A last old photo from a Cinco de Mayo festival on Cherokee Street. There is something new to shoot today. All the photography courses I’ve ever taken have taught me to avoid having objects protruding from people’s bodies, e.g., no light poles growing out of someone’s head. However, I kinda like what happened here.
Quick, send in the clowns
But where are the clowns?
Don't bothеr, they're herе.
St. Louis STyLe House, on funky Cherokee Street, where you can buy all things St. Louis-y. I have a coffee cup from there, designed in the colors and typeface of municipal trucks, used as a pen holder.
I still don’t have the drive to get out with my camera, so I’m continuing to riffle through the archives, looking for images that express my feelings. This was a clothing shop for the young and hip on Cherokee Street in St. Louis. The store itself failed before too long. Monday was Veterans Day in the US and I was reminded of Trump's comment a few years ago that our military personnel who died in service to their country were suckers and losers.
Still, there is some light at the end of my tunnel. Mrs. C and I are taking a weekend trip to northern Illinois, to see the person who was once probably my best friend. We shared a cheap apartment when we were in grad school. We were out together on St. Patrick’s Day, 1973, when I met Carolyn in a bar. We’ve been in contact some online but haven’t been face to face in years, maybe decades. I’m looking forward to this.
Peace out and good vibes at the People's Joy Parade. When this post goes up we should be about 4.5 hours out of Paris.
At least that's what it looks like to me, considering that I have no context for interpretation. Participants at the People's Joy Parade dress as their imagination directs them. I, for example, dress as this old, slightly stooped guy in dark colors to avoid attention. It usually works.
It's travel time. Paris tomorrow afternoon.
It's the first weekend of May and time for a uniquely St. Louis event, the People's Joy Parade. It was founded I don't know how many years ago by local artist Sarah Paulsen. Every strange person who wants to march, roll or ride is welcome, and they seem to get a little stranger every year. This group, seen in the staging area, calls itself the Psychedelic Society of St. Louis. More to come.
The People's Joy Parade takes place on and around Cherokee Street, certainly one of our more unusual districts. The sign gives some idea of the variety of businesses it contains. It's also the commercial center of our Hispanic community, smaller than in most U.S. cities but still active and colorful.
An architectural detail of some of our older commercial areas is a door set back from the front window line with a tile floor stating the name of the establishment. Sometimes it was the owners name and sometimes it was descriptive,
I doubt I could have given a good definition of hippodrome before I drafted this post, maybe just that it was some old term for a stadium. Our friends at Wikipedia tell me that it is an ancient Greek term, specifically for a horse or chariot race venue. I'm baffled by why the word was used here.
Cherokee Street. Mirrored glass. I don't know why you would want that, concealing what might lie within.
I was preparing this post on Thursday evening, overwhelmed by the day's news. As I looked for an image to fit my mood, I found this stencil on the sidewalk in Cherokee Street.
Sidewalk poetry on Cherokee Street. I don't completely agree with this. The ones who leave may need our love even more.
I found out by chance that this line was popularized by Oscar Wilde, who claimed he heard it in a saloon in Leadville, Colorado, while on his marathon U.S. lecture tour. At least this performer, who was publicizing a used piano dealer, wasn't playing Feliz Navidad. 
Okay, I don't get it either. There are several art galleries in this stretch of Cherokee Street but I don't think this place has exhibitions. Reminds me of Laurie Anderson's song with the same name as this post's title, https://youtu.be/UfOK0evCqZY.
Still on Cherokee Street. I wondered why the sign on the awning is in English and on the window in Spanish.
St. Louis has a surprisingly smaller Hispanic population than most American cities but what we have is centered on Cherokee Street. If you are into that sort of thing, you can get your entire outfit to be a vaquero, or Mexican cowboy. If I remember my Spanish correctly, the brand name could suggest the high or tall ones.
There was a print market on a recent mild Saturday along The Lou's funky Cherokee Street. It was hard to believe how many people are making original and very strange images on paper in our area. The low winter sun made west-facing walls pop with warmth.
