Petrovich=Putz

I overheard a snippet of dialogue at Naked Lounge this morning. This convo was taking place between three fifty-ish possible state workers (nothing wrong with state workers, just a guess)

Woman: Well if someone tells him, then he's been told
Man 1: Then he hasn't been told.
Man 2: I can't imagine Harry telling him, can you?
All: laughter

Maybe everybody else has already read that SN&R article with Commandant Petrovich about how he painted over that mural on Profound Sound, but I just read it yesterday and I was blown away. He is so arrogant. I was never a fan of that mural and I'm not too worked up over the whole issue, but what bugs me is his tone. His first quote when he is informed that some lawyers think the muralist might have a legal grievance is "tell them to bring it". Oooh. So tough. Is this land development or ultimate fighting championship? His second quote is, "I do the right things in this town, not the wrong things.". Really? How about your planned Rite Aid on S and 21st? In my opinion, as a downtown resident, this will be a decidedly Wrong Thing. That is a perfectly nice residential corner with no ugly businesses in sight. If I need to go to a pharmacy, there is the Wallgreens on Broadway, the Rite Aid on Alhambra, the pharmacy inside the new Safeway which is a 4 whole blocks away, the Wallrite or whatever the fuck right by the Beat, and, finally if I choose to patronize a local business rather than a megacorp, there is a cute little pharmacy right around the corner from my house. How many fucking pharmacies can open within a ten-block radius? And then as far as boasting about your wonderful addition to the public art sphere, your stupid post-modern water tower and big shiny horse are nothing to brag about. Do you realize that when you boast about the size and cost of these "artworks" you are being a cliche of a vulgar rich dude? Why don't you just put on a powdered wig and tell the muralist to eat some cake? Man that last sentence is so dumb but you know what I mean.

Mike and I ate at a homey little place last night, you may have heard of it, it's called the Spaghetti Factory. Now I normally prefer to eat at places without the words "factory" or "shack" or "craphole" in the name, but my hunger overrode these qualms. As we entered, we were led to sit inside a train car, which seemed really funny to me just then, probably due to the aforementioned extreme hunger. If you haven't been to this Factory of Fettucine and Fun, let me describe the ambiance to you. It is the epitome of understated elegance. At first, the eye is drawn in many different directions, so I just let myself gaze at will as I soaked in the bordello-like interior. I ordered a glass of cab sauv. I wanted more wine, but I was afraid the carafe of house chianti would taste like battery acid, so I stuck with one glass. All the meals come with an iceberg salad and the creamy basil dressing is pretty good. I got the spinach and cheese ravioli. Mike got the spaghetti with phallic sausage. His sausage was great. And so big! My ravioli was mushy and not so good. The problem with going to places like this to save money is that you somehow always end up spending the same amount of money that you would spend for a good meal. For instance, with tip my share was about 16 or 17 bucks. Now, maybe at somewhere better I may not have been able to afford a glass of wine, but then again, I may have.

Overheard convo between two cops as we left:
Cop 1: You remember, it was that 5150 where we broke the door down.
Cop 2: Yeah
Me to Mike (excitedly):They're talking real cop talk!