Tonight at around 6pm people are forming up to counter-protest the Westboro Baptist Church. They will be assembling near Glendale Community College in order to spread their insane message of bigotry and hate.
Anyone who would like to join us can visit Better Than Faith and see the map and other information on the counter-protest.
I look forward to meeting people there, and actually taking a gander at how GCC has changed over the years.
It’s been a while since I’ve seen Dawn and her dog. They used to come out to Mill Ave pretty much every night years ago, but since I haven’t seen her around much at all. It wasn’t long after I reached the red bricks that I found her sauntering past, hippy skirt and dusty-gold dreadlocks in her wake.
I managed to stop her for a bit and inquire as to her health and whereabouts, which are both good. Apparently she’s spent most of the summer in Chicago. A place rapidly getting cold so she’s returned herself to these warmer climes—which has precisely been my idea on the matter.
She used to spend her time selling hemp jewelry bound up with the requisite glass and plastic beads in interesting designs. However, two years ago or so she stopped due to harassment by the local police who had taken to mistreating transient-looking individuals and Mill rats in order to “clean up the streets.” Even now there are propaganda messages posted alongside some of the Mill information signs.
This has changed slightly, according to Dawn.
“Yeah. I was set up near ASU the other day and the police came to tell me that I couldn’t sell there. ‘Go to Mill Ave,’ they told me, ‘It’s okay. We know who you are and we like you, it’s okay.’ In their words a Mill Avenue Council has been set up and word has come down from the mayor not to mess with vendors selling stuff on the Ave. The shops and culture have taken several major shakeups and hits due to the economic downturn; and he’d like to see a return of musicians and other reasons for people to visit our little carnival. However, they still don’t like spanging (panhandling)—but it’s interesting to see this change in attitude by the distant powers-that-are.
Sebastian Rain Valintino is an interesting fellow who I’ve seen a few times on the Ave already and it was good to be able to stop and talk to him. He has close cropped hair that curls in tight bunches—possibly due to his Italian ancestry. Looking at him from a distance you’d think that he had a very light goatee or beard, but really it’s a carefully pinned tattoo around his lips that extends in sharp fang-like markings. At first it reminded me of a Celtic brooch pin, but upon closer inspection it’s designed from two bridled-arcs and fangs around his mouth. He also has his left eyebrow tattooed (no hair) and a small teardrop from his left eye.
By way of explanation the tattoos around his lips are an Irish-Italian mixture relating to a Bear Clan and Wolf Clan, hence the fangs. I did not properly document his reason for the eyebrow—but he explains that the teardrop is for his uncle who is in a Federal penitentiary for killing several police officers in a firefight.
I also ran into Shamancat who was standing around with an older gentleman. We didn’t discuss much but he might be making his way down to Sedona. Which, he suggests, that he might go see the “spaceships.” Sedona is well known for its alien and UFO cults, occultists, esotericism, and other supernatural activity. It’s a real hub of the weird.
Vince appeared on the Ave today. He was wearing a gigantic tweed/wool trench coat that reminded me of a German barrack coat. Grey and dismal, but possibly massively warm. Turning him into a giant, woolen version of Cousin It.
I also had a moment to visit with some of the other newer street rats. One in particular, a girl who kindly warned me not to sit on the ground due to an anti-homeless law that the police do like to enforce. She mentioned she’d had a wound on her foot, thus her boot was loosely tied. I couldn’t get her to let me look at it, but the skin lividity in the area was fine, no visible signs of infection (shooters or puffiness) outside of the region. She also promised to go to the medical van tomorrow and get it checked out.
Out tonight were Jim and Valerie. They brought with them a number of props. I had some discussions with Valerie about typesetting, desktop publishing, cover design. A lot of the things that go into my prints of Mill Avenue Vexations—my seminal work that is attempting to capture the evanescent zeitgeist of Mill Ave in fiction.
I gave her a book but warned her that she might be outside of the audience. Being neither street-rat nor goth.
