Seeking Fertile Ground

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 Rain in St. John’s.  Sunday.  I notice large numbers of kids dragging their parents through the rain to the movie theatre.  I look at the Marque.  "The Network" and "JackAss 3" – I get all gooey inside when I think of the kids being interested in either.  Of course, I get sympathy pains whenever Johnny Knoxville gets slammed in the nuts.  Better him than me, he’s a professional, I’m only an amateur jackass.

Kids brains are fertile ground. Are they really interested in the innuendos of social networking?  Or to idolize bad behavior?  Or both?

I’m relieved when I find out they are having a special children’s matinee with the latest Shreck.  The St. John’s theatre has children’s matinee’s each weekend; the kind of entertainment I remember as a kid.  A few ads for junk food, maybe some paper airplanes, maybe some popcorn in the air, and then some seriously silly fun up on the screen.  These kids aren’t yet into networks or jackasses, families have enough to deal with as the blessed baby-asses they are still.

As a true ingesticative journalist, I needed to try out the "chicken bread pudding" from the James John Cafe.  More souffle than pudding, this flavor grenade has a mix of textures to keep my tongue happy for the duration of the meal.  Infinitely more satisfying than the vegan "chicken breath soup" that my ex used to serve.

The district of St. John’s is fertile ground.  Most I meet in St. John’s are dented, recycled, reused.  We are the second-hand store of cities, and we are not giving up.  In fact, the energies of our visionaries increase daily.

The city council has been split into two groups, I hear.  I spoke to Bambi Brew about it: “It’s the perfect way to build consensus: just get rid of the folks who won’t move forward, or want us to go back, like savages, to serving amoebae!” — I didn’t think I’d get any further information from Bambi: he spoke through tight lips, and I figured there was more to this.

I talked to the owner of the Cup of Blarn — “Thumper” Olsen has the local frozen beer concession.  He tells me: “Well, I can’t say anything about Bambi.  Bambi’s obsession with amoebas might cut into business opportunities.  And us "Metro Makers" are all about Business.  So we been talkin’ with the Ethics Department at Waterfront University.  Pretty soon Bambi won’t be so important around here.”  Ethics?  Waterfront U?  I think I’ll need to talk to Southwick over at Gunas Lp. to see if Tommy is involved.

I went down to the food carts after hours and found the pro-amoeba forces giving “the pitch” to Peggy, owner of thePeggy’s Pillswagon.

Peggy wants me to mention her slogan: “Nutritionally complete, Roughage at your feet.”  The floor is covered in free-range organic sawdust.  A bit too rustic for my tastes, but St. John’s will try anything: we even have a drive-though Hookah Lounge.  St John’s is fertile ground for crazy ideas.  That’s why I’m here.

The pro-amoeba almost ex-faction of the City Council has formed their own group: the Metro Makers — and is using pretty strong tactics to support their vision.  They have organized the amoebas into picket lines, and are telling Peggy in no uncertain terms that her cart will be the first to be targeted.

Peggy says: “Bring it on, I won’t be intimidated into serving them,  I don’t care if the rest of Portland serves ‘em, I don’t want their dirty money!  Hell, they don’tHAVEany money.”

The Metro Makers leave mumbling Tommy’s name.  I definitely need to follow up with Southwick.

The rain comes down heavily.  Droplets as big around as your pinkie.  These are the kind that hit the ground and bounce back up to eye level.  They are seeking fertile ground.  St. John’s is fertile ground.  We are still calling out for the seed of transformation: We are the second-hand store of cities, and we are not giving up.

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