Punk Rock Art Corner: Faded Yield Signs On A Sunny Afternoon

<Faded Yield Sign, Left/
Photo/The Squawker>

 

<i.>

There we sat the Squawker and I, enjoying a lazy Saturday afternoon, cruising around our hometown stomping grounds, after visiting some friends at the township library, and scoping up a couple sale books for $2.50. But that was a couple hours ago, right? Now we're hungry.

We've stopped by our local McDonald's for a snack, a dollar McChicken for us both, and some large French Fries for Yer Humble Narrator.

We park in a shady area, across from The House of the Clown, when we notice these signs. 

What a sight for sore eyes they offer, too, enough to make us laugh out loud. "I've seen some faded street signs in my time, but these?" I wonder. "Seems like somebody still needs the space, no?"

"You know they're having a rough time, when they're not keeping up the disability parking signs," Squawker agreed. "After all..."

Now it's my turn to finish the next sentence. "It's not like somebody still can't use them," I nod. "Or doesn't need to use them."  

<Faded Yield Sign, Right

Photo/The Squawker>

<ii.>

Squawker and I continue tucking away into our snacks, wondering how this odd sight emerged. The McDonald's itself has only just been remodeled. Hell, they've even added a second drive through lane, so they have to be doing well, right? 

Yet there the gleaming new fast food joint sits, next to these comically faded signs. It reminds me when the oil change shop, of all things, shut down in one of the small towns we once inhabited. You know it's a tough place when that type of joint can't make it, right? 

After all, everybody needs an oil change after so many thousand miles. It's not as if any driver gets a say, if you want to keep a car for any length of time. My dad reminded me of that principle often enough, when my skimpy paychecks forced me to choose between routine maintenance, and fripperies like monthly insurance bills.

Anyway, the Squawker needs no prompting to snap the photo, which happens once we finish off our snacks. All in all, we've had a nice, low key, relaxing day, but an unsettling conclusion still manages to cross my mind, anyway.

Seeing these images again offers another reminder, as if anybody needs one, of the nitty gritty reality lurking behind the well-scrubbed, polite exterior of your surroundings, no matter how pleasant they seem. So goes life in the big city, and likewise, in Anytown USA. --The Reckoner

Punk Rock Art Photos: "Still Life: Defunct Medical Clinic"

 

<The long view, 

from the parking lot...>

Hard to believe, once upon a time, but this now-silent medical clinic, Moonham & Associates played a major part in the rhythm of our lives, when we first moved to the town we currently call home. Even in its current condition, you can see it was a state of the art structure, for the mid-2000s (though it was built in the late '60s).

Thoughtfulness abounded in the design. Ample parking in an ample lot, including more spaces for people with disabilities than you normally see. Central, accessible location, off a major five-lane road.

Numerous amenities, like a patient drop-off area. (If you're looking at the first photo, you drove up a small path, behind the array of blue disability parking plates, and then left, up a small asphalted hill, and back down again.) Every detail...

<Constant exposure to wet, rainy weather 

hasn't worked wonders for these signs.>

...seemed carefully considered, even if the waiting rooms still seemed stuck in the mid-'70s Mike Brady Gothic era, as I call it, with all their color schemes, comically narrow armchairs, cramped, unforgiving waiting rooms, and splotchy, questionable color schemes.

Bit by bit, however, the various medical practices here shut down, and pulled out. As we later discovered, Moonham's slow fade revolved around the wishes of our local hospital, that had started building three outpatient clinics on the outskirts of town -- just past the south side, where we live. The gravitational pull of "one-stop shopping" proved irresistible...

<The weather has done a number 

on the wood finish here, too, 

as you can see here.>

...or so it seemed, at the time. The actual back story is more complicated, as I learned, when I started digging online into the history of Moonham. At its peak, the clinic employed roughly 35 doctors, and 200 employees, of whom 40 -- in the billing and collections departments, naturally -- followed their employers to the new location. (Everyone else, presumably, had to dust off their resumes.)

The one local news story I found, from 2011, suggested the reorganization hadn't been smooth. Millions of dollars in unpaid property taxes had piled up since 1999. An additional $10 million in bank loans for real estate and equipment, also loomed, though organizers waxed confident that Moonham had enough assets...

<Closeup view of the clinic's slow fade.