She described an interesting in writing but never knew how to properly get it printed. I told her about how manuscript creation is often very separate from the editing required to produce a book. Fortunately, when writing a work thou need concern thyself little with how it’ll format when it’s done—it’s the words that matter. Let the typesetter and binder (even if that person is thee at a later date) worry about that when it comes around. Plus, Microsoft Word and Adobe Photoshop can be used to produce an extremely professional work and the learning curve is only a few months.
Maybe she’ll decide to write something and take my advice. I even explained to her that booklets come in pages of 4. Since every letter-sized page is folded in half producing two pages to a side, and two-sided, meaning each sheet creates 4 pages.
They eventually got set up with amplification in front of the Post Office and the SFTS showed up to talk to them. Pretty much tying them up the entire night.
The rest of my observations of them is available on my Better than Faith observations blog.
I don't even know how to properly wrap my mouth (fingers) around these words; but it appears that ABC is on the verge of canceling the sublimely wonderful TV show, Pushing Daisies.
This erudite, British-like black comedy done in a similar style to Dead Like Me has been a dramatic source of fun and adoration for me and many of my friends. It's barely gotten its ball rolling and already the network is kicking it to the curb.
Bah.
Well, not exactly verses, but it almost feels like it from entertainment news-of-the-strange. It looks like Dr. Pepper has offered — of all things — free soda to the entire nation if Guns N' Roses steps up to the plate and releases the long-awaited “Chinese Democracy” album. An album slated for release way back in 2007 that hasn't yet seen the light of day.
Well, Guns N’ Roses has come through and released their album.
Dr. Pepper? They too are making good on that promise of a free can for every American.
The interesting twist? “Chinese Democracy” is being released for free, streaming out of the Guns N' Roses Myspace right now!
Another webfiction writer I happen to know has a non-fiction assignment for a class he's in that involves interviewing people about what they read, why they read it, and everything that they might want to tell him about it.
If you read webfiction, drop Alex McG a line.
BIOS is an amazing little novel published in 2000. I am amazed that I've never run across this little gem until today, but I suppose I'm not a rabid enough fan of Science Fiction. It is a deceptively small book in the mass market edition but it is thick with intrigue and interest.
The main character, Zoe Fisher, is basically born into a power struggle happening through the political sphere of her paternal community -- but she has bigger things going on than just that. Thrust into the political and real wilderness of a new planet, Isis, to test out some new technology. She finds herself embroiled in some very strange, and very personal, events that eventually tease out a very romantic, and endearing set of characters.
An astute reader by now might wonder why I keep bringing her up. Partially because she’s a person from last year, and someone worthwhile. And also partially because she is of the romantic affect that the written word is immortal and by writing her name in my research she also drinks of that immortality.
So be it.
Envy has been coming to Mill for about two years now. She’s worthwhile company for the time she spends. Takes my books. An avid reader. It’ll be less interesting without her around for the next few months. Although, this possibly also means I’ll miss her until I leave again.
There were a bunch of odd, orange signs on the Ave today. They seem to point to a walk or a march event taking place. For the most part they were big orange signs with blue circles, white arrows within—one in particular said “Walkers please use crosswalk,” another one stated, “Another death happens every two and a half minutes.” Whatever they’re walking for…
About the time that everyone hit the red bricks I noticed a cadre of drummers circled in front of Coffee Plantation. It is uncommon for anyone to go unmolested by the overzealous, pompous guards of the Centerpoint complex so I wondered what they might be about (or if the Coffee management were asleep.) The drummers added to their midst a flautist (possibly a clarinet, actually) and a young lady spinning glow sticks.
I stopped another young lady soliciting donations, a troupe captain’s hat outstretched—she told me that they were a marching band and they were with Mountain View. That they’ve gotten extremely close to winning state finals.
Good luck to them.
Tonight they played some loud music at the SFTS when they were in front of the Post Office at the beginning of the night. Taking the weapon that the SFTS use against them very commonly (music) and turning it back. Although terrible covers of various songs, it was funny to hear something similar to the Beach Boys singing a re-imagining of “Fun, Fun, Fun.” Except that most of the words were replaced becoming “fun, fun, fun while Jesus preaches the word—” or something very similar.
