Gay Rights

My friend Jessica has a young, enthusiastic son whom she took grocery shopping the other day. They were in a bit of a hurry, made it to the grocercy store, where outside, as they gathered their shopping cart, they heard an activist provocatively question shoppers as they ingressed and egressed, "who has time for gay rights?" Theo turns to his mom, and says (enthusiastically), "we don't have time for gay rights, do we mom?"

Gardens in the Hood

I am a fan of low-maintenance gardening. In fact, I take it a step further to no-maintenance gardening. To my visitors who view my backyard, I simply explain, "I'm going for the wild jungle look."


I'm not alone in my endeavors (or lack thereof). I have come to appreciate certain neighborhood gardens which are vibrant, though infinitely practical. Take for instance this small front garden on King street:




It has become more lush (lushier?) over time, the flowers never die, and they never have to be watered. If you can't tell from the photograph, all the flowers are plastic. Across the street, is another garden which has gone one step further by adding plastic birds and paper butterflies (a more natural effect, I think).


There is, however, one garden, along the front of a house of iniquity (alleged), that makes me feel both hope -- someone had good intentions -- and pain. This garden has been there for about a year now. I think images speak louder than words:

BART Haiku, October 10, 2007

Black clouds sit above
rainbow over West Berkeley's
decrepit houses.

BART Haiku, October 10, 2007

Sprawled across two seats
food bag, newspapers, orange juice
tsk, tsk. Crowded train.