As you can see, the elements 

have really taken their toll.>

...to cover it all. Explanations for the clinic's demise ranged from greed, to inefficiency, though the sources quoted in the story pointed to independence as the big reason. Some doctors supported the closing, and some didn't, but they all wanted to run their own affairs. It's the hobgoblin that dogs any sort of collective arrangement, as the boys behind fabled enterprises like Apple Records will tell you (or Motown, or Stax, or... You get the picture).

With so many partners involved, I can see how that issue got tricky, although I'm assuming that they had to vote on everything, including monthly board meetings, and all the usual organizational folderol that accompanies them (annual and quarterly reports, for instance). The story mentions that the hospital already owned a portion of the property, although...

<This sign marked

the crest of 

the patient dropoff area.>

...nobody seems in any hurry to develop the 4.42-acre site, which has sat empty for over a decade now, and the Squawker and I had stopped visiting around 2010, as we followed our fellow patients to the new digs. 

The property itself was sold in December 2018, for an undisclosed sum, to an equally undisclosed owner (the hospital, I'm guessing, though without confirmation, we obviously can't say for sure). Its current market value is $1.066 million, which generated $31,000 in property taxes last year. I'm guessing they've long since caught up.

<The view from the outer left edge 

of the parking lot...>

So there you have it. A small town version, I suppose, of the territory covered on the VICE Network's ruin porn show, "Abandoned." With subjects ranging from Cold War-era fallout shelters, to decaying malls, and the remains of Route 66, it's enough to make you feel like small potatoes, indeed (though I'm not as enamored of the later episodes -- which seemed like an excuse for the host to indulge his skateboarding hobby). 

<...and a closeup shot 

of the signs, as faded as the rest.>

Truth to tell, I'm a little hesitant myself to feed anybody's ruin porn narrative. In many ways, the story here simply reflects a business transaction, one directed by a major player (our hospital). At that point, the players involved had two options: swim against the tide, and risk moving somewhere else, or joining it. Not surprisingly...

<I've heard of the "broken window theory," but even this snapshot seems like an extreme version, doesn't it?>

...most preferred the latter option. It reminds me of the old joke that you hear cynics drop among themselves: "You say it sucks to be alive? You're right. Most days, it does." Pause. "But it sure as hell beats the alternative." Ba-boomp! But seriously, folks, a funny thing happened to me on the way to seeing my offices, my practice, and my staff getting turned upside down. Even so, as the above photo suggests, there's no doubting...

<Nobody has had to worry about

following the instructions for quite some time.>

...that Moonham has definitely seen better days, and it definitely looks like worse for wear. The faded signs (above) scream of a stereotypical Abandoned 101 experience, and of course, no real movement to scavenge the bones of the property, from blacktop to bricktop, seems likely. Not immediately, anyway.

So what are the city fathers planning on doing about this gaping vacancy in our town's otherwise well-scrubbed back side? I haven't heard in a long time, and my Google walkin' fingers couldn't find a definitive answer, so your guess is as good as mine. 

Going on our latest drive-through, however, the Squawker and I agree on this much: if Mother Earth wants to reclaim the property, it's off to a flying start. Lack of urgency does things like that. Or maybe something's happening behind the scenes, but nobody's announced it yet. We'll see what how it looks in a year or two. --The Reckoner

<Words: The Reckoner>

<Images: The Squawker>

Punk Art Photos: "Still Life: 3:00 AM (W/Abandoned Mask & Leaves In Lobby)"

<Take I:

The Reckoner>

<i.>

It's amazing what you find, late at night, when you're doing laundry at 3:00 a.m. Hence, this series of photos that I snapped about a week ago, in our front lobby, while heading back and forth upstairs to the second floor, where our dryers and washing machines are situated. Note the troublesome detail in front of the table, though. 

Look familiar? It should, though I haven't seen people discarding their precious N95s since the summer. Well, wait. I take that back. Throughout June, July and August, I saw the odd mask scattered here or there across the ground, but nothing like spring, when I might spot three to four, or up to half a dozen, strewn across the parking lots of our two main grocery stores. What gives, people? I can't think of a better way to spread Coronavirus, or put others at risk.

