Dream cars of C-U

I sincerely agree with my colleagues when we discuss the "uniqueness" (aka "freak factor") of Champaign-Urbana. Although I do have to make a bifurcation here: California is the home of the freak show, and Venice Beach is the capital; I should know, because I lived in SoCal prior to moving here. However, there is quite a myriad of what my friends and I call "teammates" in C-U (see me for more details on this social game in person). And they're not just townies. I've seen some grandmothers, professors, blue-collar workers, students, and a large portion of Rantoul express their freakness.

One way that the "team game" is played is to call out "team cars." There are some examples listed below that elaborate on the above pictures.

#1. Okay, the qualifying elements for labeling this a "team car" are as follows: note the signage that says 'Gangsta Granny.' While I'm not one to lean towards racial profiling, the following must be deduced—when was the last time you saw somebody who was 'gangsta' driving a PT Cruiser? And when was the last time you saw a 'gangsta' who put a decal on their back window stating their professed underground occupation in life? I also must let the reader know that this picture was taken in spring at Prairie Gardens, the home of gangsta landscapers. Oh, and it must be noted that I live in an all-black neighborhood, and I know none of my neighbors would be caught dead in a PT Cruiser. In fact, one of my gay friends says he wouldn't dare drive "one of those 'fairy-mobiles.'" My apologies to anyone who does drive one, or has parents who do.

#2. The next car has a license plate that says, "Jhihad," either a misspelling of "Jihad" or was the second person in Illinois to try to get the original spelling, but lost out to some other morally responsible individual. Fact: the Illinois Dept. of Transportation has an extensive list of license plate letter/number combinations that are not allowed to be used on vanity plates. I'm surprised that either "Jihad" or "Jhihad" is not on the list. Again, it must be noted that the person that got out of this car was a white student at Parkland College. What?

#3. Manrod Electric is a real company out of Rockford, Illinois. This particular company vehicle was parked outside of the Champaign Chevy's restaurant. Depending on who you ask, "Manrod" can either be a name of historical esteem in Ohio, or, as according to the Urban Dictionary, a term for, well, you can just click on the link.

Want to join me in finding the team cars of C-U, or even around the nation? Send me your photos. I'll give credit where it was due.

All photos above are property of Moot Caroo.

da illest

After the conversation we had in class regarding bathroom graffiti, I remembered that I obsessively take pics with my phone of three things: weird stuff in other people's houses; funny license plates and/or weird cars; odd graffiti that mostly appears in bathrooms. 

It looks like there's a web site just for people like me who enjoy the latter of my camera-phone hobbies: graffiti projects.

But there's a new site I found not too long ago that also condenses my amusement with unique urban art, and combines my enjoyment of all things outdoors. It's all about green graffiti. 

I also used to be part of a movement that used a form of posterized graffiti, which was more crude than the post-modern sophisticated UK ideas that are posted here. It started with blown-up heads of Jeff Goldblum taken from "The Fly." Underneath the poster heads was printed the line, "Jeff Goldblum is watching you poop." We posted the "heads" on the backs of bathroom stalls; all of this was the brainchild of one of my peers at the University of North Texas, where we went to film school together. The original web site is gone, but you can find an example of the Goldblum posters here.

Next post I think I'll upload some of my pics from the cell phone. 

Whozeewhatten

My life is essentially that of a writer pretending to have a real sort of life. I currently have three writing classes, I work for a newspaper, and I’m a project leader on several poetry areas on WEbook. All of this is to help facilitate my degree in creative writing (poetry). Today in the English building’s restroom, I read some graffiti: “English majors are future McDonald’s employees.” I beg to differ. English majors are capable of any number of jobs at the mall. In addition, I agree with my mathematics teaching assistant when he said, “I shouldn’t make fun of you, you might help me edit my dissertation.” Which may be true, but it’ll be after I get off of work ringing up books at Borders. 

In my previous years I served as a search and rescue operative in the US Navy, and I worked hurricane sorties as a rescue swimmer, as well as a counter-drug auxiliary. But I’m talking about tons of cocaine, not joints.  Now my body is used up and slightly broken, so I just sit and type. Which helps, because I have to do a lot of it this year.

I’m also an avid fan of gonzo journalism. More like rabid, actually—at least before I got all my energy out in the Navy. I was enamored with the gonzo concept so much I took to hitchhiking across Mexico, which in turn is not a wise move because you might end up with the following : Amoebic Dysentery; a mother who has a panic attack when she receives a call asking to look up a location in the Sonora outback when she thought her son was somewhere in Texas visiting a friend; or getting punched in the face by two Frenchies that were riding a bus with me and decided to get the upper hand when we stopped in a tiny town that only had one room available for the night. At least I made the ten-day trip on less than $80, and I lost twenty pounds from Amoebic purging. I'm sure I was quite charming as I crossed the border into San Diego, toting bottles of tequila, a backpack, soiled clothes, and a torn woven blanket that was supposed to have been a gift for my panic-stricken mother.