Here come the Men in Black, galaxy defenders!

The other day during the lunch rush at work, three young men in black suits came through the line. We get business yuppies in suits all the time, so I didn't think anything of it. The first one had this little lapel pin that looked like a lens. I thought it looked like some spy cam, and amused myself that I was serving James Bond his lunch. Then the final guy stepped up to pay, and I saw a badge clipped to his belt, revealed by his coat which had caught behind his hip. Since we give police a 50% discount, I asked "Oh, you're a police officer?" He politely said "Umm... yeah." and quickly covered it up, but not before I saw that it said 'Secret Service'.

Hell yeah, we had the MiB's in the house!



I gave him his discounted burrito with pride.

I wondered who was in town, and later learned that Laura Bush had visited the Wright Dunbar neighborhood that afternoon. The Wright Dunbar area is struggling to slough off its ruffian west-side reputation and become a shopping and historical destination just off of downtown Dayton. I hope Mrs. Bush can help. I may not approve of her husband, but I have no beef with her, and hope she can help Dayton grow.

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So I finally broke Sophie down and got her to let me take her pictures with my new monolight flash unit. We were outside in her yard, and I posed her against her weathered (and very cool) horse trailer. Of course, she made me promise that nobody would ever see them, so this is all you guys get:



I had actually set up to take a picture of her next door neighbor, Travis. He's this ghetto/redneck 17 year old who's got a twang as thick as peanut butter and never without his fubu's, but he's a great kid with a heart of solid gold. Speaking of gold, he got these obnoxious blingin' false teeth, and I had to take a picture of him cheesing with them:



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Texas Gurl left a few comments on some "vintage" posts of mine from way way back in '04. She said that she looked back on them with nostalgia, despite how unhappy I was. I realized that they did have an entirely different flavour, usually full of thoughts on this or that, witticisms, and philosophies. This blog lately has become more to the tune of "Dear Diary, today I went and rode horses! ..." That needs to change.

But in response to her comment about nostalgia, I realized (and replied) that I had trouble reading over my archives. I try, but it's just too fucking painful.

I will, however, leave you to ponder this final thought, as written in my fourth ever post back in September '04, entitled "Don't 'cha wanta":

No, I do not want a Fanta. Leave me alone.