Spitball Army

This sign was on a street corner in San Diego’s Old Town, but I also saw one of these – graffitoed a bit less artfully and more sloppily – at an intersection across the street from the entrance to a cemetary in Oceanside.

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Once the word gets out that my all-encompassing eye has been soaking up details from within the homes of people kind enough to welcome me into their living spaces, I may never get another invitation ever again. But the wall ornament above was a detail that demanded documentation.

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Here, through the windshield of a PT Cruiser, is the view from about midway across “Suicide Bridge” in Balboa Park, looking toward the tower and dome of the Museum of Man.

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The photo above has been sitting on my desk for a couple of weeks. I didn’t know what to do with it. Then, in a moment of mindless whimsy, I decided to scribble us new faces using Microsoft Paint.

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The padre invited me to play a game of cards. I accepted. We played and he won all the sugar. I did not know the game and I had no idea that the priest would win, but he did and I returned home with nothing. When I turned over the sugar to him, Father Menendez said to me: “See here, Pico, it has happened to you as it did to Christ when he came into the world.”

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