Newspaper Page Text
OPINIONS. OBSERVATIONS. INFORMATION
GRAFFITI IN IOST-VIUE
Out for a ride in my automobile: those words
sang through my head as I joyfully set out to get
lost, with no particular place to go. Aaahhhh.
yes. that sweet four-letter word l-o-s-t. Now
granted, getting lost was my ultimate goal for
the weekend. However. I did mean figuratively—
but the gods have it out for anyone who uses the
word lost in such a specific manner as trying to
regain their sanity.
I'm sure you can identify; every person in the
world at one time or another has wanted to get
lost from life: to lose the lunacy, get away from
work and the daily pressures of living. If you are
lucky enough to live in a city like New York, then
you know the realities of elbow space, or the lack
thereof, and praying that you don't get jabbed in
the ribs yet one more time.
Getting lost, even literally, can be the best
thing for your soul. The hard part is trying not to
get irritated at the stupidity surrounding the ve
hicle beneath youi bum. Even a free-spirited gal
like me freaked out once I realized I was some
where unexpected. Because, let's face it. getting
lost in the backwoods of Georgia, is scary—not
that getting lost in Georgia is a bad thing. I'm
a city girl used to finding a restaurant on every
corner, and getting lost in the country is not
something I'm used to. It is a sight to behold.
However, being an artistic soul, I decided to take
advantage of my dilemma and the beautiful scen
ery before me.
After I dutifully checked for snakes and other
wildlife that might rip me to shreds. I grabbed
my camera equipment and headed out. I trudged
my way through thickets and happened upon
something unanticipated. The realization struck
hard that city and country aren't so different.
Even the laid-back country life we'city folk hear
so much about gets graffiti. Graffiti! Something
I didn't think I'd ever see outside of highway
overpasses. But there it was plain as day, writ
ing all over the wall: it spoke volumes. Blue and
white paint proudly spattered an old wooden and
metal shack, a testament to the youth of today's
lack of respect. A few of the trees left there to
linger un seemed to be weeping over the tragedy
released upon this old home that had bothered
no one.
I carefully watched for creeping varmints that
could ravish my feet and made my way back to
the car. I sat in silence and pondered. Are there
hoodlums this far back into the country? Why
would anyone travel so far out of their way to
desecrate something? Is it the power one feels
over an inanimate object? Or just youth gone
wild, yet again? And what exactly do all the let
ters and numbers mean, if anything? Does one
side of the shack belong to a certain person or
group and they simply place their initials on the
old heap? It's like an onslaught of initials having
been placed there for my viewing pleasure—or
not: SUR, BPA. ICS 4-Kcx... it's mind-boggling.
All these questions still plague me svery time I
look at the photographs. Perhaps this graffiti,
way out off the much traveled road, is another
display of artwork, which is always in tne eye of
the beholder.
Bella Dante
MY SLIP IS SHOWING
Poll after poll shows that the majority of
Americans, including our own George Dubya,
oppose legalizing same-sex marriages. If I had
been polled, I would have landed in the minor
ity that supports the idea of same-sex couples
getting hitched, matching wedding dresses or
tuxedos and all. My opinion on this controver
sially charged issue doesn't stem directly from
any of my political leanings or personal beliefs,
but rather because it would make life less com
plicated for me as a straight dude.
I once had a crush on a co-worker who, un
known to me, was a lesbian. She usually came
in to work wearing neatly pressed blouses and
a polished smile. Her hair was always freshly
curled, and she was rarely without makeup. Thus
to my untrained and wandering eye, I couldn't
detect the red. or-more appropriately, purple
flags I often associated with the more stereotypi-
cally familiar Harley-revving Xena types.
My thick-headedness was compounded by the
political correctness of workplace culture. We
worked in television, and like any”other business,
there were the usual suspects of opportunistic
ass-kissers and corporate climbers who would
whisper disparaging information in a heartbeat
to rise within company ranks. Consequently,
wariness was rampant and the gainfully em
ployed, who valued their precious 401Ks, were
mindful to keep personal opinions and motives
to themselves.
Because of this hush-hush protocol, I had to
tactfully maneuver my subtle advances around
the eyes and ears of suspicious cubicle-dwellers.
We shared a few brief exchanges about films we
saw and our weekend itineraries—an effort to
connect with her beyond stale office gossip and
gripes about the malfunctioning fax machine.
When I had nothing to say, I would sashay past
her workspace about 20 times a day, pretending
to use the John, hoping she would engage me
with a smile and that breakthrough deep conver
sation I was pining for. She never did stop me,
though employees probably thought I had over-
active bladder issues.
A year aftei l left the company and Los
Angeles. I googled her to see whatever happened I
to my colleague. Turns out. she was a member
of the Gay and Lesbian Alliance and also had an
outspoken blog chock full of anti-Bush rants in
terspersed with lustings about Angelina Jolie and
Denise Richards. I was disconcerted, not just by
my Homer Simpson obtuseness, but by her need
for on-the-job discretion.
Sure, you can say sexual orientation is, after
all. private business and has no relevance to
professional work. But our society's adverse at
titude toward same-sex relationships makes it
unlikely and even dangerous for gays like her to
talk publicly about dating and relationships like,
say, my ex-boss, who complained incessantly
about his wife to anybody unwittingly passing by
his office. She wasn't part of the KKK or worse, a
member of the K-Fed fan club. So why should she
unfairly be made to feel as if she harbors those
kinds of perspectives?
Normalizing gay marriage would be a hugeiy
progressive step towards ushering in this kind
of social fairness. Not only would it bring clarity
to a public sector already obscured by a self-im
posed culture of don't asks, don't tells, it would
also make it easier for people like me who lack
reliabte gaydar.
Tuan Chau Nguyen
ATHENS ONLY MICROBREWERY
140 E. Washington Street. -' 706-546-1102
I can’t believe how
GREAT this steak Is!!
We Can Enjoy
8TEAK & ALE
for only $13.95
Honey, you eat
the steak,
fll drink the
BEERIH
GET TO KNOW THE
CLASSIFIED AD RATES
REAL ESTATE:
1 WEEK: $12
2 WEEKS: $24
4 WEEKS: $36
4 WEEKS
for the price of
3!
coll Emily at 549-0301 to place your od •
or email her at dowOflogpole coml
256 £ Clayton St
(706)549-0166 Open Mon-Sat T2pm-2am
now oPEn
at noon.
r L/n I u j
"we promise we won’t judge you.
BULD yDUR own BLOODY MARy BAR
Pool *7oMe4. • *MurfO Screen *lVi
Smoking welcome oh the ouldoox polio
NEWS & FEATURES I ARTS & EVENTS I MOVIES I MUSIC I COMICS & ADVICE I CLASSIFIEDS
JULY 19,2006 • FlAGPOLE.COM 9