Photography is the new Crack

Sugar Daddy, last night: "Yeah, you may want to avoid taking pictures of crack houses when you're out walking with Swee'pea. Just a thought, ya know."

Yesterday on flickr, I saw this. And because it was in my neighbourhood, I just had to go shoot it myself. It was raining, and had been all day, so I took the car. Swee'pea started grumbling, but I had to get my shot. I wasn't sure how my new digital SLR would handle the rain, so I was hesitant to go outside shooting.

So I dipped my toe in with this.

Then I turned my car around to go back closer to the store, and saw this. I turned the windshield wipers off because I thought the raindrops might look cool. Sitting there I was disturbed. I still don't know how to take this sign... whether it's all a joke because that part of the neighbourhood is so depressed, or whether there's a crack house nearby or what. But the "I don't care" was what really got to me somehow.

I drove the car closer, while Swee'pea got grumpier, and quickly got out and ran off a few more shots. I felt very guilty about leaving Swee'pea in the car for the minute or two I took, and for proceeding when he was slightly grumpy, but I had. to. get. my. shot.

I scoffed when I read that a city councillor candidate said that the biggest problem facing our ward was crack houses, thinking she was just being classist. But now I wonder.

After we got home, Swee'pea immediately fell asleep and I spent his hour and a half nap reading this series from 2005 about how Guelph has a major crack problem, especially since the mafia has really slowed down. And how there are crack houses in every neighbourhood, and one was busted in a nicer neighbourhood than ours, adjacent to ours. And how deals are going on downtown all the time. And it makes me a little scared for my afternoon walks. And then I got angry that I was a little bit scared. And skeptical about the size of the problem. I'll keep walking anyhow.

The other day I noticed our neighbour's place is for sale, the one with the muffler in the driveway. And I noticed that the muffler is still there and down the side of their house are piles and piles of garbage. I think maybe I should cut that older man some slack. Because if they don't even clean it up to put their house on the market, something is a bit strange. Haven't they seen House Doctor, or Sell this House or any other of the many many shows where they pretty the house up to get a faster, more lucrative sale??? Now I'm wondering if it's a crack house. My thought processes are so embarrassing but I don't have enough shame not to put this shit up on the web.

Sorry, folks, no Flashback Friday: Feminist Edition today. I started to write a post about how my first boyfriend became my first boyfriend because I asked him out and how our relationship was challenged by my media saturation. But I discovered there are just too many gaps and cracks and holes in my memory. And unlike our living room wall after we removed the heavy textured wallpaper that everyone warned us was hiding something, I feel it would be cheating the flashback genre to fill the cracks and repair the holes with imagination. And I really wanted to blog about crack.

I'm running out of material... anyone wanna be a guest blogger and inject some new life into this series? Any story about being or becoming a woman or feminist... pretty broad guidelines. Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?

And now I'm probably going to take a bit of a break from blogging. If you're looking for something more to read, take a dip into my archives... Now watch, I'll probably be back in like two hours.