Punx Win!

I have no idea where I'm going with this post tonight except that I do love the photo that opens it.  I spotted the graffiti in my neighborhood last Sunday afternoon, and had to take it home with me.  The phrase makes me happy on many levels.  It's fun to say--with your fist raised over your head, especially--and it has a solid, yet exhilarating retro feel.  It plays rights into my Gen X sensibilities.  After all, punx should win, and always do in my imagination.

After work, I met, for lunch, an old friend who works at Random House, where I love going, not only for my friend, but for the lobby.   I've posted a photo of their auspicious lobby below.  There is a matching bookcase on the other side of the lobby, and the books on the shelves are all RH books (BOOKS, you punx!) arranged chronologically by date of publication.  I did snap a first edition of Invisible Man before I left for the day.  Those books (plus the lighting) make the lobby seem like a temple.  The downside is is that the books are for display only:  museum pieces behind glass.  But still.  Punx win!

Didn't you find Lara's post so inspiring today?  After reading, I put lit candles on my dinner table, turned up the music.  Didn't you?  And while I wore no tights of note, I've been wanting to transcribe a beautiful tights' passage from Dana Spiotta's first novel, Lightning Field (Scribner 2001), which I read this past fall:  

"Mina bought cashmere tights, guaranteed to let you wear skirts through the most frigid days of winter. They were the most expensive hose in the store .  .  .  .  She had to admit the Viennese 70 denier strumpfhose in Pearled Cracked Cement, part of the Urban Disaster collection, tempted her, as well as the Semi-Sheer Velvet Finish Tights in Bruise and Blood Ultra Ultra Red . . . . But these couldn't match the feel--the promise, really--of the Cashmere Pure-Luxury, woven with the tiniest bit of nylon and Lycra (to make the cashmere cling and not bunch, barely detectable, a soft breath, a whisper on the skin).  When she spotted the last pair in medium, in the sort of oatmeal cream that would make her feel October and Ivy League, coed an coquettish, or at least like a sort of wrapped Xmas treat, all warm and inviting to the touch, she said, yes, knowing, in a sinking way, it was obscene" (78).  

Now do you see why tights are just as important as books.  The Punx in the audience will understand.