Will Bueché



I don't blog much 

Downtown, things will be something or other, Downtown (it's a song, dammit)

Posted in Personal by Will on Saturday, November 5th, 2005 ~ 6pm

My reason for being out, driving about town, was to clear out so my housemate could do her Reiki. And partly, I was searching for a Staples.

But what I actually drove through was a downtown area of cafes and of other things which is laughably small. I live on 14th street and this section started at about 6th street and ended at about 2nd, and these are suburban sized blocks, not marathon-length city blocks. This area must I expect only represent the southwest corner’s downtown, Albuquerque being informally divided into quadrants.

Regardless of whether this is just the south west corner’s downtown or if this is the true downtown, what I found was a very spiffy stretch of cafes, nearly all of which had modern storefronts retrofitted with chrome and glass at oddly juxtaposed angles. And still more being built – it looked like Albuquerque must be doing well. Even a set of apartments had intense looking accents of iron porches…I’ll try to bring my camera next time someone else is driving. Many pedestrians – who were unlikely to be students since I think that campus is relatively far away – and, a strip club.

I had sort of wondered about this, about whether Albuquerque would have some. I mean this isn’t Seattle or Portland, where I hear there are more strip clubs than hard-ons. This club is right in the midst of all the other more reputable businesses, but it has a monstrous storefront of plywood painted pink (of course).

Although I wondered for a few moments if Albuquerque is zoned for total or only partial nudity, I’ve decided I won’t go to this club. If I ever go to such a place, I’d like it to be someplace nice, like Hawaii. And ideally, someplace where the profits go to the Dalai Lama or something. C’mon, strip for Jesus! Also I’d be afraid to be in a mob run business, not knowing how they extract money from you (though I hear the general practice in such places involves them getting your credit card number and then just billing it and billing it on the assumption you’ll be too embarrassed to protest that the charges are made-up).

Later in the afternoon, having run out of downtown to drive through, I visited a park for a few minutes, which was nice until a stench like burnt plastic, as thick in the air as a skunk and as heavy filled the air — so heavy I thought perhaps my clothes had picked up a coating of stink perhaps from sitting on a tainted bench. At first I thought I was being paranoid, but after a couple minutes the smell was still there, so I made a hasty retreat. Evidently, so says my housemate, sometimes people or companies dump poisonous chemicals into the city’s sewer, and this park was next to some kind of concrete-river (a la Terminator 2) that might get such waste. Very upsetting.

I just took a shower and washed my hair to get rid of as many polymers as possible, because even though I can’t smell it right now, I know our (humans’) senses of smell are much, much worse than say, dogs, and so chances are my hair was filled with this. I should wash my jeans too, but I’m not doing laundry for a few more days, so I guess I’ll just risk it and hope. It is so unfortunate that our society has scum in it, scum who would dump poison into the environment knowing full well that disease and disorders are the inevitable result when artificial things reach human beings.

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