She Went to Scotland and All I Got Was This Roach Story

Well friends, I can't possibly compete with Scotland. Especially five days worth of Scotland.

*sigh

So, welcome back to the mundane, random photos that I'm about to offer lucky, lucky you. These Hutchinson and Winfield photos are from about 5 days ago - when it was raining and particularly undesirable to step outside of the car.

But I believe in suffering for my art.

And exposing myself to danger...

Cobra Chicken

Yes this photograph is blurry, but it is because my hands were shaking in terror. I was minding my own business (as I always do) and turned around to see this. Glaring at me.

Look at this haughty little bastard. He. Was. Miffed.

You waddled into my wrath like it was feeding time,


but darling…
It’s vengeance time.

You brought crumbs. I brought chaos.

(I didn't write that, but I laughed at it, so I shared it.)

Anyhoo.

Have some more unremarkable photos!

And some more Landmark Hotel in boring mid-remodel photos.

Apparently, the renovation is going to bring 36 new studios, one- and two-bedroom apartments, and a ground floor restaurant to the area at a cost of a shabby $14 mil. Seriously. Fourteen Million Dollars. But they plan to keep the apartments affordable.

Right, then.

Let me tell you a little about my delightful experience with the Landmark. Circa lots of years ago. Cue free rein me, thick-skulled teenager, a peccant for alcoholic beverage (it was Olde E., Strawberry Hill Boones, and Kwik Shop 64oz fountain cups full of Mountain Dew and Everclear back in those days), an astonishing beetle phobia, and a baaaad news (seriously, this girl was vile) best friend. The Landmark was an apartment complex of the utmost order – full of cracked and peeling wallpaper, busted windows, showers that shared tiled floors with toilets, discolored (with what? Nobody knew.) carpets, and a cockroach swarm that treated the building like their own bawdy redlight district.

The friend had a friend who invited us to his apartment. I remember going up the stairs and inside, to the bathroom, and back to the living room floor (because you can’t fall off the floor!) and it took me approximately 30 seconds of blurry, drunken-eye vision to notice the wall in front of me camouflaged in roaches doing the can-can.

Nope.

Actually, it was more like fuck no. There were probably some other words in there too.

I never went back.

As it fell into ruin over the years, I can understand why. Nobody unwilling to share space with a horde of scuttling bodies would live there, and it would take an event of apocalyptic proportions to rid the place of its.. brethren.

Rumor has it they remain there now, in the walls, scrabbling and skittering. Just awaiting the building's reopening. Their chittering frenetic in anticipation of a new restaurant. Their glossy carapaces twinkling like sun-cracked paint on a rusty and derelict motel sign before sloughing off and leaving leftovers of crunchy exoskeleton within the woodwork.

Waiting on new friends. Housemates.

(I tried to throw all the gross, roachy-like sound words in there I could.)

Welp, thus concludes that detour.

In retrospect, maybe that was a bit much for a photography site.

Sorry about that.

You came for Scotland photos, you moved on to run-of-the-mill photos, you stayed for the off-color anecdote. Can’t say I don’t deliver... something, anyway.

Until next time friends, be safe, be creative, and do more of what makes you happy!