Art Freaks and Bike Geeks

Another Bill day off, and you know what that means. Oh yeah, it's biking time. (Not to be confused with Hammer time, even though I have been known to wear MC Hammer pants while biking). The boys wanted to do the same trail to downtown that we did last ride. Floating walkways have a certain appeal. But this time, we did not go on a Saturday, which meant no Saturday Market was in progress, which in turn meant that the crowds along the west bank Esplanade were "bike-able". Instead of turning around and going back the way we came, we biked the full circle back down to Hawthorne bridge and rode the trail across back to the OMSI. Not that much different, but a a little something. We didn't have to deal with Market crowds on our trail, but we did have about 50 Velomobiles to contend with. They weren't the most polite of cyclists we've encountered, but it is totally cool we got to see each and every one as they whizzed by us. Romney is ready to trade in his mountain bike to get one. *Wish the credit for this photo went to me, it is gorgeous, but alas I stole it from the bikeportland.org website.

We biked so we get donuts, right? At least that is what William and Romney asked at the end of our morning ride. We had donuts yesterday, but I wouldn't let the kids get the donuts they have been dying to buy to take to their friends-- the Texass, big ass donut. (You are so welcome, Emily). But since we have outlawed any Voodoo visits on weekends (Oh, the lines!) that means today had to be our FINAL Voodoo moment, the moment they have been waiting for. Have you ever seen a donut that big? Can you imagine the sugar rush that came with it?

Walking it off was the only solution we could come up with, and headed to the Monthly Arts on Alberta. They shut down Alberta Street in the NE after 5 p.m. and vendors set up booths along both sides of the street for blogs. Lots of art work, lots of crafty stuff, lots of food, lots of music and a lot of wonderful, wonderful freaks! I mean this is the place to see and be seen. I wish I had known, I was woefully underdressed for the occasion. Check out these two, and you will know why I felt that way in my plain black skirt and flip flops. I could have at least come up with some kind of funky hair style.

A matte black car parked on the side of the street served as an open canvas to passers by to leave an inter-
pretation of what they felt their "community" had to offer. There were peace signs and sprouting vines already carefully drawn on with chalk. Then there were my boys who felt that the NE side had to offer- yup, you know it- donuts. William drew a voodoo doll and Romney drew a Texass. (We do love our sweets!)

Nothing screams "ART" like a hula dancer and a giant stuffed talking parrot. My favorite vendor (remember I have an odd sense of humor)-- the junk dealer whose booth looked like all the stuff that people holding a yard sale have left over and donate to Goodwill because no one else will take it off their hands. Well, Yard Sale people, that is no longer necessary as this man is willing to take anything. There was a dixie cup full of bees wax, a Dee-lite cassette tape, compass lead, VHS home video tapes, broken sunglasses and filthy (as in dirt, not dirty) tiny stuffed key chains. A virtual trash can of goodies!

Then there was the music. Oh, the music! It was anything from a DJ spinning mixed up Michael Jackson, to a horn player, to bucket drum players, to a 7 year old playing bongos wearing sunglasses, singing tribal lyrics with a sign saying he is saving up his busker $ to buy a new pair of drums. (Who walks past that and doesn't put a buck in his hat?) Then there was my friend the drummer and his side kick (who didn't make the photo) the 50 year old belly-dancer. Drum set and belly dancing- a pair I never would have put together, but liked what I saw.


I love Salt Lake City. I love our home. I love being close to outdoor activities and walking distance to all things downtown. However, I miss color. Vibrant, wonderful diversity. In people, in ideas, in opinions, in hobbies, in skin tones and even in parties. When there are people naked except for body paint in the street fairs of Salt Lake, I will know I have found my perfect place. (That and the temperature never dips below freezing, and there is never any pollution inversion, and the sun shines every day, I mean then I will know I have found my perfect place.)