Crap Free (not free crap)

To the tune of "Born Free", the one about the lion-

Crap free, as all of the junk goes
More free as the pile grows
Crap free as I empty our house

This is about the wondrous joy brought about by getting rid of a lifetime (or even more than one life time) of accumulated stuff. Actually, its mostly crap, since only my things are "stuff" and others' is "crap".

 

Since I have been in the old manse for 35 or so years, an extraordinary amount of crap has accumulated, mostly not of my doing. Now its just Connie and me here so of late an unending stream of crap and some stuff is flowing out. Pictures of long dead family nobody remembers, old 45 rpm records, unopened boxes of games, bags of bags, my old man's hospital bed (had to be dismantled), the stupid black recliner and the ugly chaise lounge are but highlights of the exodus underway. Only the departing books give me some sadness, but nobody wants most of them so out they flow.

 

 

Where does the crap go? Metallic crap goes to the curb where its promptly picked up by our loyal bands of scrappers. Some goes out with regular trash on Thursdays. And some I haul to a place sacred to me, one our fair city's four municipal dumps open to the public. Few things in life give me as much joy as tossing crap into the maw of the trash truck and watching it get crushed to oblivion.

Whatever enters there will never haunt me again, its gone forever.

The dump also has special places for scrap - it contains a chair and stupid stool nobody ever sat on, gone now from my life -

There is also a place for electronic crap, all those pieces of "must have" glowing screen junk that get wrapped up and shipped to some godforsaken place where they get recycled into new electronic crap-

The guys operating the dump are a pretty jovial lot, if a tad over weight, and if they have to change trucks there are always plenty of dumpsters at hand. They are not quite as satisfying since they don't crush the crap, but departure from my life is complete nonetheless. And, just to make the dump run a total joy, there is a fine Italian bakery just up the road. Makes for a fine morning.

A Real Crappy Doglet

There are all too many little dogs, or doglets, around theses days. They are not really dogs, more like defective cats. And it seems they are all spoiled rotten and generally nasty.
Here we see a guy who was trying to walk a doglet, which sat down every two yards and would not budge until given a treat.

This guy could easily hurled this useless creature down the sewer inlet, or simply hurled it across the street. Or he could have taken off the leash and left the mutt there to be rescued by some youthful pretty young thing. But no, he just fed the mobile garbage and very slowly progressed to his abode.
The other day I happened to look in the paper ads about pets. Hard to believe that people pay hundreds of dollars to own living excrement. They probably also have black appliances and granite counter tops....

Service with a Smile

After a great deal of work, the old dishwasher on the third floor of the great manse in Germantown was dismantled and taken out. It had served well for some time, but awhile back it just plain gave out. A dishwasher is hard for one person to lug down three flights of stairs until the door and motor are removed; then its a piece of cake.
Here in our part of the Quaker city we enjoy the free service of guys who take any sort of metal from the curb to recycling places, known formally as scrap yards. Those individuals are scrappers, and the do much more valuable work than rappers.
So here is the demised dishwasher-

 

 

And here is the scrapper, who took it away within sixty seconds of its arrival on the curb - you could not get better service anywhere on the planet, and its FREE!!

 

 





End of the World

I'll wager you did not know that the world's end was a place, not an event. We here in the Keystone State actually possess this place, within the bounds of World's End State Park in our very own Sullivan county (home also of the Lopez Winery, and of the Civil War era Fishing Creek Confederacy).
Its a fine and beautiful place, with a worthy camp ground which we inhabited over the July 4th weekend along the mighty Loyalsock creek.
Here is what the end of the world actually looks like-

 

 

That's the mighty Loyalsock down in the gorge.

 

This state park provides the visitor with considerable amenities, even in some pretty remote locations.

 

One, a fancy latrine, is near the vista from which the picture above was taken. One is cautioned to be careful not to abuse their comfort stations-

 



Coolth Pays

The other day while downtown (which we here in the City of Brotherly Love call "Center City", as if it were someplace else) this young man was busy trying to adjust his engine. Using an array of tools from a very fancy wooden chest just visible on the trunk in back, he tinkered away, blocking the bus lane.
Moments after this picture was taken, an world worn geezer in a wheelchair came out to provide guidance to the young mechanic (who seemed to be completely capable on his own) and blocked the second lane of 8th Street at Market. This is not a quiet intersection, especially during the work day.

 



What is notable about all this is that nobody honked their horns, nobody screamed at these guys in English, Spanish or Ebonics, nobody even made obscene gestures. They just waited and gazed at the cool car, and traffic just stopped, including SEPTA's Mighty 47.
Being cool pays.
(some time ago in a similar circumstance, a bus driver, noting a distraught tourist in a failed rental blocking the street, called for volunteers from the passengers, and led a crew to shove the car out of harm's and the bus's way; that car was uncool)

But is it really Art??

So while heading off to New York to visit offspring, gazing out the train window, we caught the work shown below, just past the yards of AMTRAK's 30th Street Station in the Quaker City. Look closely, and especially the person in the center. And the adjacent title to his right - "SZONE". Clearly this mural was thoroughly planned and laid out.

 

Now lots of folks feel that anything called "graffiti" is a disgrace to our society, damage to property and generally an outrage. Unlike murals which appear here and there sponsored and executed by respectable citizens and organizations, much street art is really stupid and ugly.

 

Some street art, however is worthy of admiration. Enlarge this picture and check out the expression on the guy's face - a perfect rendition of the expulsion of viscous matter by rapid pressurization. And note the man's eye, following the trajectory of his discharge, making sure it is accurately delivered to some unshown target.

 

Think also about the logistics of creating this painting. Along railroad tracks carrying AMTRAK and SEPTA trains night and day, some within inches of the painter's canvas. And how much stuff the artist had to lug to the site, probably a couple of gallons of paint at least. One must admire the courage and stamina of the artist, regardless of one's opinion of his (or hers) artistic accomplishment.

 

This piece is so much more than a simple scribbled tag. It is a true work of art. If it was just some crappy graffiti it would look like this-

 

 

 

Wilderness Creeps In

Just a day or so ago, we were visited by a pair of Turkey Vultures, never before seen by anyone we know in our fair city. Usually they populate rural places, where they clean up carrion.

One morning a couple of weeks ago a deer appeared right downtown, perhaps having got off the wrong subway station. Caught by the cops, the deer escaped and headed to New Jersey (so often a bad idea) where it was killed on the bridge by a texting driver.
And we have had three, count 'em three black bears captured or killed in our nearby burbs.
Not to mention giant worms.
What next? Spotted Anchelins??