From the car I photographed this Graffiti Art I saw along the highway Lisbon. Street art is the art of expression in urban dwellings by young folks. I imagine the fast car and flash of my camera mimics the energy needed to produce art out in the open where cops might see you.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Lisbon, Portugal
From the car I photographed this Graffiti Art I saw along the highway Lisbon. Street art is the art of expression in urban dwellings by young folks. I imagine the fast car and flash of my camera mimics the energy needed to produce art out in the open where cops might see you.
Laundromat Trauma by Leona Leone Beasley
In the beginning there was authority (or building management) and nothin' been right since
A guy has entered the Laundromat and in his hay-day he was probably a high school star running back. And back in the day he wore a letterman's jacket, drove a red Chevy Camaro and pimped walked around school with a harem of girlfriends. Think of a chocolate-chocolate OJ Simpson when he was a USC Heisman trophy winner. Long before the white Bronco and the loose fitting black leather gloves.
And like OJ this man's running back days are gone! Today he doesn't have a flashy car nor a pretty letterman's jacket to show those of us in the Laundromat. Today he sports a beer gut, love handles and an enormous butt crack for our viewing pleasure. His too small shirt is raising up and his belt-less pant are falling down. Each times he bends over to load the front facing washer, we the unsuspecting Laundromat victims can almost see his entire ass. Each time he bends to get more clothes the wind blows up his butt and reveals more crack. Like a train wreak I watch through opened fingers secured over my face.
I'm often described as bold and out spoken but I can not find the words I want to desperately scream out. I want to say:
"Heeey-don't you feel that wind, we can-we can see it breezing up your butt."
or
"Hey, hey, hey--women and children in here. Cover yourself MAN."
or
"Mister, your pant's are falling to your knees, it's scaring the kids!"
Instead I say nothing because I was scared. Anybody willing to show his stuff in public is surely a madman. But when I relive it in my mind I bravely walk up, swat him on the side of his head with the back of my hand and say,
"Mister! Pull your pant's up or go home, your maid doesn't work here."
A guy has entered the Laundromat and in his hay-day he was probably a high school star running back. And back in the day he wore a letterman's jacket, drove a red Chevy Camaro and pimped walked around school with a harem of girlfriends. Think of a chocolate-chocolate OJ Simpson when he was a USC Heisman trophy winner. Long before the white Bronco and the loose fitting black leather gloves.
And like OJ this man's running back days are gone! Today he doesn't have a flashy car nor a pretty letterman's jacket to show those of us in the Laundromat. Today he sports a beer gut, love handles and an enormous butt crack for our viewing pleasure. His too small shirt is raising up and his belt-less pant are falling down. Each times he bends over to load the front facing washer, we the unsuspecting Laundromat victims can almost see his entire ass. Each time he bends to get more clothes the wind blows up his butt and reveals more crack. Like a train wreak I watch through opened fingers secured over my face.
I'm often described as bold and out spoken but I can not find the words I want to desperately scream out. I want to say:
"Heeey-don't you feel that wind, we can-we can see it breezing up your butt."
or
"Hey, hey, hey--women and children in here. Cover yourself MAN."
or
"Mister, your pant's are falling to your knees, it's scaring the kids!"
Instead I say nothing because I was scared. Anybody willing to show his stuff in public is surely a madman. But when I relive it in my mind I bravely walk up, swat him on the side of his head with the back of my hand and say,
"Mister! Pull your pant's up or go home, your maid doesn't work here."
Laundromat Etiquette by Leona Leone Beasley
I’m gonna lay my burden down by the riverside and study war no more
The woman that seated behind the counter dealing out ten-dollar packs of quarters has got to weight at least 350 pounds.
She wobbles over to get my money.
“What’ll it be KID?” she says.
“I’d like to get a roll of quarters, thank you.”
“Now KID, you don’t have to use all that fancy talk to get service round here. We treat everybody the same,” she says.
“Well, that’s fine, but this is the way I talk. I didn’t change it for you.”
Her jellyroll fingers reluctantly hand over my roll of quarters with her eyes squinted sharp like razors. I gave her my back.
Jeez! What ah girl gotta go through to get her clothes washed.
The woman that seated behind the counter dealing out ten-dollar packs of quarters has got to weight at least 350 pounds.
She wobbles over to get my money.
“What’ll it be KID?” she says.
“I’d like to get a roll of quarters, thank you.”
“Now KID, you don’t have to use all that fancy talk to get service round here. We treat everybody the same,” she says.
“Well, that’s fine, but this is the way I talk. I didn’t change it for you.”
Her jellyroll fingers reluctantly hand over my roll of quarters with her eyes squinted sharp like razors. I gave her my back.
Jeez! What ah girl gotta go through to get her clothes washed.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Laundromat 101 by Leona Leona Beasley
You can lead a horse to water but he or she shouldn’t drink unless it’s spring water
Have you ever notice that Laundromats never have name above the entrance that can be read? Most of the signs have fallen or the pressed on letters have peeled off. If they do have names that can be read you forget them as soon as you read them. Names such as: Sudsy-Soapy Palace, Suds and Stuff or W-A-S-H. In the glorious Castro in San Francisco the gay boys have a one that’s aptly name Sit-IN-Spin. There you can buy a latte or cappuccino with a scone, cinnamon bun or a sandwich. How civilized! But g-boys often make dull things fabulous and wonderful. Maybe some boys in the Castro can come up with a list of fun innovative names for the rest of the Bay Area. Maybe it’s a career in it. Not! But it was fun to think about.
Have you ever notice that Laundromats never have name above the entrance that can be read? Most of the signs have fallen or the pressed on letters have peeled off. If they do have names that can be read you forget them as soon as you read them. Names such as: Sudsy-Soapy Palace, Suds and Stuff or W-A-S-H. In the glorious Castro in San Francisco the gay boys have a one that’s aptly name Sit-IN-Spin. There you can buy a latte or cappuccino with a scone, cinnamon bun or a sandwich. How civilized! But g-boys often make dull things fabulous and wonderful. Maybe some boys in the Castro can come up with a list of fun innovative names for the rest of the Bay Area. Maybe it’s a career in it. Not! But it was fun to think about.
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