How's this for boring _ this page is full of random art-like fotos. Ain't nothing funny about that. So just turn away, right now.
Still here? Let me tell you about the Berkeley/Albany landfill. (I call it the "Berkeley/Albany landfill" even though I have no idea which city it's technically in or even if it's actually a landfill. I'm told it is, but does anyone really believe Kelly? Ever?)
I love Kelly.
The landfill apparently is the remnants of Berkeley's (Albany's?) industrial era, I imagine the turn of the century or thereabouts. Before the freeway split the city from the bay.
Anyway (keeping in mind that I'm full of shit and have no idea what I'm talking about), there once were giant factories and warehouses and industrial-type places that lined the bay in Berkeley. And then came the 80, eight lanes of high-speed pavement that proved a highly effective and deadly barrier between the factories and the rest of the land. Deadly because people die in car crashes on the freeway, and because the factories that were stuck on the bay side of the asphalt disappeared.
So what's this got to do with a landfill? And what about that racetrack? Well, forget the racetrack.
When the factories disappeared, left behind were towering metal shells and piles of garbage. The Berkeley/Albany landfill was the dumping ground for much of this waste, and about 50 years ago it probably looked awful (or cool, depending on how much you like the look of heaps of garbage and industrial waste).
But over time somebody got it in his or her head that landfills make great parks. And so grass and trees and seeds for flowers were planted on top of the pipes and metal sheets and random chunks of concrete at the landfill. Park!
It gets even better.
As the grass and trees and flowers swept over all that metal, people started visiting the park/landfill. Artist-type people. Artists have this tendancy to think that everything is beautiful, or at least ugly enough to be interesting and worth playing with.
These artists started making art. Out of garbage. Can you imagine?! Of course you can, because there are fotos to go with this. Basically, artists started taking all that concrete and painting it with pictures of trees and flowers and grass and horses. Or they stuck old bicycle parts into the pipes. They twisted the metal into pretty little rusted coils that looked as though they were growing right out of the grass.
This "new" Berkeley/Albany landfill/park is surprisingly beautiful, as far as landfills go, and frankly, I don't have a lot of experience with landfills.
So about a month ago, Chris, Kelly and Fatty wandered all over the landfill taking pictures (yes, these fotos are from that afternoon _ surprise!). It was overcast and wet. I'm pretty sure we were all hungover. Or was that the day before?
At the water's edge we discovered Club Baby Seal. Except it wasn't a seal, it was a sea lion, and it wasn't a baby, and it hadn't been clubbed. It was just dead. If you want fotos of the dead sea lion, ask Chris and Kelly. I just basked in the smell of dead meat while taking lots of fotos of a beached boat with pretty pictures drawn on it.
Is it just me, or is this entire page a tiresome exercise in stream of consciousness? Is anybody even still reading? Never mind.
I haven't seen Chris and Kelly's fotos yet. I'm sure they're marvelous. I'm sure I'm marvelous and everybody loves me. Please don't tell me otherwise. I don't want to hear it.
Did I mention it's Kelly's birthday next week? March 24. This is where I waste space so I have more room for fotos.
Email Kelly, please. email@example.com.
C'mon, tell her you love her. Her birthday is Oscar day. You know that excites you, and she's such a pretty girl. Besides, she's stuck with Chris, and doesn't that make you just a little bit sad?
I love Chris.
So that's it for the fat photographers. I promise to limit this lame artsy crap in the future. Can you please just leave it alone? I was just trying to be creative. Damn you all. I hate you.
Oh, and click on any of the fotos (except the first and last ones) to see a larger version. Not that anyone cares.
Go away. I'm busy.
Wanna talk to a Fatty? Email firstname.lastname@example.org.
Take me back to Fatty's Page!