It didn’t take long after the SFTS set up that the evangelicals abruptly changed positions to take up in front of Borders and then, like the clockwork machine they are, the SFTS followed.
Continued on my Better Than Faith observations blog.
Pretty much the wind was up tonight. Blustering between the buildings, rustling the trees with a vengeance. I didn’t wear my hat tonight, which made something of a problem when my hair kept trying to whip me in the face. I like to use a bandana or some interesting hat to keep it in check.
Ah, yes, and to anyone who wonder’s about my makeup.
Priss Stratton from Bladerunner. Watch the movie. Thou’ll understand.
These carriages ride up and down the Ave, giving visitors the experience of riding a horse-drawn buggy. They are elegant, white painted buggies with green and black velveteen upholstery, smiling cowboy coachmen (and women) who treat their fares like high class taxi riders. The horses are beautiful, huge dusty brown and white creatures with chests larger than kegs and flaring nostrils—Clydesdales with their huge hooves and scratchy manes.
A ride costs about $20 for twenty minutes.
The Clydesdales sound different from the mounted police; the clop of their hooves echoes a more pastoral, polite sort of canter as they draw the carriages rattling past. Snorting gently against the patting of passersby and interested parties. During my observation more people seemed interested in touching the horses and getting pictures than slaking their curiosity in the business. I hope that they can keep it up.
I met a middle-aged man tonight who paused to talk to me as I sat and wrote in my book. He had some things to say about how much Mill Ave has changed in the past twenty-five years or so. Including that there once was a car dealership down at the end of Mill, near Mill’s End, in fact. Possibly where the hotel is right now.
Dana Brothers Dodge.
I’ve never seen it, so I am hoping to find old pictures of the property.
It’s been a long while since I last saw Envy. Early last year in fact. She is one of the more lively and talkative street rats, and is still hooked up with Cole. We spent a while speaking, standing aloof of the crowds whispering by on the red bricks; I leaning on my cane and she straight-backed, Christopher Paolini’s new book, Brisingr, in the crook of her arm.
She just got back from visiting California and will probably not be seen on the Ave for a few months—an understatement from her—as she’s pregnant and already having back pains. I made sure that she and Cole received a copy of Volume 9.
Of course, he came out with his amazing colored contacts—white against his olive complexioned face. I’m still waiting for the day that he puts together his horror troupe and starts making amazing movies al a Troma.
Even without the drum circle present it’s still possible to collect street rats around the bronze-man. As Ben and I sat and chatted about the recent changes to Mill Ave (mostly on my side the sudden proliferation of eateries—which makes me wonder how that has affected Monti’s business)—and the different stores that have come and gone from the Andre Building and other locations across the street.
We were drawn into a surreal, confusing conversation with a street rat so drunk that we could smell him like a perfume of alcohol from feet away. He wanted to know if the “government” said “F-you” and told us we had to fend for ourselves would we fight? Could we trust our family? …very, very drunk.
The night began with the discovery of street preachers in front of Urban Outfitters. They came with a large, tall sign depicting their god, Jesus, being whipped and insulted by Roman soldiers. Among their crew were Tom (a grey-blonde haired man of some celebrity) and Ed, an older man who I’ve known for some time as I’ve been coming to the Ave.
There were also some people set up in front of the Post Office—the same two that we met on Halloween. While they did come over and visit with the preachers in front of Urban Outfitters I am not sure if they’re connected. I believe it was thought that they were with The Door, but right now I’m not quite sure.
The elder with the trumpet and his semi-charismatic partner, a man who looks like he was taken directly out of a 40s Humphrey Bogart film, probably The Big Sleep. He has a raw boned, handsome look and his eyes simply look through people or past them.
