The Communication Age
I took the roundabout way home today, via Brentwood and my parents' house (where they have cable and are nice enough to tape Six Feet Under for me). While I was waiting for the bus at Brentwood I saw some graffiti on a telephone pole.
(wavery, quasi-Crispin Glover script in black Sharpie):
"This was once a majestic tree towering high, miles from here. Now it serves in solitude as a conduit for my power so that I can watch nature shows on tv."
(below in thin green marker, smudged with attempt at erasure):
"This is a telephone pole you moron. Buy a dish."