Cute Boys (Part Deux)

Is there ever a time when a crush can become annoying?  Can cute boys disappoint?  I know that the answer is yes.  Still, cute boy watching is a fun sport and should be treated with a level of respect and kindness.  I don’t think that it is limited by age, type, or status.  Cute boys exist and we, as women, sometimes require cute boy attention or at the very least should partake in the fascination of cute boyishness. 

Similar to a man’s need to be coddled by buxom blondes, cute boys are an essential part of a woman’s life.  Harmless flirtation and the occasional come-hither glance can help enhance a woman’s playfulness say, or renew her own self-interests.  Boy attention somehow makes a woman feel good.  That’s not to fly in the face of women’s liberation or anything.  On the contrary.  When did it become bad to receive a compliment or a whistle from a union worker?  A little attention never hurt anybody.  No one’s saying that a woman requires male attention to succeed.  What I’m saying is that a friendly boyish glance is part of the fun of being a girl.  Like buying lip gloss. And despite what women say, knowing that you are still attractive to the opposite sex is a reward in itself.  Sorry, Gloria Steinham.

For example, look at this hunk.  Although it is hard to believe, for sure after awhile even he–yes he–would get on your nerves.  Trust me, ladies. [Photo by Google Images]

In truth, the beauty is the fantasy.  The one in which every moment is scripted and he swears his undying love for you all while holding your purse as you try on a new outfit in the dressing room.  He may, if you feel so inclined, write poetry to you all while holding your margarita on Cinco de Mayo.  He speaks only sweet nothings into your ear as an ego boost and shuts up when you’re talking to your best friend on the phone.  Ah, a boy-toy in a box wrapped up in a little bow. Sweet.

In reality though, cute boys often know that they are cute.  They are generally not the brightest bulbs.  They have lousy friends who can be of the “deadbeat” persuasion and can sometimes smell from B.O. (Cute boy stink aside of course)  Sometimes, because they are intolerably adorable, they may wear the same clothes over and over and forget to brush their teeth.  Sometimes they test the waters hoping that their sheer magnetism is enough for most people to overlook their foibles.  They may even be cute-boy lazy or cute-boy crazy.  Either way, cute boys can try to get away with more stuff than the average ugly loser.

Here are a few triggers that should send girls packing (no matter how cute the boy is):

1. Mama’s Boys – No matter how cute the guy is, when compared with his love for his mom, you’ll always lose.
2. Sports Freaks – Aside from the occasional Super Bowl event or World Series, cute boys that are easily distracted by watching a game cannot spend too much time on paying you compliments. 
3. Workaholics – Let’s face it, anytime away from his attention to you is not worth it.  If work is his obsession, then how can you be?
4. Single, White Freak Show – If your cute boy should be wearing a straightjacket and living in a padded cell, then odds are you shouldn’t be wasting your time with him.
5. That’s not Eyeliner! – Black eyes are not the rage and aren’t a cute boy accessory.  If liking a boy sends you to the hospital ward, then you should run–not walk–to the nearest exit.
6. A Rose By Any Other Name - Cute boys should smell like teen spirit and Axe body spray.  They shouldn’t assault you with body odor.

I’m sure I’ll think of more in another post.  Until then, go ahead and wink at that cute guy behind the counter.  No harm, no foul.

What Cute Boys Do That Drives Girls (and Women) Crazy

Since lately, I am Twilight obsessed, I am using Robert Pattinson, star of the Twilight movies as an example of what cute boys do.  He’s an excellent example because his recent popularity proves my point that most of what he does is based on fantasy and wild erotic girlie imaginations gone awry.  When left to their own devices, women / girls have a tendency to infer relationships based on these specific non-verbal signals which cute boys utilize.  But it goes to show that when thrust into a feeding frenzy such as this phenom, much like the Harry Potter series has been to pre-adolescents everywhere (and adults like myself I might add) what women are buying into can be dangerous if they are being misled or believing the fantasy over the reality.

Forget what you’ve been taught browsing magazines while standing in line at the supermarket.  Gorgeous guys know they’re gorgeous.  They’ve been told countless times by fat, tall, geeky, adorable, sexy, fugly women everywhere.  Most likely, they’ve been told this at birth even.  When their awkward stage of pre-adolescence is over (for some boys this stage may never even exist), it will be hammered into their brains enough that they will recognize–albeit not always consciously–the power behind beauty.  Let’s face it, cute guys can say and do pretty much whatever they want and very rarely will face consequences.  The worst that can happen is that they’ll leave a bevy of beauties in their wake until they either grow old or ugly–whichever comes first.

