He sang: "The dead can't dance, the dead can't sing; the dead can't do very much of anything."

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"Nice People Live Here". Wouldn't that be obvious if it were true? And if it wasn't true, what would they put on the sign: "Dirty Rotten Scoundrels Live Here"? But, in the end, I'm glad to know that nice people live there. To me that means that I won't have to lock my car every time I get out. And that there won't be some drug turf war played out in front of me. And that no one in the current administration lives within driving distance of my home. And that its safe for children to play outside without being preyed upon. And that the sun will always shine there and every drink in the Summer would be cooling and every meal in Winter would be warm and there would be enough of everything for everybody. And no one would cry bitter tears and no one would need more than they already had; and life would be good. (Photo by Miles, by the way)

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I like her attitude: sassy, yet confident. The Mickey Mouse T-shirt is a nice touch too.

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...Open the doors, and see all the people.

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Here is the church; here is the steeple...

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Sometimes the chaos falls together in a pleasing way; in a way where you can see the hand of god, if that is your inclination; where different and seemingly unconnected pieces of the fabric of life are twisted in such a way that some new version of a reality is, for a moment, visibly breathing. Then, just as suddenly as it appears, it is gone and the random noise, the random sounds and rhythms return to their meaningless pulse.

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Prince Georges County Fair, 2006. The thrill is not gone.

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He said: "He was a good horse and he was a good friend. I could, and often did, tell him everything when we went out for a ride. His only downside was being a little on the 'skitish' side. Anytime he saw something that he didn't recognize as having seen before was, in his mind, a horse eating monster. He'd stop and rear up, giving me the fright of my life every single time. But, other than that, he was a good horse."

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Wow. How'd he get to big so big? He's the biggest monster I ever seen! I bet he don't take no mess offa nobody! Someone give him some sass, he STOMP on 'em!

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This is a wall in San Francisco near the Moscone Center. Difficult to read at this resolution, the writing under the bold stripes says, among other things, "Freedom to Fly!" In an ideal world we would all have freedom to fly, I think.

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This is what, I'm pretty sure, a "good time" looks like! I didn't go on this ride, but I would have.

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Nothing to say

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What I like most about the county fair is that it's all so very weird. Everything about it is strange and bizarre. The food is like no other kind of food that I eat; the people don't look like people I am used to seeing on city streets; the colors are intense; the sounds are all mixed up together and are sounds I only hear at the county fair. It's all so fake, and yet at the same time, more real than I can understand.

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I was drawn there because of the star. The star reminded me of Texas. And, of course, Texas comes with a lot of baggage. There's all of the history stuff. There's all of that cowboy stuff. There's all of the Bush stuff. It's a mixed bag. But, I have good friends in Texas and they are not afraid. So the bar with the star looked pretty good. For some reason it reminded me of the friends in Texas, so I went in expecting to see them but not disappointed when I didn't. Texas is a long way away from here and surely if they were coming here they would have let me know. I was being foolishly optimistic. I had a beer.

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Everywhere you look, everywhere you are, almost everywhere you'll ever go, there are the cars waiting for someone to drive away.

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Everything looks better from up here; cleaner, fresher, less stomped on, brighter. The air feels better. It is cooler; there is always a breeze. But it makes me a little dizzy, and eventually, the ride stops and you have to get off.

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Sometimes it really is just this good at the end of a day.

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She stared me down. She really gave me the evil eye.

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Stumble It!