New Mexico Highways

Raise your hand if you’ve never had the pleasure of having been driving home from a World Series Game 3 in Denver and opted to take my patented “Eastern Santa Fe Bypass” (ie., NM Route 84 from Romeroville, New Mexico to Interstate 40- a shortish distance east of Clines Corners). Those of you with your hand up do not realize what you’ve been missing.

When you do finally get around to exploring this little segment of the desert Southwest, I highly recommend doing so just prior to the sun begins to call it a day. Also, do yourself a huge favor and pop Supertramp’s “Breakfast In America” into your handy mp3 gadget, cd changer, cassette player, 8-track stereo, or whatever have you right as you begin heading southward along this sparsely populated, yet entertaining travel corridor. Crank it up and enjoy!

Sure, the album is pushing 30 years old, but it is still quite space age music for the seldom-traveled, pre-1937 alignment of Route 66. The only other suggestions I have to offer is that if you hear any part of the saxy Logical Song before you reach the tiny village of Apache Springs, you really need to ease off on the gas pedal- not because of cops, but in order to fully enjoy what you are otherwise going to miss.

Hey, put your hand down already! Geeesh.

Similarly, you don’t want to drive so slowly that you can’t take advantage of the energy of Child of Vision as you ramp back up and engage with the flow of traffic on I-40. Obviously you should be musically prepared in the event that you decide to stray off and explore a few of the back roads that crisscross the southern foothills of the Santa Fe Mountains.

one man's trash...

... is another man’s dollhouse.

Whether you live in a large city or the smallest of towns, you can always bank on discovering the strangest things while walking through alleys. I guess it boils down to the notion that people invest the majority of their yard beautification efforts towards the front of their homes, and neglect the backsides under the theory that no one will see it. Possibly that also indicates that most people are oblivious to what alleys have to offer beyond serving as a path to their garage, or the rare shortcut. Many people also tend to employ “their” alley as an extension of their world.

I think I’ve always been a sort of alley investigator, although I definitely prefer to explore them on foot rather than by car. First, I tend to miss the finer details when traveling at say, 35 miles an hour compared to 2 or even 3 miles per hour. Also, vehicles pretty much remove any possibility of stealth from the operation, whereas on foot a person may only attract the attention of the occasional family dog, or an entire block of family dogs if you have unusually large feet, or haven’t learned how to pick them up when you walk.

I recently encountered this relatively creepy item while on walkabout in search of interesting items to photograph. It was stashed in the alley behind a large house in Albuquerque’s historic Huning Highland Addition that was featured prominently in the nightmarish film “Suspect Zero.”



I was immediately captivated by the amount of effort that appeared to go into the construction of the house to make it look old and run down. Then I realized that it probably wasn’t so much the effort that went into the creation it inasmuch as it was just sloppily constructed and then more than likely left outside in the elements for any number of years. When I reached down to move the house into light more suitable for photography, I was impressed the object’s weight. I was particularly fond of the yellow room upstairs.



Upon reaching the conclusion that the toy wasn’t a scale model of the property’s actual house, I realized that it was time to continue with my exploration. Although I didn’t feel any urges to save the item from an eventual trip to the dump, I couldn’t help but wonder if there is an interesting story surrounding this house.

some sort of miracle

So, I was walking from the library to my truck this evening, when I observed a young Hispanic woman get off the bus carrying an infant in one arm and dragging a toddler behind her with the other. They were in front of me- walking in the same direction. I maintained my pace, as I was in time to make it across the Fifth Street before the light changed to yellow. I wasn't sure they were going to be so fortunate.

Somehow, they made it.

As I got closer and closer behind them, I could hear the mother quietly scolding the toddler... "We could have had a warm ride if you hadn't kept falling down," "Stop it!" and "C'mon, use your feet!" are some prime examples. The little girl was whimpering and crying. Admittedly, my eyes also had tears in them, but that was due to the cold.

Just as I began to pass them on the grass to their right, the little girl stopped and pointing to a statue of Jesus on the outside of a church asked, "Is that God?"

Taking a break from her scolding, the mother replied, "Yes."

They took a few more steps before the toddler noticed something that looked like a TV or cb radio antenna on the roof of the church. Puzzled, she asked, "Is that God too?"

The mother said, "No," then told her to stop dragging her feet and again pulled her along by the hood of her plastic parka - this time behind me.

The moral of this story? I believe I’ll leave that open to your interpretation.



This is a photo of the actual statue mentioned above. People familiar with downtown Albuquerque will realize immediately that this photo was taken a number of years ago, before someone snapped off one of Jesus’ thumbs.

the R word

I am extremely thankful each and every time a blogworthy topic literally falls into my lap(top). Today was no exception.