Let us analyze, the many nuances to cute boys. [Photos provided by Google Images]

Cute boys wear cute clothes.

Cute boys never comb their hair.

Cute boys run their fingers through their hair…a lot. 

Cute boys have mastered the art of wincing… 

smiling…

blushing…

Cute boys always look like they’re carrying the world on their shoulders while being completely approachable.

But besides the way they look, they often add other things to drive us crazy.  They speak low, display their drowsy bedroom-eye looks at you and spread their pheremone-induced colognes all over themselves.  It’s maddening to know the tactics that they use to ensnare women.

Beyond The Crush:

As long as a girl is aware that these overwhelming feelings of lust are temporary, then all is well.  It’s only dangerous when the cute boy is without a job or is a creepy predator.  Unfortunately, cute boys can be so convincing that one is caught in their cutesy web of deceit.  That’s when feelings get hurt and it stops becoming a game and more of a sad state of affairs that can lead to cute-boy obsessions and in some cases, cute boy abuse.  That’s never cool no matter how cute the boy is.

So enjoy the play, gals.  Remember that it’s awesome as far as ego-boosting and honing one’s coquesttish skills go.  Flirting is always a plus so long as you are fully aware that the crush is just that: a crush.  Make sure that in the end it isn’t you that ends up crushed.

Be safe, be romantic, but most of all, be loved.

Where The Hell Have I Been?

These days, I’m just not sure.  I’m somewhere between the here and the there.  All I know is that I’m spending a lot of time at home.  Oh, this doesn’t bother me at all.  There’s a benefit to being a hermit.  Here’s a few:

1. I get to sing in the shower and marvel at my American Idolesque level of greatness.  Since I’m my only audience, it’s a BIG ego boost.
2. I get full use of the cable and internet I’m paying for.
3. How else can I catch up to my Twilight gossip?
4. More time to continue writing the novel I’ve been working on for 3 years.
5. My opinions are the only ones that count!
6. Knotty hair, bare feet and underwear are the dress-code.
7. I’m an official tweeterer now.  (Is that even a word?)
8. My target weight gain is almost complete!
9. I’m a more attentive mommy to my dogs.
10. I have online “friends” now, mom! 

hee hee!

Guess Who’s Back??

I know you missed me. I know you did. I rather missed myself too. But trust me, I wasn’t away that long because I wanted to be. In fact, I was tortured to no end because my computer was misbehaving and my creative outlet had been all but shut down. UGH!  The worst was that I really had no way to communicate.  Yeah, work doesn’t accept any cool websites and I don’t own a laptop or any other device.  Since I was Jonesin’ for a blog fix, I took advantage of the only thing I did have available: texting on my pay-as-you-go phone.  That made life a little bit more bearable.

Unplugged:

I don’t think I really realized just how much we rely on online connectivity these days.  Every television commercial, every company, hell EVERYTHING refers you to website that all the cool kids are visiting.  I almost had forgotten to put pen to paper–something I swore I would never forget how to do.  But trust me, to tune in and get back on the ‘net is seriously the best thing in the world next to…uh…well, next to breathing.  There, I said it.  As a true die-hard, I was holding out because I do like the old way of doing things: writing out ones thoughts on pretty stationary, taking one’s time to describe a chapter in one’s life.  But who has the time?!

Where I’ve Been:

I have literally been going through hell.  My life after December 31st has completely changed.  First, I have more on my plate and I often hold myself akin to a running motor.  The big change occurred after two major events that affected my life: Carlos’ surgery and the death of my dog, Lady.  Although I am vainly attempting to remain postitive, it is difficult not to think that my family has run into a bit of bad luck.  I know I’m being paranoid.  I know that it could be worse.  But when I’m changing Carlos’ bandages an hour prior to walking the two dogs in the morning even before I’ve gotten out my outfit I plan to wear for the day, the word ‘hectic’ doesn’t come close. 

What Happened?

The reality is that Carlos’ right foot has been desecrated by diabetes.  The deformity that remains reminds me of a raw slab of pork meat at the butcher’s.  It isn’t pretty and it isn’t funny.  It’s sad and gross and I almost passed out when I first saw it.  It is a lot to take in.  But because of my love for him, I continue to be supportive despite his missing toes: four of them to be exact.  Coupled with his depression over the loss, his inability to control his blood sugars, and his mood swings, it can definitely be a lot to handle.  But love seems to be conquering all.  Good days and really, really bad days.

