DEBRIS.COMgood for a laugh, or possibly an aneurysm

The 10th Annual Italian Street Painting Festival in San Rafael, CA provided an opportunity to see awe-inspiring art in an unexpected medium: chalk on asphalt.

The big draw (no pun intended) was a half-size recreation of the Sistine Chapel ceiling, but I was more affected by some of the other pieces — which are very difficult to photograph given the perspective of the average spectator. Crowds cast long shadows, for one thing (you’ll see my own in the corner of one image); getting high enough above any of these images to capture the whole piece without huge perspective distortion was basically impossible. (Staff volunteers carried ladders for the official photographers, but even these were inadequate for some of the larger panels.)

It was hot. Imagine spending two days on hands and knees on freshly sealed asphalt. Kudos to the artists for enduring, especially given the temporary nature of this work.

The other lasting impression I had is how filthy some of the artists were. Loose-hanging clothes and exposed skin were quickly smeared with chalk, dirt, sweat, and grime. It seemed like it would be an absolutely miserable way to spend a weekend… but the art! Some of the images were stunning. Seeing these photo-realistic lighting effects and super-saturated colors on the street was jarring, even for a “street painting festival.” Basically it was amazing. See examples below.

Here are galleries of past festivals:

• 2000 Italian Street Painting Festival
• 2002 Italian Street Painting Festival

FindLaw columnist John Dean presents an interesting analysis of the political implications of the missing WMDs in Iraq:

Before asking Congress for a Joint Resolution authorizing the use of American military forces in Iraq, [President Bush] made a number of unequivocal statements about the reason the United States needed to pursue [an act] of war against another nation… Now it is clear that many of his statements appear to be false.

If no Weapons of Mass Destruction will be found, Dean predicts, the scandal will be bigger than Watergate, which as you know resulted in the resignation of then-president Nixon. Read the full article here: Missing Weapons Of Mass Destruction: Is Lying About The Reason For War An Impeachable Offense? Here, as a teaser, is Dean’s conclusion:

To put it bluntly, if Bush has taken Congress and the nation into war based on bogus information, he is cooked.

Dean has a great perspective on presidential scandal — he was a part of the Watergate coverup, and served four months in prison as a result. (This historical factoid is not part of Dean’s FindLaw.com biography.)

Sierra Club put the smackdown on Ford Motor Company this week, in ironic celebration of Ford’s 100th birthday.

The car that launched the modern auto industry 100 years ago, Henry Ford’s Model T, could drive 25 miles on a gallon of gas. The flagship of Ford Motor Company’s current 2003 model year, the 2003 Explorer, can manage only 16 miles. Is this progress?

Sierra Club asked the question in an ad placed in the New York Times last week. It’s a great piece of marketing. Click to download the ad as a PDF (145k).

I don’t wear a watch. I’m so rarely more than arm’s length from a computer that I just don’t have too much use for wearing a clock on my wrist.

I own a watch — a nice diving model purchased back in my scuba days. It’s been sitting in its case in my sock drawer for about ten years now, battery long since dead, waiting for the day the California coastal waters warm up to a point above 40°F — say, to be comfortable, to about 85°F — so I can bust out my fins and snorkel and diving watch and get wet again. Of course I hate to even imagine what sort of ecological disaster would bring a 45° rise in ocean temperature. I’m sure it would cause the coast to migrate inland about 1700 miles, making my scuba gear that much more valuable, as I’d be swimming to work.

Anyway. I’ve been spending a lot of time on the trails recently, and it occurred to me (just after my wife suggested it, natch) that a watch would be a useful thing to carry. I excavated my diving watch from the back of the drawer, along the way finding socks I’d thought (or hoped) had been lost for good, because I last wore them in the days when most of the value I brought to my job every day was by showing up wearing a suit.

Getting a new battery was as easy as waiting in line at the clock shop at the mall. “How much do you charge to replace a watch battery?” I asked.

“Ten dollar,” said the clerk. He then asked me to come back in a few minute.

So I browsed a display of inexpensive velcro-and-nylon “sports straps.” The only discernable difference was color. I took one from the rack and asked about its price. “Ten dollar,” said the clerk.

“What is this, ten dollar day?”

No answer, but a mean look. I think I’d disqualified myself from the population of customers who are always right. The relationship took an antagonistic turn. “That no good strap,” said the clerk, pointing to the one I’d picked out. “These strap much better.” He held up a strap that was identical to the one I’d selected, except for the color. “OK,” I said, eager to restore light and harmony, “how much is that strap?”

“Twenty dollar.”

“Twenty dollars?! It’s the same strap!”

“No, different strap. Much better company.” As if either strap came with a warranty. As if a half-inch nylon band wouldn’t outlive my watch, not to mention my wrist.

So I opted for the cheaper strap. I’m pleased with the decision. The strap looks great at the back of my sock drawer.

Updates will be sporadic over the coming weeks.

I’ve found myself decreasingly able to provide fresh content for this space. I need a change of mental scenery. The idea that with each passing day, dozens of people visit this page only to see the same thing they read last week, creates simultaneously a desire to write more and an inability to do so well. There have been days when I’ve been inspired by lint… and other days when entire life philosophies come crashing down around me and all I can manage to write about is what my urine smells like.

Not that there’s anything wrong with essays about my urine, of course.

So I have a couple of longer pieces in the works, and a list of topics that await lint-esque inspiration. Anything could happen. It probably just won’t happen every day.