This is what you will see on so many corners of Phoenix, Arizona. When the bulldozers come in and rip every shred of the desert away, flatten the land and then abandon it, it becomes a barren wasteland of burned grass and trash. And if you are one of the citizens living near one of these patches in America’s sixth-largest and obviously wealthy city, you may not see any improvements here during your lifetime, as developers enjoy building new, financially more lucrative communities with bigger houses and bigger shopping areas rather than working on infill to raise property values. You might think the city government would care? Not a chance, it sees greater tax revenues from new neighborhoods, too. In any case, these older neighborhoods are destined to become ghettos as anybody with enough brains and money moves into the new McMansion communities sprouting up 40 miles further out in what used to be desert. If you don’t believe that we leave our great economically powerful cities to fall into disrepair, go on and visit Detroit, Buffalo, Superior, Milwaukee, Cleveland, Akron, Toledo, Syracuse, and Flint – some of the fastest shrinking cities in America, or are they too practicing this model of xeriscape?
Streetside Memorial
I hate these streetside memorials. My apologies to families who have felt the need to place these random mini-monuments to departed loved ones as it is not my intention to be disrespectful of your loss. But your grief and probably violent loss intrude into my organized-by-choice happy view of the world.
I do not watch television or read local newspapers for a number of reasons. First is the inescapable repetitious display of local violent crimes which induces fear, worry, and a kind of false concern. Besides me and many others being taken to distraction by our knowledge of these violent acts, we are consumed by the fear of how and when this might happen to ourselves or a loved one. Your temporary cenotaph has the same effect as the endless parade of tragedy that is known as the evening news. I know the street can be dangerous, but I do not need your constant reminder day in and day out that someone died violently at this intersection. It is a given that we all die, that every day someone will suffer needlessly, but we do not put semi-permanent reminders in hospitals, we don’t maintain months-long vigils at hospice, and we don’t alter our homes with permanent memorials that remain when ownership changes hands. Your tragedy should not be part of the reality I choose to live with, stop intruding with your grief into my happiness.
I have no problems with cemeteries, they effectively remind us to respect those we have lost and are a memorial for those who have passed, they are the socially accepted places society has chosen to place our departed.
Getting Out The Word
Caroline has suggested for the longest time that we make an effort to capture the many hundreds of religious signs that dot the American countryside from small towns to major metropolises offering advice, condemnation, warning, and salvation. Without a Daddy Deep-Pockets financing our ambling about we have many stops and little time to do-it-all and the signs have been assigned a low priority for photography. The sign above, though, caught our eye, and we felt it was worthy of being a photo of the day.
One of Caroline’s favorites was seen last year in Vernal, Utah, while on our way into Dinosaur National Monument. The sign from First Baptist Church read, “By Perseverance The Snail Reached The Ark”. Suppose telling you that her mom nicknamed Caroline ‘Schnecke’ at the time she was born would help you see the connection to this particular blurb. Even Dairy Queen has been known to get into the sign proselytizing; when out near Needles, California at Easter time we saw that someone replaced the daily Blizzard special with the more denominational “Happy Resurrection Day”. Schnecke, German for snail.
This is for what election?
You turn around in Phoenix and find there is another election. One election is for local candidates, the next election might be for congressmen and senators, after that it’s time to vote for ballot initiatives, or is it judges? Before we ever get to vote for the president again we will be voting on more laws, more local officeholders, maybe a special issue regarding water rights, who knows? Months before the initiatives get voted on we are sent a voluminous magazine-sized voter guide (sample ballot) written in confusing miniaturized legalese to alienate anyone with a sub 160 IQ or bad eyesight – under most circumstances this thing is most likely to go into the trash bin with the junk mail.
These local politicians run for some obscure office or other and you are sent absolutely nothing to learn who they are. Maybe the information was in that voter guide I tossed last year? No matter, we are presented with signs like those pictured above where at most they present us a brief ‘re-elect’ or a simplistic ‘I’m Better’ or the inspiring ‘Real Experience’. Oh well, these are career politicians and no one in Phoenix really knows who 90% of them are anyway, I’d be willing to bet that at election time most people listen to the name of the two candidates and will choose the person whose name is simple and pleasant to the ear. Heck, maybe that’s why W beat Gore and Kerry. Hey governor of Florida, just run as Jeb and you’ll beat the pants off Hillary Rodham Clinton….unless she gets smart and starts going by a new monicker such as HR or the Big C.
Ketchup is Flowing
So, one day you find yourself with an extra 75 pounds of tomatoes and after four BLTs you find yourself overdosing on lycopene and wondering, what to do. I know, make ketchup! Google up the recipe, and another, and another – hmmm, this isn’t going to be easy, Heinz isn’t sharing what it knows. I start small, using 25 pounds of the tomatoes to make what should turn out to be a gallon of savory, thick-flowing ketchup. Washing, peeling, coring, and pureeing so many tomatoes takes nearly all day and my fingers are permanently stained orange. I cook the tomatoes, onions, and red bell pepper in two large pots. To strain the concoction, I should have used a food mill, but I don’t have one. After nearly four hours of cooking this down my ketchup isn’t thickening. Maybe I strained too much pulp, maybe I should have used a mill, maybe I should have deseeded and squeezed the extra water from the tomatoes while I was prepping them, maybe I should have used the full three cups of sugar the recipes called for? While millions talk online and download pictures of Paris Hilton, seemingly I am the only person in Google’s universe who is spending 15 hours over the course of a day trying to turn $65 of tomatoes into $15 worth of watery ketchup. Where are all the ketchup experts when you need one???
Cpt. Kirk Has Left The Building
Cpt. Kirk left the valley of the sun after he and I stopped for a bite to eat late in the evening. He went somewhere, somewhere other than this boiling wasteland of conformity. Phoenix is a great place to make money, it’s a great starting point for branching out to travel the southwest. But as a community, Phoenix may be the most isolating big city in America. The desert lifestyle, too much sun, or maybe new money bring on a pretentiousness wrapped in hideously trendy yet generic behaviors and elitist trappings of arrogance unbacked by intellectual integrity, social awareness, or compassion for our fellow citizen. It was this distancing that pushed Kirk out of the normal social circles that keep the herd cohesive. I wish Kirk good luck in finding his place in a funky new environ that is more tolerant than this desert that has been sterilized of its humanity.