INDIAN HILL

Colorado River, Parker Strip Need some desert time, down time, get-my-mojo-on-time.  Back to school in a month, big time school, writing MFA program time. I'm going to be one cranking dude on the keyboard. One of my favorite getaways is the Colorado River.  Laughlin, Bullhead City, Parker, Parker Strip, Havasu.  Needles?  Not so much.   Canyon De Chelly I've got a story brewing that takes place in part along the Grand Canyon and that's all I'm going to say, so it's a good reason to get some fall camping in out there. North Rim, or East Rim.  Either way, on up to Moab maybe, Chinle, Durango.  I can feel a road trip coming on. Tenaya Lake, Yosemite Couple of weeks ago I was up in Yosemite for only a day.  The high country.  Gorgeous isn't the word.  Spectacular grandeur. Up on Tioga Pass Road, Lake Tenaya sparkled with deep blue water and steep granite scarred with centuries of glacier scraping.  Tall timber towered over a small sandy

     After a beef link sandwich and macaroni and cheese at Cassie’s, I drove west. Juan organizes the artists and coordinates the project.      Around and through the Art’s District, I turned down the lane alongside the tracks.  I could see the artists were at work, and I slowed down and asked if I could shoot some photos.  ‘Yeah, cool,’ the man said.  Four or five artists were working on the wall.  In September I’d shot a few photos and posted them as Industrial Chic http://indian-hill.blogspot.com/2010/09/industrial-chic.html .        After I pulled over and stopped, I checked with another man and asked if it was okay to shoot.       ‘You into shooting graffiti?’ the guy said.      ‘I’m into art.  I don’t call this graffiti.’   I explained that I’d been here before and had talked to another man after posting Industrial Chic .  Stigma      Stigma works as a tattoo artist, at his home, and at a studio in Hollywood.  In school, he says ‘Every class was art.  English, math,

US 395 more or less divides the Mojave Desert and the Great Basin desert , and travels north-south from Hesperia up past Lake Tahoe and into the Cascade Range in Northern California. US 395 continues up to the US-Canadian border. Along the way, Randsburg is a dusty ghost town that plays host to dirt bikers who buzz the desert on weekends like mounted hornets on steroids. Otherwise, during the week, in the morning, it's quiet and friendly. Not much happens in Randsburg, California. It's not a candidate for massive downtown redevelopment funds. It's not trying to amass fortunes to get an NFL football stadium, and nowhere to be found are mass franchise marquee logos like Macs or Starbucks. You get your coffee at the General Store, where a couple of savvy waitresses hold their own against a small group of regulars who greeted me with appropriate skepticism, and begrudgingly acknowledged me with muttered hellos , good mornings . It's all I ask. I ain't posing as