Further observations and narrative at my Better than Faith Mill Avenue Resistance Column
Pretty much we concluded the night by gathering a small cadre of street rats around the bronze man. We caught up on the passage of time. A few have come in from California and one other from Nebraska. I got to make the acquaintance of Evil Chuck—a punk/metal rocker type who wore ragged clothing, carried a CD with the new Slayer album, and a vibrant personality. And Shawn, a black-clad who mentioned that he was happy to see more goths coming out to the Ave, as we are a twilight bunch on the red bricks.
There were also fireworks.
Apparently from a basketball game.
The first few hollow gunfire booms caught me by surprise as they echoed between the buildings and startled the bats into a frenzy, their tiny bodies flickering bright white and yellow hither-and-thither as they flitted between the trees. The fireworks, though hidden invisibly behind me by a tall building, reflected themselves in fractured mezzotint patterns, repeated and spit across the windows of the unfinished Centerpointe Towers. They compete, however laughably, with the red beacons flashing atop the towers. Flashes of red, blue, green, white—scintillating like dying flowers, falling and burning pedals that eventually fade to embers and disappear in the lower windows.
People may not think on it much, but heart-failure patients like myself are constantly keenly reminded of our own mortality come doctor’s visits—and especially flu season. So when this time of year starts rolling around, and people haven’t gotten their flu shots… Well, notice gets made.
It’s not just that I have to wade through all of my conspiracy theory friends who expect that the flu shots have some sort of alien or shadow-government hand on our throats. But, influenza is something of a annual problem, and it’s hotspots can be bad.
Worse, the illness can put those of us with little or no immune system in the hospital quicker than anything.
Oh yeah, and Google has released a wacky little app that tracks flu trends, who saw that coming?
http://www.google.org/flutrends/
No, it is not called Flugle. One good thing that it does do, however, is throw up listings of flu vaccine locations.
Isn’t it a little bit interesting how the proper nouns of holidays lack the apostrophe to make it possessive? It’s not commonly written as Veterans’ Day. Like we have some sort of aversion to possession when it comes to holidays—or maybe it’s just because it’s easier to write and think of without offering it to them. It’s in their honor, after all, not for them.
Today was originally named “Armistice Day,” when it was proclaimed into the public zeitgeist by President Wilson back in 1919[1]; however, the US Congress had other ideas and eventually amended the act that created the holiday to make it Veterans Day. The one that we celebrate now.
Interestingly, it’s probably only a bank holiday now. Especially with veterans pouring out of Iraq. A little weird how we treat our veterans, even during a time ostensibly when we’re not actually at war, but playing war anyway. Most workplaces don’t observe it, few people do, although I’m sure there’s a place for patriotic displays of flag waving and other puffed up ceremony like marching bands and parades—but none of this is designed in any way to highlight the staggering lack of proper funding for veteran hospitals and hospices, in spite of the wobbling mound of money thrown into our defense budget.
For those of us who haven’t had enough American jingoism for one day, how about I leave everyone with the best thing I’ve got: a video game developed in Japan about the President of the United States taking back the country from a fascist coup d'état—by the Vice President…
Believe in your own justice, Mr. President! Metal Wolf Chaos.
I am proud to announce the release of Vexations Volume 9: All the Night’s a Stage. The first few copies of it have already been handed out for free on Mill Ave last Friday and Saturday and there are still quite a few remaining. So, if thou desire one of these lovely booklets, make thy way out to the Ave and snap one up.
Otherwise, they are available for free online at the Mill Avenue Vexations story section.
The cover was drawn by Rebecca Gunter and the internal artwork once again is done by Allan Gallo. This is number one of six for this publishing season, so we should have a breakneck pace of releases coming up!
Wish me good luck.
See everyone on the Ave.
There is a new venue on the Ave, which I am extremely excited about. It’s called The Thirsty Dog and it’s actually a little bit difficult to find. This is because they’re not directly off Mill like most of the other shops—instead, they’re on a side street, around the corner from the Post Office.
Mill Avenue has long suffered a dearth of stop-and-get-out style food shops that cater to the, “I want something now,” crowd in the way that gas station and convenience store stop-and-rob style locations do. For a while there certainly was the gas station on the very end of Mill at University—but that’s a CVS now (of course, we can get what we want there, but why walk all that way?)
