Running along Pima Road in North Scottsdale between million-dollar homes is this normally empty acreage, owned by a man who, by the size of the property, is obviously worth many, many a million of dollars. He appears to be rather pissed off with city officials and local residents. This eccentric guy or gal has peppered the property with signs of protest, cheap-looking artwork that mocks the city of Scottsdale’s attempts at maintaining a Tony appearance, as well as a variety of other debris and flags that is quickly becoming an eyesore. I’m sure that all these new Californified desert transplants don’t find this silent protest to be dignifying their elitist ideas of sterilized conformity. The drive home is now marred by this effective, albeit less than flattering, attention grabber.

She introduced herself as Princess and was happy to have her photo taken for my blog. Across the city of Phoenix, we are bombarded with signs, billboards, inflatable gorillas, Uncle Sam’s, and giant SUV’s, but my favorite are the people who get into costume and give it all they’ve got in order to shimmy, shake, and gyrate so vigorously that you are somehow compelled to take notice and visit the business being hawked. I wonder, does anyone really go for this? Sure, guys will stop when girls in bikinis get their attention for a fundraising carwash, but does a dancing chicken make you hungry? Does a dancing Princess Liberty have you racing home to collect your tax documents and return to give this little company your business? Tomorrow I will dress up as a wire, maybe a length of RJ-45 and stand on a busy intersection and see if anyone stops by to get connected.

We made the long 25-mile drive to a local discount theater to see the Hindi film Malamaal Weekly. We held six additional seats for the friends who were joining us. Previews of coming attractions hint at what’s to come in the next months and then the feature film rolls. The titles play, the music starts, the voice-over starts narrating and Caroline and I are left wondering, well, just what is this guy saying in Hindi? Grrrr, no subtitles. Three hours of Hindi comedy without a clue about the dialogue would not have left us very entertained. We got a refund and caught a different film.