one represents the oilfields that enriched this area in the past and still do to a lesser extent today. My dad worked in the oilfields for decades.
Then things start to get a little weird. This one, titled "Orange Trail" is metal balls that look like real oranges, affixed firmly to the earth and set in a bed of gravel. I suppose this is some kind of tribute to the fact that this was a big citrus growing region.
Here's the part where we make the transition from public art to public "What the hell are you doing with my tax dollars?" Behold:
That is not the only one. There are a zillion of these. Ok, at least a dozen. They are all the same - a concrete base with some odd nonsensical quote using the word "mark" in it, topped by a large rusting piece of industrial metal. Every single time I see them I get pissed off by how ugly and stupid they are. I am GLAD people graffiti them, that's how much I hate them. And I hate graffiti.
Do you get this quote: "Land held in common by a community. Question mark." Huh? It seems like they are not speaking of the English.
Here's another, just to prove that there are more than one. Goldie is not impressed, either.
I forgot what this one says, and I don't care.
Next art tour, I will show you our multi-million dollar arty bus shelter that fails to protect anyone from the elements. On slow rainy news days, the newspaper can always have fun by sending a reporter out to talk to the sodden people beneath and remind the community how much that monstrosity cost.
What ever happened to statues of dudes on horses? Or just horses? Because if we are going to have public art, I would like it to be something you can sit the kiddos on to take a nice picture. Is that too much to ask?