Why indeed. The Thirsty Dog is staying open until 2am Friday and Saturday so go check them out and say hello for me.
I keep hearing from my fans that they’ve been avoiding the spot due to a change in culture. This I’ve witnessed myself—insofar that I’ve been on the Ave—but I haven’t had much time to comment on it. Indeed, for the past two weeks the number of drummers has diminished somewhat and I haven’t seen much in the way of talkative folk who actually used to come around.
The gathering still persists, however, and I do see people who I’d like out on the Ave. The problems that see extant happen to be a general apathy for the get-together itself. It is the fundamental hangout spot, but perhaps we’re suffering uncanny beginning of winter blues or something similar.
So far Saturday, I met several of my favorite people. Starting with Mark, my favorite fan, who of course got a book! Then Ben appeared with his amazing eyes—he went as a zombie Joker from the new Batman on Halloween. And Jimmy came out as well.
One of the evangelists, Erin, also appeared and I had a good time talking to her on the street in front of Borders. She’s been up to the same stuff. I didn’t get a chance to offer her a booklet, but then again I’m never sure if any of the evangelists would want to read my things.
Jim also came out, he’s another one of the evangelists with the wheelchair of great age (I say in case anyone has forgotten him.)
The Centerpoint condos, which are essentially dead-in-the-water right now stood up behind us, blinking their eerie red lights at the sky. Driving down the freeway into Tempe proper they are the most prominent building in all of Tempe, standing in grim defiance to the single red light atop A Mountain. I still find their presence perturbing, and I know it’s going to get worse.
Met my friend Gonzo and his wife—both of whom are working on novels—and we got a chance to speak for a while. I haven’t seen him in literally years and now he’s bald (shaved) so I almost didn’t recognize him.
The rest of the Ave was fairly drab, although I did like visiting the Drum Circle and The Thirsty Dog (and proffered booklets there, although, Omni did suggest that I was being unfair, giving semi-bored clerks something to pass the time.)
I am going to start up a column on the Better Than Faith website for a friend of mine in order to give a blow-by-blow of the experience of recording and witnessing the activity of the SFTS and the evangelists who come out to Mill as part of their “Mill Avenue Resistance” project. They have become a major spectacle and event on my Ave and as much as I’d like to give them more airtime they’ve been eating up a lot of my words over here and I’m sure a lot of my readers want my anthropological analysis of Mill itself and not just the hottest of the hotspots.
However, here are still some highlights from the spectacle that is the evangelists vs. the resistance.
The night started out a little chilly with a stern breeze from the south. The smell of dust and car exhaust mixed with anticipation and chuckling chatter. Among the evangelists there were concerns about setting up in front of Urban Outfitters because there is a busker with extremely powerful amplification there who often sets up before them and then drowns them out with wild, powerful riffs on his electric guitar. So they prepared themselves for a night in front of Borders.
The Resistance rolled in like a fleet of warships on the cusp of an oncoming storm. They struck with a force unseen before on the Ave with two giant speakers and a bullhorn on the field, numerous signs, and a roiling mass of supporters. (Not to mention Lizard Man, the god incarnate of the unwashed, also arrived yet again.) To say the least—the noise levels were off the charts and made it a little bit difficult to actually take notes of the event.
To add to the fray, two longtime rivals of the opposing sides also arrived: Todd and Jeremiah. Todd with his booming, clarion voice which needs no amplification and Jeremiah with his small but extremely clear amplified-speaker. They were perhaps the true highlight of the minor skirmish. Rachel, Todd’s girlfriend and primary artillery, did take the mike a few times and managed to deal blows of her own. And Rocco also took to the mike—but largely the night belonged to Todd as it commonly does.
Even a sleepy reader at this point will notice all of the “war” allegory that I’m using here, and there’s a reason for it. Primarily because while the Resistance don’t seem to view their debates with the preachers to be battles insomuch as loud disagreements, the language that the evangelists suggests that they do. Or worse, they seem to insinuate into their everyday lives the language of war.
