Pandemic

The WordPress Gods Were Looking Out For Me: Art On Wheels, Part Six

Yeah, Another Blogger127 Comments

And so, here I am again with yet another essay centered around my quests to find and photograph commercial vehicles that are adorned with fine designs. This story is the sixth installment of what will remain an ongoing project (assuming that I continue to stay above ground, that is). What, like I’ve got something better to do with my time than to troll streets and the parking areas of shopping centers and strip malls for handsome trucks, vans and cars? I don’t! At my advanced age I ain’t interested in reaching for the brass ring, goal-and-activity-wise, you dig? Not that I ever was, to tell you the truth. Thus, no novels will I be writing. No corporations will I be starting. No applications to graduate schools will I be submitting, unless there’s a PhD program out there that would accept a doctoral thesis titled An Unambitious F*cker’s Aimless Thoughts.

In other words, trolling suits me just fine.

Frustratingly, it hasn’t been easy finding an adequate number of beauties for this story. Five hunting trips, each of an hour or more in length, brought forth only six vehicles whose images I deemed worthy of inclusion. I want and need one more pleasing photo, but I’ve had my fill of intensive hunting. I’m very confident, though, that an object of my desire will present itself during my normal activities over the next few days (I’m typing these words on the 20th of July). Lucky number seven surely is heading my way!

I didn’t run into a numbers problem during the creation of this series’ previous installments. In fact, for most of them I bagged enough useable photos during only one or two expeditions. Which was amazing, considering that the vast majority of commercial vehicles have little, indifferent or no artwork upon their bodies.

What accounted for the change in numbers? Partly it was just one of those things. A cold streak, if you will. But I’m pretty sure that the good ol’ coronavirus was the main reason. Although many stores and offices are open in my area (I live near Philadelphia), the pandemic has harmed business here, as it has everywhere. Decreased demand for goods translates into fewer deliveries. There weren’t as many chances, as a result, for me to cross paths with good-lookers.

Luckily, part of the shortfall was made up by artistic vehicles of the non-delivery type. The Omni Comp car, for example. It belongs to a computer repair store in my town and is used, I assume, by the workers there for service calls. That car is cute as a button, no?

And how about the van owned by Noble Dentistry, whose office is in a town nearby to mine? The van’s greens and blues are oh so dreamy. But why does ND need a van? For mobile dental services? Uh uh. Their website makes no mention of that. I suppose the practice’s owners simply want to have a sharp vehicle parked in front of their building in the hopes of catching the eyes of some potential patients.

My favorite hunk of metal and glass, though, is of the delivery sort. It’s a truck that was delivering Canada Dry beverages to a Wawa food market near my home. As with Noble Dentistry’s van, greens and blues rule on the truck, only much more profoundly and on a significantly larger scale. Man, it was hot as hell on the day I walked around Canada Dry, admiring it from various angles. Its soothing, refreshing facade cooled me down, though that was mostly in my head. In reality, I continued to sweat like a pig.

With that, I’ve come to the end of my commentary. But only for now. I shall resume the narrative when beauty number seven reveals itself to me. Don’t go away!

I’m back! It now is the 21st of July. Two hours ago I returned home from a dental appointment in Philadelphia’s congested Mayfair section. Because traffic was lighter than usual — another consequence of the pandemic — I arrived ten minutes before my appointment time. I parked on one of the neighborhood’s countless rowhouse-filled blocks and silently said something along these lines to myself: “Might as well walk around for a couple of minutes before going to the dental office. There’s a decent chance I’ll spot a sweet vehicle parked on the street.” Turns out there was a 100% chance, for on Frankford Avenue, a shopping mecca, I saw a vision in red and white: a Meadow Gold dairy truck that was making a delivery to one of the stores nearby. It’s a great beauty, colorful and wonderfully designed. But I still have to go with the Canada Dry truck as my favorite, because of the loving way in which its greens and blues resonate with me. Meadow Gold, you are a real close second.

Naturally, I snapped Meadow Gold’s picture and gave deep thanks to the WordPress gods for looking out for me. They wanted me to bring this story to a satisfactory conclusion, of that I have no doubt.

