After a visit to my favorite news stand I was turning the corner to the side street where, how surprising, I park away from the meters on the boulevards proper. In my grip was a guitar magazine with one of my music teacher's major employers on the cover and a British fan, for lack of a better term, mag with The Clash as cover subject. In sobering fashion, a magazine I receive at home and a "People" on the stand had internet bullying beaming from covers and it's all over the internet server bugs, as if this is new.

It's a subject about which I can barely take straight on, blog wise, but I'll break the keyboard over my leg as I dwell on how the national IQ has run out the drain like water in a dirty bath tub and the bullies, like the pseudo-science fiction flicks of a half century ago, devour and thrive on everything thrown at them.

Ahead of me on the little street were maybe a dozen young men, and I saw more and more neck strap cameras. It seemed there was no one who appeared to be a subject. Oh, but on said corner is a beauty salon so in my slowly building buffer of thoughts came one: there must be a celebrity therein! Our national priorities are safe. Now usually I take a casual look through the windows of the salon and now I remembered I had not done so, getting a possible look at "a" somebody.

But that was a bright spot: I was that much above the scene, contingent on what I had seen.