I tend to peruse the Utah mugshots online. The sheriff's department and local newspaper maintain a frequently updated database, and I like to wander through every few days. Mostly looking for in-laws, but also curious as to the number of meth arrests and how many of my old high school party buds are still skidding along with no sign of growing up. Yeah, there's one old high school pal who's in those shots two or three times a month--public intox, over and over. It's very sad to see. Doesn't look so much like "Key's Hunny" now.
Today, I came across one of those really scary ones--a guy with tattoos all over his face. I remember studying that sort of thing in college, discussing the social "disconnect" that often accompanies that sort of drastic self-alteration. Reading the description of his "distinguishing marks," I see that, in addition to the freaky tribal thing he has on his face, he has swastikas tattooed somewhere less visible. Reading further, I see that he was picked up for a series of offenses, including drugs, avoiding apprehension, driving on a revoked license, a slew of failures to appear, and a firearm charge. Mr. Scary Guy, do me a favor, wouldja? Get those swastikas tattooed on your face so I know to run like hell when I see you. Please?
My hands are really rather bad this morning. It's funny, I didn't realize at first--not until I went outside to water the new grass (which is sprouting for now, but I refuse to get excited) and fiddled with the sprayer. I realized that my fingers didn't just hurt, they were almost unwilling to bend enough to grasp the sprayer tightly. That eased as soon as I forced the issue and flexed the fingers a few times, but it was a surprise.
The work crews have been outside since 7 am, cleaning the pavement on the street for the work they'll be doing tomorrow and Tuesday. That's two days we'll have to find somewhere else to park. Yay! Lucky them, I was already up that early. Otherwise, I'd have stormed downstairs, whipped that door open and . . . glared. For a minute. Then closed the door and groused to the dog about it. Yeah, I'm a scary one, huh?
New bumper stickers came last night--a new Obama sticker and a Human Rights Campaign sticker. Our car is starting to look like one of THOSE cars. You know the ones, they resemble nothing so much as a well-worn valise covered in travel decals?
Oh, and there's the sun! I think I'll go outside, mow the patch of grass, and listen to my birdies!
Today, I came across one of those really scary ones--a guy with tattoos all over his face. I remember studying that sort of thing in college, discussing the social "disconnect" that often accompanies that sort of drastic self-alteration. Reading the description of his "distinguishing marks," I see that, in addition to the freaky tribal thing he has on his face, he has swastikas tattooed somewhere less visible. Reading further, I see that he was picked up for a series of offenses, including drugs, avoiding apprehension, driving on a revoked license, a slew of failures to appear, and a firearm charge. Mr. Scary Guy, do me a favor, wouldja? Get those swastikas tattooed on your face so I know to run like hell when I see you. Please?
My hands are really rather bad this morning. It's funny, I didn't realize at first--not until I went outside to water the new grass (which is sprouting for now, but I refuse to get excited) and fiddled with the sprayer. I realized that my fingers didn't just hurt, they were almost unwilling to bend enough to grasp the sprayer tightly. That eased as soon as I forced the issue and flexed the fingers a few times, but it was a surprise.
The work crews have been outside since 7 am, cleaning the pavement on the street for the work they'll be doing tomorrow and Tuesday. That's two days we'll have to find somewhere else to park. Yay! Lucky them, I was already up that early. Otherwise, I'd have stormed downstairs, whipped that door open and . . . glared. For a minute. Then closed the door and groused to the dog about it. Yeah, I'm a scary one, huh?
New bumper stickers came last night--a new Obama sticker and a Human Rights Campaign sticker. Our car is starting to look like one of THOSE cars. You know the ones, they resemble nothing so much as a well-worn valise covered in travel decals?
Oh, and there's the sun! I think I'll go outside, mow the patch of grass, and listen to my birdies!
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