I’ve noticed a tradition among the evangelists that they may not realize is coloring their take on the world. A deliberate addition of hostility to their message—I know they say, “What I’m saying is offensive,” and they’re only half right: what they’re saying isn’t just offensive, it’s designed to be an offense: as if an attack or assault on other people. The supposed “other.” This hostility is steeped in a lot of their behavior, their martyr complex, and the wholesale subversion of memes used by the SFTS and others and blatant transference of their own bad behavior onto the “other.”
The worst of this is how they refer to their Bibles as swords. Jeremiah took to his metal stand, grabbed his mike, and realized he lacked a Bible—so he calls out, “I am without my sword; could someone toss me one?” And sure enough a Bible is delivered to him. The concept of “spiritual warfare” is lovely enough as an allegory to rally confidence, but when it is delivered up as if us-against-them and the most important item of the mythology is being conflated with a weapon of war and murder? Surely it speaks to the beating heart of all the wannabe alpha males in their group but it alienates everyone else who does see them as a hostile, aggressive, and invading force delivering offensive language—and apparently want to be known to be dangerous.
To the evangelists: Think about this before thou really screw up.
I don’t even know how I stumbled across this one, but I think it created for me a different evanescent thought than most people. Singer Adrienne Bailon of the Cheetah Girls (she's the one with the light brown hair) has had some “practically nude” photographs of herself taken from a stolen laptop and used as blackmail against her.
The post from tmz.com:
Several practically nude photos have been stolen from Adrienne's laptop, and sources tell us the scumbag who took 'em is trying to shop them around to the highest bidder.
It all started when Bailon was at JFK airport in late October, and noticed her laptop computer was missing from her bell cart. She filed a report with the Port Authority -- but later that day her record label received an anonymous phone call from a man saying he had her laptop and would return it for $1000.
If thou secure information that thou’d rather the public didn't readily get their hands on—say, by encrypting it—this sort of event could be dramatically reduced.
Think on this for a moment now. All of us have private things nowadays in forms that we carry around with us every day. We sometimes put them on thumbdrives, into our phones, onto our laptops. If I had nude photos of my little self I would certainly not keep them anywhere unsecured. If someone wanted to grab my photos and blackmail me, they'd first have to be extremely determined.
I suppose that working for Elaine at Black Hat Magick Detective Agency has changed my outlook on how to protect my more personal thoughts.
The gossip aggregator over at fashion.ie says, “Either way, the lesson is don't leave your stuff unattended at the airport, kids. Someone might just steal your private, naked pics and blackmail you over them.”
Or, how about protect it with something like PGP.
Today I went to a meeting with the Secular Free Thought Society (SFTS) based at ASU to get a look at how they organize themselves. By in large the meeting was fairly boring, involving logistics and some internal maneuvering that needed to get done. What I did like was that there were visitors from a local Humanist group—three elders, two women and one man—who had things to say to the group about how they struck themselves out into the world.
Speeches were made as to the origins of Humanism and its dichotomy to religions. The Humanists are largely atheistic in their worldview, and seem to be politically active, by in large they described themselves as, “Old Hippies.”
The SFTS group (who would quickly be marauding) ate at Chilies because they hadn’t gotten food, I went to get the sights and sounds of the Ave—and found some evangelicals. I also stopped by and talked to Josh, my friend the chef, who wants to start a Voltaire Fanclub for Tempe because of the terrible showing at one of his concerts. Which I would wholeheartedly support should he get it off the ground.
I finally hit Mill at about 10:30pm and discovered a group of evangelicals passing out tracts. Mostly the tracts were the Million Dollar bills of the giant type and the tiny type. I counted four girls and one boy. A brief meeting and I learned some names.
First is Johnanna, a Latina girl who seemed to have an Azteca accent when she spoke English—and once said something in Español that I didn’t catch due to road noise—her American English is strong, but way too Harvard (which made it obvious she was ESL); her mirror-speech was unshatterable, I think because I couldn’t modify my argot simple enough to get points across. We spoke for a while and she pretty much just regurgitated lines of extremely common mirror-speech and I couldn’t get a word in. She has some interesting things to say, some self-depreciating language, but largely it would be nice to know what brought her to this life and why she’s on Mill Ave. Hopefully I can get a chance to speak to her as a person and not as a mirror.