<Take II>

<ii.>

Whatever their reasons, the guilty parties who are discarding their PPE (Protective Personal Equipment) this way are lifting laziness and selfish pique to a whole new level. Take our building. OK, so management removed the trash can, when COVID hit. That's no reason to just toss your mask on the ground, and leave the maintenance men to scoop it up, is it? You're leaving a potential infection point, and it's also f#cking disgusting. 

Still, we can thank ourselves for one small favor: I didn't see a pair of rubber gloves tossed aside, too. Actually, I haven't seen anybody ditching them since the summer. Even then, you just saw a pair of them, here or there. I mean, it's obvious why people are wearing rubber gloves right now, so maybe dumping them is a more visible act. Then again, I'm not seeing as many people wearing since COVID struck, so that's probably another reason. Anyway, read the links below to get the feeling out there.

<Take III>

<iii.>

I'd just come back from a run to Walgreens, because we'd run out of a lot of food, and hell, I was starving. So I grabbed an off-brand thin crust pizza for four bucks. All the ingredients you need are right there, no muss, no fuss, no nonsense, which sold me. It wasn't Home Run, my go-to brand, but it filled me up. It did the job, and for Sunday night, that was enough.

Judging by what I saw during my Walgreens run, panic buying seems to have slowly ramped up again. I noticed a particularly conspicuous gap in the bath tissue section (for paper towels and toilet paper). Once again, management had posted signs stipulating a two-package limit on those items. if that what's we're seeing before Thanksgiving, we're definitely in for a long, cold winter.

<Take IV>

<iv.>

Once more, here's a closeup of the offending mask. Judging by the facial indentations, this particular mask had already gone through a few go-rounds of wear and tear, leaving the owner apparently feeling confident enough to ditch it so conspicuously, without a care in the world. This is how people operate nowadays. They can't be bothered to, and they pass the stresses onto everyone else.

Lately, the Squawker and I have also noticed people getting lax with how they're wearing their masks. The most common variation I see is the mask pulled below the nose bit, followed by a few who lodge it under their chin, and the odd freak or two who lets it hang off their earlobe, even as they enter the same store that you do, without a care in the world, apparently.

People are burned out, exhausted, feeling straight up isolated and socially stunted, from spending so many months indoors. I get it, all of it. But even with the promise of two vaccines, we can't drop our guard. We don't have them yet. And until we do, I'm not bonding with any of those halfhearted mask wearers I've just described, in living color.

<Take V>

<v.>

Here we go, with my last photo. This is the long view, as you head past the table (out of shot, right), and prepare to open the main entrance door, with your key. 

Come Monday, none of this will look like it does here. The maintenance men will sweep the stray leaves that have blown in, with each visitor's comings and goings. They'll slip on their own gloves to dispose of the mask, and the mound of weekly shoppers scattered across the table will vanish with it.

However, while it's never hard to stumble across an unsettling reminder of our never-ending crisis, signs of the "new normal" -- whatever that means -- seem more distant than ever. Happy Thanksgiving, such as it is. We'll see what winter brings, I guess. --The Reckoner

Links To Go (Hurry, Hurry,

Before That N95 Kisses The Concrete):

The Huffington Post:

Please Stop Throwing
Your Used Gloves And Masks On The Ground:
https://www.huffpost.com/entry/stop-throwing-gloves-masks-on-the-ground_l_5e8e08fac5b670b4330a7b93

WPDE
Some Are Throwing Their 

Used Masks, Gloves Right On The Ground:
https://wpde.com/news/local/some-are-throwing-their-used-masks-gloves-right-on-the-ground

Punk Art Photos: "Still Life, Bank Of America" (x 2) (The Squawker)

 

<Take One: The Squawker>

<i.> 

It's a weird thing, isn't it, when a piece of your life suddenly disappears? One minute, you're in and out of this building, or that one; you regularly talk with So-and-So, or Such-and-Such; Monday through Friday, you go to Job XYZ, like clockwork. The next....suddenly, you're no longer doing any of these things. Depending on your circumstances, you may give these things a second thought, or maybe not. Like they say...it's a free country.

Such was is the case with these photos here. You're looking at two views of our local Bank of America (BofA) branch, which suddenly, unceremoniously, shut down a couple years ago, without warning. The move didn't affect the Squawker and I, because we'd switched to a different bank, after reading various media reports about BOfA seizing accounts. 

