Photo by John HoffStarting Anew
It was a good time to go home after the tire-slashing incident. I saw my family, loaded up on supplies, and felt mentally refreshed--ready to face the task of cleaning up the neighborhood around the eco-village once again.
Above is a license plate which I found in Minneapolis, and nailed up on the back of the barn on the rural farm where I grew up. I once had quite a "shed side" license plate collection going in Gilby, North Dakota, but I sold that property when I ditched that awful state to follow my child to Minnesota, where I'm originally from. (And so is my ex-spouse, though her town doesn't really count because it's in the part of Minnesota where North Dakota's bleak culture oozes over our border)
Well, I thought, time to start a new license plate collection.
Where Is The Graffiti, Ma'am? (A 311 Urban Legend)
I called in some graffiti a few days ago on my southern perimeter, apologizing to the 311 operator because I didn't call it in sooner.
"I misread the letters," I explained. "I thought it said NSP, like the gas company. At first I thought it was a gas company marking the boarded-up door, like, THIS HOUSE HAS BEEN CHECKED. THE GAS IS TURNED OFF. But I misread the letters. It's graffiti, not a gas company marking."
(I won't say what the letters were per my policy of not giving recognition to the gangs)
The operator laughed and told me about an incident that happened a few years ago. Or it might be an urban legend, she said. A lady called in to 311 to complain about graffiti. They asked her where the graffiti was.
"They painted the grass!" the lady cried out. "Oh, all over the grass! And they stuck little red flags in it, too!"
These were, of course, gas company markings.
I guess I'm the opposite coin of the urban legend. Here I was NOT calling in because I mistook graffiti for a gas company marking.
So I delivered what by now is becoming my catch phrase.
"You understand that's going right on my blog?"
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