Natalie (I could have her name wrong) who is a small girl, with a short haircut, and sciurdae features. Her presentation a bit more forceful that Johanna perhaps in that she’s a veteran of speaking to people. She tried, unsuccessfully, of course, to pull out Pascal’s Wager—except that she doesn’t realize that the Wager doesn’t work on people professing a different belief (like Paganism) it only works in the event of a dichotomy “there is a God; there is no God,” it becomes extremely meaningless when it’s between “there is the Christian God, YHVH, or there are the Children of Danu,” since then it becomes extremely easy to point out that it is therefore equally likely to be Amaterasu, Odhinn, or Huitzilopochtli—a blood-drinking hummingbird warrior god of the Aztecs.
Jonathan, who made himself the de-facto leader of the group using insular heteronormative social behaviors because he held himself as alpha-male and pretty much controlled the girls therefore—I will go more into this shortly. I had a discussion with him different than the others involving my name. I gave him my street name first, as is proper for speaking to people on Mill Ave; it’s an exotic name so he asked if it was my “real name.” A term which I find extremely amusing: all names are real. However, I believe he wanted to know if it was my common name—which it is not.
--
“Are you confused about your identity?” Johnathan said. His posture stiff, face open, but eyes roving as he spoke. His dress, simple but modest for the Avenue, consisted of a pair of brownish pants and a pale shirt, carefully ironed before he had buttoned it up. The entire time speaking to me he clutched a book—probably a Christian Bible—against his hip. Unsmiling, he awaited my reply.
“No, not really,” I said. “My identity on the street is simply a collection of social mores, protocols, and expectations that differ from other interactions. I don’t interact with people on the street the same as I do with say…the City of Tempe.”
“Don’t you feel like you live double life?”
“Heh. Double? If I thought about it that way I would have a thousand lives. I have a different identity to every group that I interact with. I behave differently talking to my bank, to my friends, to the street rats, at work, to the City of Tempe. I am probably just a lot more sensitive to it, I guess, because I study these things.
“I write. And in order to do a good job writers try to discover how people empathize, what faces and masks they wear. One of my favorite teachers, Father Prat, once told me that as I went further into writing I would eventually hit a point where I would start asking questions like: What makes people tick?
“And he’s right. How else do we writers create characters on the page that real, living, breathing people fall in love with? Empathize with? Cry with? I am essentially giving people who know real people a chance to find a connection with something totally imaginary.”
--
There was certain amount of almost overtly sexist heteronormative behavior on the part of this group as well. Something that we don't see a lot in the urban USA. An almost tribal sense of “you’re a woman; therefore you’re not as capable as men.” With the group that comes out on Saturday I saw this with Jerimiah who sometimes says, “Please don’t swear, there are ladies present,” and it’s obvious he doesn’t think about saying this because he’s said it to a woman before (talk about putting a foot in the mouth.) More than once I saw the single male acting as alpha, trying to herd the girls, constantly saying things like, “Just making sure the girls are alright,” and at least once telling them he was uncomfortable with them going off in a pair to get food.
This sort of behavior instills a wall between them and the rest of the community who don’t have this sort of outward expectation that women lack responsibility or capability. Especially on a busy street, surrounded by police officers, and various mundane watchful eyes. Certainly any individual alone may run a particular risk of danger from the drunken mobs, but this is an age of cell phones, and walking in groups/pairs, where it’s hard to get out of eyesight or earshot of Mill.
My discussion with Jonathan wound to an end about the time the marauders appeared because I wasn’t interested in participating in one of their rituals. Johanna offered to pray over/for me and I just don’t have enough time for it. I’ve seen it numerous times with other groups and the rite doesn’t change very much. In fact, even this time I got to see it happen again. So I’ll take notes on it now.
