The fact that I recently spent some time in Indianapolis for work purposes has been well-publicized... on this blog. It was no secret that, while away, I was really looking forward to returning home. Upon hearing that, many people would often assume that I do not enjoy traveling. As a mascot head-wearing football analyst might say, "Not so fast, my friends." The truth is, I do enjoy traveling... when one is actually able to absorb the environment they're in. The trip I just completed did not allow such opportunities. The only thing I was really able to absorb was the atmosphere of the convention center in which I spent around 13 hours each day. By the end of each day, I could not have provided any sort of area weather report, but I could have easily directed you to the nearest restroom or water cooler. (Refreshing.)
While this trip may have been more bogus journey than excellent adventure*, there were a few lessons learned. Naturally, I find it my duty to pass these lessons along to as many people as I can reach. (The 1.5 readers of this blog.) The first such lesson comes in this writing. (Sorry for the brief post, but it seems that television is somewhat addicting when it comes in HD form and there's much less time in a week when you have five Harry Potter films to catch up on).
*Yes, we at The Writings are fluent in Bill & Ted-ese.
Street toughs are born that way.
During a rare opportunity to actually stretch my legs outdoors in the downtown area, I found myself sauntering down a city block, only to see a crew of inner-city teens headed my way. Pants were sagging, shirts were missing, and tattoos were prevalent. It seemed like a group that could normally be a bit intimidating to someone from a small town. However, there was one thing askew. Amidst the visible boxer shorts and icy cold glares, there rolled a stroller.
That's right, a stroller.
I have seen many portrayals of the street life in my day. They have come via television, film, and Michael Jackson music videos. One might think it would be hard to come by something that seemed more out of place than some youths having a dancing knife fight (before settling their differences thanks to more dancing), but this stroller struck such a cord with me. As I walked by, I was tempted to walk up to the stroller to see if the little tike inside was wearing a sagging diaper or had any baby tatts. Luckily, common sense won out and I kept to myself. I'm not sure how small of size brass knuckles come in, but I doubt it would be worth finding out.
While this trip may have been more bogus journey than excellent adventure*, there were a few lessons learned. Naturally, I find it my duty to pass these lessons along to as many people as I can reach. (The 1.5 readers of this blog.) The first such lesson comes in this writing. (Sorry for the brief post, but it seems that television is somewhat addicting when it comes in HD form and there's much less time in a week when you have five Harry Potter films to catch up on).
*Yes, we at The Writings are fluent in Bill & Ted-ese.
Street toughs are born that way.
During a rare opportunity to actually stretch my legs outdoors in the downtown area, I found myself sauntering down a city block, only to see a crew of inner-city teens headed my way. Pants were sagging, shirts were missing, and tattoos were prevalent. It seemed like a group that could normally be a bit intimidating to someone from a small town. However, there was one thing askew. Amidst the visible boxer shorts and icy cold glares, there rolled a stroller.
That's right, a stroller.
I have seen many portrayals of the street life in my day. They have come via television, film, and Michael Jackson music videos. One might think it would be hard to come by something that seemed more out of place than some youths having a dancing knife fight (before settling their differences thanks to more dancing), but this stroller struck such a cord with me. As I walked by, I was tempted to walk up to the stroller to see if the little tike inside was wearing a sagging diaper or had any baby tatts. Luckily, common sense won out and I kept to myself. I'm not sure how small of size brass knuckles come in, but I doubt it would be worth finding out.
No comments:
Post a Comment