Then, Lady died.  I thought that I would be prepared for her passing.  Not the case.  I cried like a bawling idiot the day I had to lay her lifeless body in a box.  I was surprised at how small she seemed. 

Joke’s On Me:

Turns out that people are remarkably resilient.  I am often surprised at how quickly I adapted to the big changes in the house.  Since this has happened, I feel more confident that I can take on a lot and still manage to…*gasp* survive.  Amazing!  Despite the drawbacks, there is plenty to celebrate.  I still have a job in a troubling economy.  My computer is working again! Carlos, Jubillee, Bear and I are still breathing.  Life is good.

Go fig!

Who Can Say, “No” To This Face?

Jubilee has been a new addition to the family since Sara moved in.  Why?  Well, she’s technically Sara’s dog, but she may as well be mine.  She’s quite the cuddler as you’ll see here…

Oh sure, Lady was jealous in the beginning, but she’s managed to fit right into the family.  And Carlos, an avid dog lover like myself, loves to hang with the pets.  I guess it’s good to be King…

This is what love looks like.  That, or laziness.

Re-charging The Batteries

I’ve been away because I’ve just been drained.  And maybe a little depressed because my vacation plans went to shit.  But what can I do about that?  Nothing. 

So what’s new in the wonderful world of MeMa?  Not much.  I have enjoyed the randomly entertaining local gossip and have been sleeping a lot.  I think the crash was long overdue. 

I Didn’t Go To The Reunion:

After all of the careful planning, the contact information gathered and the great intentions, I didn’t attend.  It was an awful evening with torrential rain, but it wasn’t the rain that stopped me.  It was a combination of Carlos feeling ill and me wanting to stay at home with him, but that wasn’t the reason either.  I think it was just that I had more fun with the planning than I did with the meeting of all of my old high school chums.  I’m not sure why, but I felt that my involvement was more about initiating interest rather than it was about me being there.  It’s not that I don’t believe that we had a remarkable experience and all.  It really was and I am very proud of our alma mater.  I just wanted to make sure that the event would have the same nostalgic feel that I planned in my head.  As it was coming to life, I saw that the direction it was taking was almost too lax…much like the way our class has always been about stuff.  If Heidi and I hadn’t started the ball rolling, I felt that it would have never come to fruition.  For some strange reason, it was time for them.  But no matter how I sliced it, it just wasn’t time for me.  Don’t get me wrong.  I loved the organizational aspect, but the thought of sitting opposite my former classmates made me feel a little nervous.  What would I really say to them?  Will it really matter what we’ve done in our lives?  It was a stressor that I didn’t need and I although they are all great people, in their own right, it seemed as though something would be missing.  Perhaps I just wanted to control more of the event.  Perhaps I was just scared.  Either way, I opted out and remained the heroine without having to defend myself and my life’s choices and all of that.  It was great to get those folks together and leave it there.

Hibernation:

Since my sis’s move, I noticed that I’ve had to somewhat reinvent my time.  I had a nasty bout of bronchitis which left me pretty much annoyed and bitter.  Then came this systematic ritual called Thanksgiving.  As usual, Carl thought that it would cool to have a “simple” Thanksgiving feast to celebrate our success and our loss of the past year.  Here was the result:

Yeah.  I know.  I’m blessed.  I did manage to have a great time even despite the grumblings from the kitchen.  Here’s a little excerpt of what I heard the morning prior and the day of Thanksgiving.  Enjoy this gem:

Carl – Sara, grab the big pot.

Sara reaches into the bottom cabinet and grabs the little pot.

Carl – No, no, no!  The big pot.

Sara (lazily) – This is the big pot.

Carl – No it isn’t.  It’s the one behind…way in the back. 

Sara (whining) – Where?

Carl (bending and pointing) – There?  In the back like I told you.  You see it?

Sara – Nooo…

Carl (pointing) – That one that I’m pointing to.  You see it?  Don’t tell me you don’t see it when I can see it from here…

Sara (annoyed) – I don’t see it!  I don’t see it!

A moment later, while moving the other bric-a-brac.

Sara (with pot in hand) – This one?

Carl – That one.  See?  If you’d just pay attention–

Sara (whining again) – I did!