Well, that’s about it. As I do with all of my stories, though, I’ll let this one marinate for a few days and tinker with it compulsively. Thanks for reading. Please don’t be shy about letting me know which vehicles you like the best, or about anything else. Goodbye till next time!

What Do I Know? Good Question

Yeah, Another Blogger110 Comments

Five or six times each week, for half an hour or so, I haul my sorry ass along the streets of one neighborhood or another, usually my own. I engage in this walking routine for fitness purposes and also just to get out of the frigging house during these pandemic-constricted days. I sure as hell am not a lover of regular exercise, but I’ve come to tolerate it for one reason: I listen to music podcasts as I stride along. Music, as we know, helps to keep boredom at bay. Duh!

One podcast that I often dial up is Downtown Soulville, hosted by a guy who calls himself Mr. Fine Wine. The program appears each week on New Jersey radio station WFMU, and then, luckily for me, is transformed by one form of magic or another into the podcast format.

Downtown Soulville is damn fine. During each episode, Mr. Fine Wine spins soul and rhythm and blues recordings, all of them on 45 RPM singles from his incredibly huge collection of same. He doesn’t talk too much during his shows, which is the way I like it, so song after song after song (most of them from the 1950s, 60s and 70s) hit the airwaves.

When I first started listening to Downtown Soulville I was struck not only by how very few of the recordings I’d ever heard before, but also by how very many of the artists I’d never heard of. This kind of shocked me, because, although I no longer try too hard to keep up with what’s going on in the various sections of the music world, for decades I did, waving my music-junkie flag proudly. I was, and am, into rock, jazz, soul, R&B, blues, reggae, Brazilian, African, classical, folk, and more musical genres. So, how was it that hundreds of soul/R&B singers that Mr. FW has thrown my way, such as Sugar Pie DeSanto, Billy Watkins and Mel Williams, were new to me?

The conclusion that I came to was that, despite being well-informed about music, in a very real sense I don’t know shit about that subject compared to what there is to know. That was a sobering thought. And eventually it set in motion a sequence of questions and answers. To wit: If my knowledge about music is limited, what does that say about me regarding every other subject you can name? Well, I know even less about them than I do about music, in most cases incredibly less. But, okay, does that really matter? Yes, it does, since acquiring knowledge is a worthy goal. Sure, but nobody can imbibe everything, right? True, and, what’s more, it’s exhausting to try to. Indeed, but that notwithstanding, aren’t there things you’d love to understand more about?

The answer to that question is a no-brainer: Damn straight!

For instance, how come I Don’t Wanna Be A Doofus No More, the personality-enhancing potion that George Clooney gifted me with a few years ago (click here to read about it), isn’t helping me anymore? Man, that elixir cured me of being a schlemiel for the good long while that it worked. Clooney, I’m going to sue you if you don’t rectify this situation!

And how come Alicia Keys, Halle Berry and Jennifer Lawrence haven’t gotten back to me regarding the messages I left with their agents? What, the ladies have something against hanging out with a dorky septuagenarian? Did they somehow learn that I Don’t Wanna Be A Doofus No More no longer is having salutary effects upon me?

And, though not as pressing as the issues that I just mentioned, what’s the deal with the universe? Specifically, how did it begin? Yeah, yeah, there’s the Big Bang theory and all, but here’s the thing about that: If all the matter that became our universe once was contained in an impossibly-compressed chunk of whatever, as the theory states, where the f*ck did that chunk come from? Did it always exist? Is it possible for something to always exist? Boys and girls, truer words than the following rarely have been written: I sure as shit don’t know.

I tell you, all of this mental work is tiring me out big-time. Having reached my deep-thoughts limit, there’s little doubt that my living room sofa, and naptime thereupon, await me. Before I sign off, though, let me say that I’m always glad to receive readers’ comments, so please don’t be shy about adding yours. Goodbye, then, till next time. I’ll leave you with the songs that I heard on Downtown Soulville the other day by the aforementioned Sugar Pie DeSanto, Billy Watkins and Mel Williams. Hope you enjoy them.