Meaty Graffito

On our way to another wilderness stroll, a son and I encountered this crucial road sign with a spray-paint decoration. Possibly a “masculinist” comment, but more likely the first thing that “popped” into the Vandal’s mind.

What the purpose of graffiti? I think painting words and pictures on concrete and steel is a way of humanizing the inhuman. More so in cities’ acres of solid monstrosities. Son felt it was more a way of belittling the power structure, reminding the Owners not to take it all so seriously.

Either way, a great work. This sign, like so many, unnecessary to begin with. All sober drivers “yield” on one lane dirt road intersections. The decoration underscores the inherent hilarity.

Better yet, every spot of graffiti, every defaced sign, every damaged façade, is good for “the economy.” (In this case, nothing need be done, and probably won’t, until this sign gets its bullet baptism. Every sign on every dirt road in Arizona eventually takes a bullet, or a hearty close-range shotgun blast. Part of our Old West culture everyone seems to adore. The company that makes the signs would be wise to go around blasting signs to boost sales, as no one would know the difference.)

Beyond graffiti: every industrial mishap, car wreck, gun battle, dam collapse, and war, is “good for the economy” too. Breaking and fixing stuff is big business. To turn our Second Great Depression around, maybe we ought to break more stuff.

For instance, if you are unemployed, with no prospects, you don’t need your junky car anymore; use it in service to America. Go to the rich neighborhoods, plow over a few signs, side-swipe a few cars, and bust through a fence or two. Finish in a swimming pool if possible. This means work for the road crews, auto repairmen, fence companies, a tow truck, and the pool guy.

What? Breaking people’s stuff is bad? Our mighty military breaks stuff all over the world with impunity, as we silently approve. Gun and bomb sales are good for business. So is clearing rubble and bodies. So is rebuilding cities. More weapons, more damage, it’s win-win for everyone. Except for the dead, of course, but they can’t complain. Oh, and the maimed.

So if you can’t find a job, do something for the economy anyway. Wreck some stuff. A feel-good, all-American activity for anyone!

%$#@!

Along Kendrick Mountain Trail

A couple of bogus cowboys were the only others on the trail. One of ‘em looked like the only hiking he’d ever done was from the car to the buffet table. His horse looked tired.

The San Francisco Peaks from the top of Kendrick.

A recent court decision allows a ski resort to manufacture snow using “reclaimed wastewater” on the side of this peak, which has been a religious site for the Natives for millennia. Water not quite good enough for human consumption. Yum. Another battle in the ongoing war against the Natives. On paper they lost as usual, but the battle itself is a red herring.

From Ancient Ones on a pilgrimage, or folks like me who hike simply from stupidity, there have been plenty of regular poops on this lovely mountain. Surely it can absorb a little stinkwater.

So the last laugh is on the Modern Ones. The rich will frolic and ski in stinkwater, it will get in their eyes and mouths. Over the years it will wash down into the watershed, and folks will drink it in Flagstaff. Yum.

And no one will raise the real issue: not enough water for this many people. Having to strain out doo-doo and re-use water ‘cause there’s not really enough to go ‘round. To admit all this would be bad for business, except vendors of overpriced bottled water.