It actually all started about a couple of months back when an odd entry was posted in my neighborhood association’s message board. You are welcome to read that entry yourself, or take my word for it when I report that, in a nutshell, the message called for the cessation of disparaging remarks about renters in the monthly newsletter.

Although I didn’t pay much attention to the post at first, I admit that it did settle into that part of my brain where things go that I’m unsure how to process. A couple of weeks later, someone posted a reply to the posting that left me literally scratching my head as the questions again began tickling the interior of my skull.

Are renters bad for property values? Are renters really less responsible than property owners? Does not a homeowner who neglects their property actually represent more of a drain on the local environment? Is all stereotyping “wrong?”

I’m pretty sure that I never mentioned the disgusting habits of our old neighbors due to my policy of trying to abstain from writing with negativity. I have no idea where these folks came from, but I was dumfounded when it soon became apparent that they considered empty beer cans and pizza boxes as appropriate landscaping materials. To make a long and irritating story short, they seldom bothered to wheel their trash out to the street, opting instead to toss it on the ground in the vicinity of the overflowing trash container hidden behind a pile of garbage on the side of their (rental) house.

The situation got so bad that I actually began taking their trash out to the curb each week. Of course I bitched and muttered to myself every step of the way, but at least I was being proactive and dealing with the problem rather than just watching it. I even hoped that someone in that household would take notice, and would learn from my example. Fat chance!

When they eventually moved out, they left behind a front yard full of debris that random passersby undoubtedly mistook as a tribute to the post-Katrina city of New Orleans. That mess festered for the better part of a week before a city cop investigating reported suspicious activities at the vacant house called the property managing company and threatened to cite and fine them if they didn’t get it cleaned up.

Before purchasing this house just over two years ago, I had been a renter for just over two solid decades. Honestly, I do not recall ever leaving a place in poor shape. I’m not suggesting that I didn’t live in some real hellholes. I did. But I can assure you that in those situations, the property was definitely more habitable (and I would imagine therefore more valuable) after I moved out than when I moved in. On the flipside, I have had friends who survived terrible living conditions- either inherited or self-inflicted. (You know who you are!)

But those are just a few examples that I can’t offer any evidence to support. Which brings me to this:



For the past year, a handful of college-age kids have been renting the house two doors down the street and just a half a mile from the railroad track. Never mind the loud, all night parties they staged on a regular basis, and the fact that their guests did more than a fair job of screwing up the already limited parking throughout the surrounding square block area. They were nice enough people. The issue for them was that they didn’t take responsibility for the trash that they created in a timely manner. When they moved out this past week, they left behind a pile of garbage that spilled out of the two dumpsters and across the front lawn onto a public sidewalk. The mound is impressive enough that it would likely cause Fred Sanford to have a stroke if he drove down the block.

Obviously, the “responsible” thing to do when you accumulate a mountain of trash like this is to make a trip or seven to one of several city dumps. But one can hardly expect someone(s) to know something like that when they are so naïve as to expect that city trash collectors are going to clean up after them.




It should go without saying that I was afraid that Officer Obie would happen along while I was snapping this pair of eight-by-ten color glossy photographs, and assuming that I had dumped all the crap on the sidewalk, write me a ticket AND make me pick up the garbage. For those of you who have been living under Plymouth Rock for the past 40 years, Alice’s Restaurant is to Thanksgiving what a movie that is played all day long each and every Christmas is to, well… Christmas. Of course the song (which definitely came first) is better than the movie.

Common sense dictates that the issue is actually tied to the difference between people and their individual comfort levels, and not whether they are renters or owners. However, I am of the opinion that these photos document the nightmare that some homeowners have when worrying about the new tenants who may move into the house next door. Personally, I have hope that the next crop will be better.

travels with coffee

With a few errands to run downtown, I enjoyed a leisurely walkabout on what turned out to be a gorgeous Indian summer afternoon. As I made my way toward the summit of the Lead Street bridge over the railroad tracks, I noticed a small “to go” cup from the Frontier Restaurant next to the fence, seemingly trying to look over the edge to check out the Rail Runner trains several tens of feet below.

I think it’s funny how weird or unexpected items can make you think of stuff completely unrelated. Pondering the potential travels of this Styrofoam manuport reminded me of a film we were shown in grade school about this boy who carved a manned canoe out of a chunk of wood, named it “Paddle-to-the-Sea,” then took it outside and placed it in a snow bank. I know, already it is crazy. At any rate, spring arrived and the snow began to melt. Eventually, the canoe slid into a tiny stream of melt off water and began this incredible journey toward the open sea.