Carl – No you didn’t.  Nevermind.  Nevermind.  Now, take out the gravy, the measuring cup, the spoon…

Sara – This one?

Carl – Yeah and start peeling the potatoes.  Ok?  They’re already boiled.

Sara begins peeling the potatoes.

Carl – You’re sitting down!  Stand up and peel the potatoes.  You don’t see chefs sitting down, y’know why?  Because you can’t peel potatoes sitting down.

Sara (still sitting defiantly) – I can.

Carl – Get out of the way!  Now, don’t forget to stir the pot with the noodles.  We don’t want ‘em to burn.

Sara gets up and begins to stir the noodles.

Carl – Do you smell that?

Sara – Smell what?

Carl – The noodles are burning.  Can’t you smell that?

Sara – What do you want me to do?

Carl – Well, turn off the pot and let me see…

Sara looks over his shoulder as Carl complains about the smell of burning.

Carl – There.  Only the ones at the bottom were burning.  Couldn’t you smell that?

Sara – No.

Carl – Sara, I can’t believe you couldn’t smell that…did you season the turkey?

Sara – I just did that.

Carl – You couldn’t have just done that.  You were too busy burning the noodles.

Sara (whining again) – I wasn’t burning them.

Carl brushing past her, grabs a hold of some salt and pepper and gets to work on the turkey.

Carl – Gimme a hand will ya?

Sara – I am!

Carl – Go and get me the Sazon from the top cabinet!

It was magic wathcing the dance.  Because whether you can stomach the noise or not, it is hilariously entertaining watching these two stubborn people work together to make a meal fit for a Queen of the Universe like myself.  I get to gladly–three years in a row now–sit back and watch them bicker knowing fulwell that in the end, it’ll be the best meal we’ll have all year.  All told, Carlos & Sara’s Thanksgiving produced a stuffed turkey, extra stuffing, cranberry sauce, rice and beans, potato salad, macaroni salad, 4 pies and 2 cakes.

Thankfulness:

Before I met Carlos, I didn’t realize how much of myself I had been sacrificing just to be who I am.  I am grateful that I can be myself all the time: my true self.  I am grateful for every day I breathe, for the lives I’ve touched and for the lives that have touched mine.  I said a special prayer for the people who we lost this past year, and to their families.  All in all, it hasn’t been a bad year at all.  And before I start to get too sentiMental <=(and yes, that was spelled that way on purpose) I want to say, Thank You to all of you blog readers out there who have been inspiring and loyal.  I know that some of you are out there in cyberspace meandering or wasting time.  I’m glad you’re there in the shadows sending the occasional comment.  You keep me going.

See ya at the dinner table.  BYOB.

Let’s Get All Presidential

Here’s what I heard (taking artistic license and reading between the lines):

No more tax breaks for the rich. Cut excessive spending.  Lots of big, scary figures like: 400 billion, 18 billion, 300 billion.  Ear-something or other that’s bad spending. Really, really bad spending.  Iraq.  Afghanistan.  Support our Troops.

But enough about all of that boring platform stuff.  Why not make this a little more fun and see the debate through my eyes, hm?

McCain:  I’m a veteran, Barack.  So there!

Obama:  Well, I unlike you, am making history.

McCain: I’m old.  Get off my lawn ya dang Negro!

Obama: Do we have to go right to the name-calling?!

McCain: You weren’t in ‘nam like I was…

Obama: I didn’t get captured either.

McCain: Now wait a guldarned minute, young man!  I’ll have you know that when I was in the Hanoi pit of hell, all I thought about was saving my father’s watch…and the one place I knew I could hide it was, well, my ass–

Obama (interrupting): Wait a minute!  Wait just one…

McCain: –So I held it up there…

Obama: I’ve heard that one before.  That was in a movie, Senator.

McCain: No, it was NOT!

Obama: Yes, yes.  I believe it was in the movie, Pulp Fiction.

McCain: Well fine.  You caught me.  But when I was imprisoned, I didn’t whine like a little sissy girl.  I also didn’t go cryin’ to my mama about it either.

Obama: Now that was just a cheap shot.  Don’t you–

McCain (tauntingly): What?

Obama: –say anything about my mama.

McCain: Oh yeah?  Well, you’re mama’s so ugly–

Obama: Senator, this is completely uncalled for!

McCain: –that he moved to Africa to get away from her.

Obama: Now, you see!  That does it!

Obama lunges at McCain and Jerry Springer bodyguards pop out of nowhere to pry the men apart.

