Visited the neighborhood where I grew up. Started at the closest LDS church (I passed four others on the three-minute drive up there).
At one point, these signs needed to be replaced. The replacements received the correct spelling. I moved away, and in my absence the city apparently wanted to revert to the original spelling. Fucking purists.
(Side note: near this sign is the house of the dude that trapped cats in cages. I forgot to snap a picture of the identifying “K” on his fence, but… I did check for a cage. Nothing was there. I hope he died.)
Found this poor dude on the road leading up to the mouth of a canyon. (I was going to take a picture of the Battle Creek memorial plaque, but there was a big group up at the pavilion and I didn’t want to interrupt.)
Not my piss. Promise.
Cute or creepy? I couldn’t tell.
Other information about my totally awesome Saturday afternoon adventure:
I intended to go to the church and come up with a new t-shirt design idea, but ended up with nothing new.
I brought along a cold peanut butter and honey sandwich.
I am white.
Also, in case you were reading, Wikipedia provides this image of the Battle Creek memorial:
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