Do you ever think, wow-- this woman needs to be taught the ways of posting photos at a website? Because she CLEARLY does not get the whole "there is such a thing as too many photos on a single post" concept!

I'm sorry. Have I lead you to believe that I know anything of moderation? My bad.

When it comes to pink flowering trees, there is no such thing as excess. Well, okay-- maybe I need to get a bit of a grip as just yesterday I was standing under a dogwood tree that had bloomed into a virtual orgasm of my favorite shades of pink and, perhaps I was murmuring, you know, under my breath or at the very least quietly speaking with the tree and having a total Their Eyes Were Watching God moment when this suited-up dude totally invaded my space (okay, so the tree happens to be right outside an establishment of law and legally it might have been me invading their space, but you know-- what. ever.) and gave me SUCH a look that could only be interpreted as, "lady, you are so on the hairy edge."

Which, you know-- I freely admit. Pink flowering trees have complete power over me.

As do small, vintage diners with fountain service. Basically, if you write the words "fountain service" on the window of your restaurant, you pretty much own me.

That's right, baby. We don't need your stinkin' Starbucks to come and gentrify our world.

((Oh god, since I recently shared with you the sad, sad way that the soundtrack of my inner life often runs, I might as well admit to you that I now how have Madonna's ditty "Justify My Love" rewritten to "Gentrify My Love" looping across my neural network-- oh, somebody make it stop)).

Perhaps you are wondering wherefore the urban photo blitz? Well, yesterday was the last day of the semester for me. oh can we say that one more time? LAST DAY OF THE SEMESTER. I am done. done. done. And, sharpen your arrows and dip them in your most virulent poison before letting them fly when I tell you that for the first time in my adult life, I am looking at four solid months of holiday. Four consecutive months where I am not working.

Okay,

*ducks*

let the arrows fly.

I think it's safe to say I'm going to be having some time on my hands for indulgences like walking around snapping shots.

That is, until one of your deadly arrows connects with the delicate flesh of my neck . . .

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