Writing my thoughts in a madcap fashion.
I dip into our humble local publication Thursday mornings with my breakfast of tea, vodka, and crumpets before I begin work. That is BEFORE I begin, which is well AFTER I arrive. Don't disclose to management, please. After busying myself with tasks of the upmost importance such as crossword puzzles, familiarizing myself with the week's "weird news", and scheduling my appearances at local venues by perusing the events calender, sometime around noon, the other half of my brain arrives, a few pumps of the defibrillator and I'm ready to serve customers.
Thank you Weekly Alibi for being the butter to my crumpet, hair of the dog from the previous night's shenanigans, and the kick off to a very productive Thursday morning.
I'm sure that I'm not the only person who feels that fireworks tents peppered throughout a state full of incendiary landscape is quite sad and ironic. Each likely offers a wide selection of flammable contraband. And even the most cautious among us can birth a disaster with a "harmless" sparkler. I grew up in the very mountains that are currently scorching before us, and believe me, it's not just idiots and drunk teenagers who start forest fires; FIRE starts forest fires. It is unpredictable, and it is more powerful than you. It goes where it wants, and it's always hungry. New Mexico is parched, friends. I realize that YOU (yes, you) aren't listening because can't hear me over your own assumed carefulness, but believe me, that thing that you're lighting on fire, whether or not it's "legal", will find a way. Starve the beast, people. DON'T buy fireworks this year.
When I moved away from my folks place, my first apartment was behind the Aztec. As a penniless 19 year old, I used to dine at the adjacent 7-11 on a daily basis and would walk the scenic route through the Aztec parking lot to get dinner. I never had any trouble (nor stumbled across any dead prostitutes). A mecca for "wing nuts" of course, but no real dangerous characters ever crossed my path. I enjoyed discovering a new kitschy display each time I took my stroll. Though I don't miss my former lifestyle, I will always have the fondest memories of detouring through ABQ's favorite dive hotel landscape. RIP Aztec.