That didn't sit well with us, having experienced run-ins over the years with zombie collectors trying to make good on (presumably) long-dead, long-forgotten debts. But dealing with a private debt collector is different from your local bank, which has the power to hit right where you live -- your account. It doesn't get anymore basic than that.

So we switched, and didn't look back, as the cliche goes. We're happy with our current bank, aside from the odd issue here or there (see: "Life's Little Injustices (Take II): I Feel An Overdraft" for further reference). The BofA building itself has languished unbought and unused since the closure, though it didn't get boarded up until this summer, when Squawker shot these photos.

<Take Two: The Squawker>

<ii.>

All things considered, seeing a place that marked one of your daily or weekly routines feels weird.  What's happening with the building, I don't know yet, though workmen have been out in force the last few weeks, dutifully doing whatever retrofitting that a new owner might require -- assuming that one is actually on the horizon.

The same abrupt axe fell this summer on our local insurance office, when the owner retired suddenly, after 30- or 35-odd years. Just like that, another reference point disappeared overnight, along the staff we'd dealt with for the decade or so. One employee found the same job with a different agent out of town, a dozen or so miles away. I ran into her at the store, where she briefed me on the relevant details. 

She the owner always planned on retiring, but suddenly brought up the date by a couple years -- illness, reversal of fortune, or strong desire to ride into the sunset, who knows? -- which caught everyone off guard. In any case, one other coworker chose to become an independent agent, and his dad -- who'd come out of retirement to help -- retired again. We were assigned to a different agent, whom I haven't met yet. Due to Corona's incinerator, I'm mainly doing business with him online. We have spoken once or twice, but I don't think we've met.

COVID-19 has shone an interesting light on how banks really operate, including how many consumers are shut out of the system, as The American Prospect reported this spring (see below). An estimated 24.2 million Americans are "underbanked," or operating outside traditional financial networks, while an additional 8.4 million have no bank account. That's an awful lot of people without access to an awful lot of things.

However, while Congress exempted stimulus checks from federal or state debt collection (except for child support), it didn't carve out a similar freedom from private debt collection, leaving recipients at risk from anyone trying to shake them upside down, whether it's a zombie collector, or your friendly neighborhood local bank.

We've seen many variations on this problem in the past, notably 2018, when Bank of America faced a major backlash for freezing customers' accounts over citizenship questions. Whether it reflected general Trump administration xenophobia, at the federal macro level, trickling down to some overzealous local executive looking to move the minute hand, and justify their existence, is hard to say.

Time will tell what happens to our old bank, as the workmen continue doing what they're doing, surrounded by the tools of their trade, and a variety of scaffolding, though I think the ATM machines are finally gone now. I wonder how the former employees we used to see are doing, and whether they've joined the millions struggling for their health, their sanity, and indeed, their basic survival. As for the rest of it, well...what else can I say? Old habits die hard. --The Reckoner

Links To Go (Hurry, Hurry,
The Garnishment Cometh):

The American Prospect:
Your Coronavirus Check Is Coming.

Your Bank Can Grab It:
https://prospect.org/coronavirus/banks-can-grab-stimulus-check-pay-debts/

The Huffington Post:
Bank of America Faces Backlash

After Freezing Accounts Over Citizenship Questions:
https://www.huffpost.com/entry/bank-of-america-citizenship-question_n_5b88470ae4b0cf7b00339747

Punk Rock Art Photos: "Still Life: Discarded Refrigerator & Dishwasher"

<"Still Life:

Discarded Refrigerator
& Dishwasher"

Take I

Photo by: The Squawker>

<i.>

We just had our refrigerator replaced recently, as part of an annual, city-mandated inspection. Actually, the lead maintenance man didn't expect to replace it. The issue came up when I pointed out that the rubber gasket seal had started to crack, forcing me to slap some duct tape on it as a temporary workaround, until they figured out what to do with it.

After doing some checking, though, the maintenance team returned, and explained that they'd have to replace it, after all. That's because our refrigerator dated back to 2001, making it nearly 20 years old, and the chances of getting a replacement gasket -- or, for that matter, a replacement anything -- seemed remote, at best, and a crap shoot that our complex couldn't win, at worst.