Obama (swiping the air): I told you never to say anything bad about my mama!

McCain: Your mama, huh?  Well, I know these things are facts.  The reason I know?  I was with her LAST NIGHT!

Obama grabs McCain by the tie and proceeds to strangle him.  McCain, unable to lift his arms further than his waist, keeps going for body shots that do not seem to hurt Obama.  As the scuffle ensues, a broad, creepy-grandpa smirk spreads across McCain’s face.  Obama, noticing, turns to him and says, “What’s so damned funny?”

McCain responds, “My poll ratings just went up!”

And…scene.

Now that’s a debate worth watching!

More Blood

The last two weeks have been pretty depressing.  My friend dies, I go to see Equus on 9/11, and I’ve been suffering from the nastiest bout of chronic bronchitis two months before schedule. So no, I’m not all that cheery. 

But How Was Equus?

To say that it’s about a boy and his horse is an understatement.  Really, I’m just being facetious because the character, Alan Strang is really a heartbreakingly troubled boy who has blinded six horses.  Its tragic storyline and heavy subject matter can only be escaped–just as the audience’s voluntary suspension of disbelief–by one single thing: Daniel Radcliffe.  His inexperience as a stage actor was a surprise given his successful execution of the play in London.  I was therefore no less surprised to see him make a youthful blunder, breaking character on-stage, all because of a silly technical difficulty.  When he actually mouthed to the horse to help him affix a stubborn harness in the final scene of Act I, it was obvious to the viewer that Daniel was frustrated with the mishap.  At the height of this action-filled moment, a turning point in progress for the young boy’s tale leading to a dramatic intermission, Daniel struggled.  Instead of using the problem to his advantage, to behave as Alan would behave, perhaps over-eager to get on with a fantasy and becoming all-thumbs, Daniel didn’t.  Even while the seasoned actor, Richard Griffiths stood off-stage and verbally gave permission to the actor to explain the details of his moonlit horseback ride, “when you [Alan] are ready…”  the struggle was noticeably incongruent and took the audience away from the story and back to that troublesome harness.  The momentum slowly deteriorated for Daniel from there.  The only saving grace: the other players.  Richard Griffiths was superb as Dr. Martin Dysart.  His weariness, regret, and humor played off of his counterpart, Kate Mulgrew (whom most Americans know as female Captain on Star Trek: Voyager) was delicious.   As they were breaking down the psyche of Alan, they come to express their own sense of disillusionment and loss for all of the things that they’d once loved.  Also brilliant?  Lorenzo Pisoni, who kept me glued to the stage not only to see him strut his stuff as Nugget, but whom I believed as The Young Horseman with small, significant movements of his wrists as though an invisible horse pitched back and forth.  Finally, the parents: Frank and Dora Strang were entirely understated as simple country folk.  Their performance as people who tried desperately to instill goodness and innocence in their growing boy, while displaying their own hypocrisies and shortcomings as parents seemed suitable.  There was also amazing set-direction.  Five cubes on-stage were transformed into scenery and set.  Six svelte actors outfitted in brown suede pants and form-fitting brown shirts all looked like horses.  The person who thought up those enormous steel-metal, horses-heads (with light-bulb eyes) was brilliant.  And those horseshoe footlift hooves were fascinating to watch.  Not only did the actors look like horses, but they behaved like them, making subtle movements with their heads and “hooves” that had me captivated. 

But How Was Daniel’s bum?

A sophisticated moviegoer doesn’t blink twice when an actor has a nude scene.  Therefore, a sophisticated audience member at a play also doesn’t blink twice.  Besides, if you believe Daniel’s own gripe about his own 9/11 performance, you’d of missed it anyway (i.e. shrinkage).  But whenever dealing with adult themes such as sexuality, ecstasy and religion, you have to know that an awakening must happen.  I’ve mentioned my “crush” on Raddy here already so no need to go into that.  Oddly enough, a lot was made about the final scenes where Daniel Radcliffe (former Mr. Harry Potter to you) appears in the buff.  No one mentioned that his castmate, Jill Mason (played by an enticing, Anna Camp) was also naked as the day she was born.  Then again, she wasn’t Harry Potter or Hermione Grainger.  But I digress…

But What’s The Play About?