The group gathered together around a single Mill visitor (sans one girl whose name I did not get) and Johanna spoke over him. She evoked the names of two of the Christian gods, “God” and “Jesus.” But I noted that she did not bring up the third that commonly comes in that group “the Holy Spirit.” The entire event lasted almost three minutes, involved bowed heads, and a sonorous sing-song voice affect that is used in a lot of cultures and rituals as a hypnotic.
Of the SFTS tonight there were many. A group exceeding almost eight. Rocco, Kazz, Brian (and his orange hair,) even Ezra—I am missing numerous names here, but they will be filled out as I learn to recall their names properly.
Also visiting the Ave is a group that I’ve seen before consisting some shock punks, and one young man wearing a lizard costume. The monstrous mask displays a giant reptilian head with fangs extended and tiny eye holes in the throat. He wore a crudely written sign made out of a piece of notebook paper, with the words: Hug the Lizard Man $1.
Eventually the hugs became free.
After seeing Ike do his business I’ve been wondering if we could do without hurricanes ruining our everyday news. But no, Paloma has come off the ropes and is rushing right for
The best news that I’ve seen on this so far is from the Associated Press, Hurricane Paloma Heads for the Cayman Islands (is it just me or is Google just awesome for things like this? I wonder how the newspapers feel.) Is it just me, or didn't
Ah yes, the Spanish Main—the northern part at least—it used to be a haven for the Golden Age of Piracy, but then as pirates began to vanish from the seas, the Flying Spaghetti Monster began to warm our planet. And now that area, once the great demesne of pirate folk, swallows the brunt of that wrath.
(I just had to sneak a Helljammer reference in.)
Volume 9: All the Night's a Stage cover design has been released.
Be sure to keep an eye out for it on Mill Ave this upcoming weekend and weeks. The booklets, of course, print in black and white—but with enough input from fans color versions can be printed.
Hm. I'm just over here, this beautiful Friday when I accidentally forgot the power cable to my laptop when I went to work; thus cutting short my entire day... I've been thinking about something that came out of the recent election, which was part of Obama's acceptance speech he spoke about getting a puppy.
Also, taking into account that one of his daughters, like me, is asthmatic, I threw up a post to this effect over at the brand new PETS 911 Animal Crossroads blog.
First Dogs go so far back that there is a museum for them! Now that's some weird obsession. I wonder what kind of archivists they employ. Think about it, do they keep letters to the dogs? Vet records? Pictures, x-rays, press clippings?
Well. If the Presidents get a museum, why not their dogs.
Link to Obamas to choose First Dog, hopefully shelter adoption.
Yes, thou read that right. I am talking about a word that for some reason has become the nom de guerre meme of the election of our next President, Barak Obama. A stew.
According to a blog in the Dallas Morning News it was seen in Times Square on a sign. Some seem to be positing that it is, in all essence, a hearken to the great Melting Pot of America—although it’s a reference to a French ban stew—and others want to suggest that it is “elitist.”
Elitism, the so-called language of war used against the new controlling party instead of the word “liberal” has become a poorly chosen rallying cry over the past few weeks. Whispered, as if people are trying to give the word some significance beyond the quotidian meaning of “expert of a field.”
It’s beef stew. The stuff that the everyday person eats. Obama took to the field with the words, “I need your help. I will listen to you—especially, most especially when we disagree.” He may be so far above the everyman. No politician is the everyman, they are in essence a person who has walked out of the everyman and become something else; but something that they can be is an ear for the people.
Sir, I expect thee to keep to these promises. Listen to the people and be our representative to the world at large.
Good luck.
Advances to the Internet have brought on new and interesting technologies. One in particular that I find interesting is the Twitter VoteReport among others. I will be following on #votereport.
I hope to see thee as well!
Also, for a fun visualization that scrolls around a map to pop up messages, check out Twittervison's Election section. Oh that rhymes.
The next Mill Avenue the Beautiful article is up on Mill Avenue Vexations. This one outlines the current salvos of gentrification and community in the ongoing culture transition along the Ave.
Burning rubber where angels fear to tread.