"It's weird," the lead maintenance man said, "because normally they don't last this long. Nowadays, you're lucky to have one for 10 years."

"Well, just think back to those all jokes in MAD, about planned obsolescence..." I responded. "Here's to the new one, I guess."

<"Still Life:

Discarded Refrigerator 

& Dishwasher"
Take II
Photo by: The Squawker>

<ii.>

The new fridge duly arrived, a week later or so, and I have to say, it's a massive improvement over the old one, which was groaning under the burden of two cracking shelf pieces (requiring more duct tape surgery), and a serious shortage of storage space. The current one is a Whirlpool model, which feels a bit roomier, and better-organized. This is what you get, after all, with new, or nearly new, and it feels good.

That's what inspired us to drive by and shoot the above photos, as The Squawker did. Was that our refrigerator squatting on that concrete pad, in the rear parking lot? 

No, it wasn't. This one happened to be narrower and boxier, in terms of its design. Nor had the previous owner bothered to clean it, as we quickly discovered, when we poked open the door... and snapped it quickly back shut.

As for the dishwasher behind it, who knows where that came from? Maybe the same tenant owned both items, or maybe not. I've seen about three or four of them on that concrete pad lately, which tells me something about their average life span, I think.

There's some interesting info on how refrigerators get recycled, which needs to happen roughly every 14 years, as the article below states. (Recycling dishwashers, on the other hand, gets a bit trickier, as that link will outline.) Given those odds, Squawker and I got off lucky, I guess.

At any rate, the dishwasher is long gone, since Squawker snapped these photos last week, but the refrigerator is still waiting for its sendoff to that Great Appliance Corral in the Sky. It's all part and parcel of life's rich pageant, as say -- or the litter bin of American capitalism. So it goes. -- The Reckoner

Links To Go 

Junk King
Three Tips For Disposing
Of Your Old Dishwasher:

https://info.junk-king.com/3-tips-for-disposing-of-your-old-dishwasher

Recycle Nation

How To Recycle Refrigerators:

https://recyclenation.com/2015/08/how-to-recycle-refrigerators/

Punk Rock Art Photos: "Abandoned Air Conditioner/Banged Up Bike Graveyard"

<Take I/The Reckoner>

Our complex is on a tear, most recently against bikes without any obvious ownership. A few weeks back, the management dropped off a stern notice, giving absentee owners until July 30 to fess up, and reclaim their errant two-wheeler, so they could register it properly...or management would take such matters into its own hands. Something like that.

<Take II>

And so, they have, as you see from these photos. Most of the bikes don't look like much, though, honestly. To these (relatively) untrained eyes, these particular bikes -- by and large -- seemed like bang up kids' models, for the most part. When the kid outgrew the model, they moved on to something else, I guess. Or so I surmised.

<Take III>

The air conditioners are an entirely different matter. They looked like discards from the maintenance crew that outlived their usefulness. They probably reflect another longtime practice I've seen, as a tenant of almost 15 years' standing. 

For a long time, whenever I needed something -- a set of blinds, for example, or yeah, an air conditioner -- Maintenance cannibalized them from apartments where either someone had just moved out, or had yet to move in. Wash, rinse, repeat. At some point, I suspect they broke down and bought one, whenever the chain finally ran out of air conditioners to cannibalize. 

<Take IV>

Those air conditioners look quite worn too, having seen a lot of wear and tear, as the weathered surface of the unit in Take VIII's photo surely establishes (below). That's the policy at most apartment complexes, I imagine -- work it till it conks out. 

<Take V>

Judging by the photos I've just taken, these particular air conditioners look like the newer, energy-efficient models that offer plenty of options to regulate your climate and temperature, as opposed to the old ones, which simply offered different levels of cool air to blast out. Either one works for me, honestly.

<Take VI>

At any rate, management proved as good as its word. Driving last Wednesday around the oval-shaped path that circles all four apartment buildings, I stopped, with a start, because the air conditioners  -- and the bikes -- were no longer there. I presumed they'd been preserved in their own form of amber, as they headed on their final journey...to the county landfill.

<Take VII>

As the cliche runs, you wonder what kinds of stories you might hear, if these objects could talk. Like so many personal and non-personal items nowadays, you feel their presence is everywhere, yet also nowhere, at the same time. 