(SPOILER HERE ~ DO NOT READ IF YOU DON’T WANNA KNOW)

Like I said earlier, there’s a lot going on here.  Poor Alan Strand has blinded six horses and a Doctor must find out why.  In Alan’s case, the awareness of his own father’s sexuality by catching him at a porn-movie theater, is the aha moment for the character.  It is Alan’s understanding of his father as a sexual being which leads to a loss of innocence that is further complicated by the fact that Alan isn’t aroused by the opposite sex, but by horses.  Add to that an undercurrent of religious guilt-complexes when Alan, in the throes of his first female sexual encounter, feels as though the horses are judging him.  Not just horses, but his favorite ride: Nugget.  An animal that becomes his god, Equus, and his preferred vehicle to reach ecstatic climax.  Whew.  Heavy.

More on Daniel Radcliffe, because…why not?

The guy’s beautiful in person.  His eyes are the most noticeable feature, but is that just the crush talking?  No.  He really has large bright blue eyes that you can spot a mile away.  Equus be damned!  And, he’s really little.  I mean, short.  Not little at all.  Well…maybe during my performance (i.e. shrinkage) but hey, it was cold in there.  All those eyes watching…But forget that for now.  Daniel didn’t have to have blood taken from the same arm two days in a row, but he does seem to be lacking iron.  I mean, that boy was pasty white, man.  Maybe he needs a good Puerto Rican girl to fill him full of chuletas or something.  Anyhow, I got blood to go around these days.  Ask my doctors who drained me dry not once, but twice.  In a row.  Back to back.  Ugh!  But seriously people, he’s still just a 19 year old kid who’s learning his craft–not witchcraft Potter fans, ok?  And as I think about that age difference, yuck.  OK, I can fantasize as long as he’s over the age of eighteen, but he’s way too young for me.  Also, seriously?  I’d be robbing the cradle.  But he really is just a kid in a man’s world.  An acting man’s world.  So stop hanging out at the Stage doors trying to get a glimpse because really?!  He looks tired.  Don’t believe me?  Look here.  Leave him alone, y’all.  Let the poor bugger get his sleep, eh?  If you don’t I’ll send you right back to Slitherin House without supper.  So there.

Love, Yvette

Today I thought of you and wrote an entry into a blog you’ll never read because you’re gone. I had no idea that it’d be so sudden.  But then again, it always is. 

The other day, I almost had forgotten.  I almost sent you a note and stopped, remembering.  Today I looked into our notes and re-read what I had written for you a little over a year ago.  

Love, Yvette

When someone asks me how I am, I have no answer
Therefore find it suspect when soliloquies are born
Emotions defined so clearly as if it sat across the tongue
For such occasion that breath should set it free
Flying through the air as just as any truth
When someone asks me why I smile, I find no explanation
The source of all delight as present as the sun
The mystery of which I oft contemplate
Drawn to a center that I’ll never reach
But understand
Can’t foresee the value of a sunny day nor a rainy one
Or tell you how I feel about awakening each day
With purpose: using all five senses
To build thoughts
To write poems
To sing songs
Or view the world in lense-reverse painted with rainbows
What could I say to get you to believe
That which I can scarce express in all divine ways combined?
Can’t pin down lofty words like, Love or Loss
So I choose not to waste my days deconstructing
Everything I see, I touch, I feel, I smell, I taste is mine
And words can never do them justice

I will never forget you.  There were things we shared that I never told anyone.  You were an inspiration, a no-nonsense person with a big heart.  This has been the hardest loss to take because I’d promised to see you…but for some reason, it wasn’t in the cards.  I have to believe that it was for a reason: so I didn’t have to see you but in my mind’s eye.  You always said that I was a good writer, but today, I can’t find the words.  I just know that I really miss you…and that no words I write will bring you back. 

Goodbye, Yvie.

Urban Artists

I have always been fascinated by graffiti artists whose artistry compliments their neighborhood rather than desecrates it.  Sometimes I play a little game of trying to decipher their meanings which sends me off daydreaming to the point where I am caught off-guard.  I am not suggesting this of course.  But lately, the creative juices are flowing more fluidly as more and more local graffiti is finding its way onto highways, byways and in hard-to-access places around New Jersey.  I don’t know why.  Maybe the graffiti artists are interested in taking back their turf.  Maybe they’re tired of their bad wraps and want to make amends.  Maybe they are just tempting the law.  Whatever the reason, it’s entertaining and can send brilliant minds aflutter in all different directions. 

Have a look around, blog some graffiti photos.  Let’s see what you come up with.

Carpe Diem and all that jazz!