The past is back

Due to overwhelming demand, a lack of anything interesting in the mainstream or alternative media and dreary weather forecast for the duration of the first long weekend of the summer, i've decided to dive into the blog cesspool.

Can millions of dingbats be wrong? Seems like everyone has a blog these days, "even educated fleas do it", so why not me? There are flea circusses, media circuses, a Lord swearing might be a Sir cuss...

Anyway, the name of this thing is a collaborative effort, kind of a byproduct of a recent trip to New York City. i noticed that practically every street has a second name there, from Senor Wences Way to Peter Jennings Way, there's a Joey Ramone Way and out in San Francisco, the loading dock or something at City Lights bookstore has been tagged Jack Kerouac Way. (The empty Thunderbird bottles are props, almost Disney-esque.)

Even in my little villa, Toronto, there's a Blue Jays Way. Wayne Gretzky spent a lot of money getting that strip of asphalt renamed.

Seeing all this, i decided i wanted a street or something to call my own. A street who's name i had to live up to, a street that i could protect and be proud of, keeping it clean and safe for racoons, kitty cats and strollers. A street seems like a big responsibility though, and sometimes a street has roadkill and other nastiness being cooked down into a stain by the sun. Why have telephone poles and stop signs when i can have basketball hoops and lilacs?

The perfect and obvious solution is the access alley behind my house. It vaguely resembles the opening of Coronation Street. It is used to access garages that are behind houses in my neighbourhood. It's a 'hood from the past, when houses and the people were more important than cars. It's from the past, a time before thirty-seven car garages became the norm, and the house became an annex of the garage, a time before the housebecame a little closet for the people responsible for operating and mainting the cars did their laundry.

This is the type of thing i'd be happy to lend my name to. An alley who's predominant sounds are that of birds chirping and kids shooting hoops. An oasis just off the old main drag, solace a few meters away from vigilante bus drivers and Mom UV's.

i mentioned this to a close personal friend while in New York, a professional wordsmith who makes a living making otherwise decent people dance like idiots. A seasoned veteran of coining a phrase, "Mayor Perry Way" was suggested, and wisely, i have accepted. It's out of my hands now, and into your computer's memory.

So check in from time to time, go through my words like that crazy Chinese man goes through our recycling. You never know if there's anything of value, but it doesn't hurt to bin shop.