I won’t tell you how that journey ends, just in case you want to see the movie for yourself, or read the book. I continued to think about the movie while I walked around the city, taking a break to check out the progress of the ongoing construction project at the southeast corner of Lead and 2nd (near the El Madrid Lounge).

I always enjoy walking past St. John’s (Episcopal) Cathedral at the corner of Silver and 5th. Although I’ve never ventured inside the structure, the outside is very interesting. From there I walked to the PNM office to drop off payment for electrical goods and services. Sure, I could have dropped a check in the mail, but I figure why pay someone 39 cents to deliver an envelope (or not) that I could just as easily deliver myself. True, the water fountain outside PNM always makes me feel like I have to take a leak no matter how prepared I am.

I continued down Silver, hanging a “roger” after the delicious smells of the hot dog vendor began to fade, and shuffling up 6th Street past the post office where screams of “Use your turn signal” (directed at someone other than me) filled the air.

Pausing to read the billboards advertising coming attractions at the KiMo Theater, images of unspeakable things the cooks might have been doing to otherwise normal food in Lindy’s began creeping into my brain and forced me to flee.

Upon reaching the intersection of 6th and Copper, I was stunned by the complete lack of any signs of construction at the main library. Either the project has been completed, or someone has stolen all the fences, signs, materials, and workers. Either way, I made a mental note to pass this way again in the near future.

A quick pop in at the bank on the corner of 6th and Marquette to see what interesting things they are doing with money these days. I really like the new $10 bills! So much, in fact, that I am willing to trade two of my critically acclaimed archaeology coloring books for a single one.

I was astonished to discover that Compass Bank requires non-customers to leave a fingerprint if cashing a check issued by them, in addition to a $5 fee. I was even more surprised to witness someone agree to those terms. Perhaps I am too easily entertained.

After conducting my business, I left the bank via the rear exit- not so much in an attempt to cornfuse the security guard, but in keeping with my long-standing policy to refrain from retracing my steps whenever possible. By this time, the increasing afternoon shadows forced me to stroll through the wifi-friendly plaza area- possibly the best location to find sunshine in the downtown area at almost any time of day (excepting, of course, at night).

From there I continued through the shady 4th Street Plaza where school children gather to frolic amongst the city’s homeless as if playing in piles of autumn leaves. One hopes that the kids won’t start a fire with one of their carelessly discarded cigarette butts amongst all the dead wood.

Emerging from the cultural breezeway, I turned to the east and began walking along Central Avenue towards home. The blog-worthy sights and sounds encountered within the historic Route 66 corridor are so many that a person would have to sit on a bench all day EVERY day to even make a stab at recording them all. Actually, ONE does, but it isn’t me. Besides, that story is of a journey of an altogether different nature.

town house crackers

Our gang caught a giant wave over to the Town House Lounge (3911 Central Avenue NE) this past Friday evening to check out some charbroiled longhorns and ice-cold longnecks. Initially we congregated in the patio section that fronts Central Avenue where we were informed that there would be no entertainment that evening. Luckily, the waitress only meant in that section of the lounge!

Eventually we moved into the dining room portion of the restaurant where we were greeted by warm lighting softly reflecting off fantastic red Naugahyde booths that make everyone feel like Frank Sinatra. That said, the room belonged to one of Albuquerque’s hardest working entertainers, the iconic Freddie (Kekaulike) Baker.



If you know in advance that you are going to see Freddie perform, it would serve you well to be prepared to join Mrs. Baker as her husband dives into Tiny Bubbles. If you fight her, she’ll only make your life difficult.



Service was first-rate, while the food was both delicious and plentiful. Customers also receive a complimentary shot of brandy at the conclusion of every meal. How kool is that?

As for the restrooms… well, they do have running water. A person more clever than I coined the term “genurinal” to describe the no-name thirsty urinals present in the men’s room.

Although the Town House Lounge offers abundant parking in rear, you may decide to park in front so you can snap photos of the giant cow before you go in. See you there!

home sweet historic home

So, you've read all about the upcoming Huning Highland Historic District's "Mother’s Day Historic House Tour" at the Duke City Fix, and have come to me for more details and photos...

Smart move!

Historic home tours include the following properties:


816 Silver SE


209 High NE


111 Walter SE


123 Walter SE


301 Arno SE


418 Arno SE

Vintage cars will be displayed at the following historic gas station locations:


320 Central SE


601 Coal SE

Gardens available for touring include:


201 Edith NE


501 Walter SE


416 Iron SE