You don't really give them a second thought till they're gone, much like those dying of COVID, or struggling to live on the abbreviated lifelines thrown to them, by a federal government that loudly and vocally begrudges every inch, and fights it every step of the way.

<Take VIII>

With those thoughts in mind, ponder the nods and the winks that never get exchanged, the rumors that never set the woods alight, the stories that never get told, the sweep of time that now gets to sidestep that quintessential million dollar question: Hey, who owned all this stuff, anyhow? And what happened to them, anyway? Are they still living here? Or did they end up moving on?

<Art Shot...>

Ponder those stories, and multiply them by whatever foul statistic you wish. The 40% of Americans who cannot save $400, at least, for a personal emergency. The average jobless black worker right now who earns $40 a week less in benefits than his white counterpart. The 41% of black-owned businesses that have shut down, due to COVID-19, versus 17% of white businesses. The 33 million jobless Americans filing for benefits, as of June 20, or five times the levels of the Great Depression...

And so on. And so forth. Wash, rinse, repeat. 

Now stop what you're doing for a moment, and think about what might have been, if only for a moment. That could have been your story, too. -- The Reckoner

Punk Rock Art Photos: "Dead Malls Don't Talk Back (Take II)"

<Take I The Squawker>

"Once more, with feeling..." Depending on your age, you'll either associate this lyrical sentiment with Buffy The Vampire Slayer ("But I can't find my sweet release/Let me rest in peace") or Kris Kristofferson ("Let's try it once more with feeling, and we'll call it a day"). But either way, it seemed like an appropriate backdrop for our return to the dead mall that The Squawker and I last visited in September.

The resulting photo essay sparked one of our best-received posts, so here we are again, this time, starting with the fading JC Penney sign on the right side. Basically, this is the rear view, as you're driving around the property. Its closing last summer left this area without a JC Penney for the first time in nearly a century, locals told us.

<Take II: The Squawker>

As we continue our drive around the property, we stopped behind this rear entrance. Note the overgrown grass now sprouting through the cracks in the parking lot. Apparently, regular maintenance is no longer a consistent feature, or else, it's been scaled back -- either for budgetary reasons, or there aren't people to do it regularly.

<Take III: The Squawker>

Here's a closeup view of that rear entrance, as The Squawker shot it. We briefly debated going inside, and nosing around, but decided against it, because our afternoon to-do list still beckoned. As you see, though, the grass is growing thickest and longest near the entrance, but doesn't show any distinct signs of regular maintenance.

<Take IV: The Squawker>

Here's a longer view of the rear parking lot, so you can get a sense of how far the grass has grown, and how empty it looks. On this particular day, on this side of the mall, we didn't see a single car parked here. As we drove back towards the main road circling the mall, we counted roughly two to three dozen cars, most of them belonging to the people still working here. How long that will last, who knows?

<Take V: The Squawker>

Swinging back around the left side, we came across this bygone anchor store, Carson's, that shut down in spring 2018, according to the locals. Our camera lens was giving us fits -- hence, the black shapes in the corner -- but I liked the effect, so I didn't crop them out. But you can see plainly enough that the C in the store's name is gone, now long reclaimed by the elements.

<Take VI: The Squawker>

Here's the defunct entrance for the defunct Carson's. The name itself is the newer version of Carson, Pirie, Scott & Company, whose ads I remember well as a child growing up. They always closed with the original name, ooh--oohed and ahhed over a light jazz background ("Carson, Pirie, Scott..."), followed by the tagline, spoken largely by itself ("AND Com-pany!"). That was in the '70s, of course, long before the American Dream withered off the vine for most people.

<Take VII: The Squawker>

Here's the parking lot in front of the dead Carson's store, as overgrown as the rest of the property. As you see, there's plenty of cracks in the surface, and -- though not apparent in this shot -- there's lots of potholes, too. So many, in fact, you'll feel like you're driving over a lunar landscape. Needless to say, it pays to go slow here.

<Take VIII: The Squawker>

And so, we end as began our original photo essay, with the shuttered Sears, and the truck standing in front of the now-defunct loading dock, its battered door still dangling open, waiting in vain for someone to finally shut it, and send it on its way.

