Houseguests have arrived. Are snoozing away. It's Camp Out at Camp Mudville. We've already taken care of one essential: spinning the cube. After Blimpy Burger. We also walked through every alley we could find, including the wild graffiti alley with the gross gum thing. (No Michael tonight.)
We've noticed that the latest happ'nin' graffito is FRESH. It's all over town, including (boldly) on the marquee of the State. On the side of one parking garage the culprits have tagged the same spot near the corner on every level---some semi-precarious hangin' over the edge was surely required. Not to mention upside-down writing. FRESH FRESH FRESH FRESH FRESH. Repetition seems to be part of the deal sometimes. Appears multiply in horizontal arrangement, too.
It's not quite the wonderful JEEBUS LOVES YOU of yesteryear, with the Pacman-lookin' ghost that turns out to be the logo of a local record company. But it's good. Good to have a local community theme, grassrootsy, street art, fleeting mode.
Hope it doesn't turn out to be advertising. Or ---like those Aqua Teen Force things--- terrorism.
Boy I hate when they say terrorism instead of vandalism. Or have I said that before. Not that that was vandalism.
Humphrey seems to think I should go to bed too. I hear the 8 year-old gets up by 6:30 or 7 no matter when he's gone to bed. And you know how it is on the road sometimes, with waking up early. I still can't believe they hit the road shortly after 5 a.m. I mean, something has to be urgent for me to do that. A deadline, or a heckuva lot further to drive than 500 miles or so. 5 a.m. is not kidding. 5 a.m. is so tired you shake. 5 a.m. is no farting around.
5 a.m. is gonna be here soon if I don't wrap it up. Night, ya'll. Or good morning. Good weekend, at least, I suppose.