The dishwasher that stood nearby, forgotten and forlorn, is finally gone, its place now taken by a yawning pile of dead brush. When will anybody clear it? Who knows? All that's left, it seems, is the tumbleweed rolling down the street, while the wind whistles in the distance. This is the sound of America today, the opposite face of the recovery that's being touted in established news outlets. 

Yes, the economy is working, but for what, and for whom? That is the question that looms large over landscapes like this one. When this mall finally closes, they'll blame specters ranging from the e-commerce boom, to the toughest retail climate seen  in 30 years, or a withering local economy. 

The subtleties will undoubtedly feel lost on those having to find new jobs or locations for their businesses, as these words from Kris Kristofferson ringing in their ears: "'Cause somehow, darlin', something good/Got lost along the way/And our song ain't nothing/Special anymore."  The Reckoner

Punk Rock Art Photos: "Dead Malls Don't Talk Back"

<Take I: The Squawker>

Now, we come to a different sort of view. Your favorite teenage go-to spot, a/ka The Local Mall, is having tough times these days. The town I used to live is no exception, as The Squawker and I found out on our visit here a couple months ago, while driving past this mall that's been around since 1979-ish, give or take a year. 

Nature seems to be gradually reclaiming this once grand go-to spot. Note the grass growing through cracks in the concrete, an unthinkable sight, I suspect, during the mall's '80s and '90s heyday. Squawker shot these photos outside the recently shuttered Sears, near the loading dock. 

<Take II: The Squawker>

The weirdest thing is seeing the truck with its door hanging askew. It's truly a surreal but sinister sight, that begs the question...What happened to the driver? Did somebody just yank that person out, and apply some bareknuckled street justice, like the LA rioters gave to that poor trucker back in 1992? But the surrealism didn't end there.

<Take III: The Squawker>

The strangest sight of all, which inspired us to snap these photos, is the orphaned dishwasher, waiting patiently, it seems, for someone to pick it up and give it a good home. That didn't happen after Sears closed, obviously. Note the additional grass and weeds in the background, growing through those proverbial cracks in the sidewalk. The brick facade still looks good, but the concrete? It's like driving over a lunar landscape.

<Take IV: The Squawker>

According to the locals, Sears was the third of four anchor stores to close after Carson's and JC Penney went belly up last spring and this summer, respectively. Only Kohl's is hanging on. (Kohl's comes up just before Sears, which is why it's not in this sequence of photos.) That makes sense, since they're now the nation's second largest retailer, based on sales...though it's fair to ask how long they can keep this particular high wire balancing going here. 

<Take V: The Squawker>

As you'll see here, the seagulls are having a grand time socializing in a largely empty parking lot. On this day, a Wednesday or Thursday, we counted a couple dozen cars, most probably belonging to the employees (the ones that still have a job, at any rate). Once upon a time, I imagine, this lot would have filled to the rafters.

Many reasons have been tossed around for the decline of malls, including lack of novelty. In America, the mall -- or shopping center, perhaps -- has existed since the 1920s, so periodic reinvention is undoubtedly necessary. Other pundits suggest that, as more and more people shop online, they feel less need, and less inclined, to actually step inside a store.

"Stuff and nonsense!" shouts a third faction of analysts, who point out that high-end malls -- and, to some degree, smaller, more compact strip malls -- are holding their own in the most turbulent retail climate in decades. They also note that significant numbers of people resist the siren song of e-commerce, citing security and privacy issues (a fear undoubtedly magnified by Facebook's string of public blunders on both scores, to name one example.)

Still other experts, naturally, cite the pressures on consumers' wallets. U.S. Census Bureau figures released today showed the median household income at $63,179 for 2018, barely a blip above the $62,626 logged in 2017. The number of uninsured Americans also rose to 27.5 million over the same period (from 7.9 to 8.5%, or two million more people overall).

Judging by these two figures, not everyone is benefiting from the largest run of economic growth in American history. On that evidence alone, the seagulls will be dancing in an empty parking lot for some time to come. -- The Reckoner

PS The Squawker and I went back a couple weeks ago. The truck and its open door are still there, but the dishwasher is gone...having a good home, at last.

Links To Go
Hurry, Hurry (See How 
Ancient Civilizations Lived):

Rush: "Subdivisions" (1982 Video):
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EYYdQB0mkEU&list=RDEYYdQB0mkEU&index=1