LJ Idol Season 9 Weak 24 - Deep Ellum Blues
o/~ "Once I Knew A Percher, Preached THe Bible Thru And Thru
He Went Sown To Deep Elem, Now His Preaching Days Are Thru
When You Go Down To Deep Elem To Have A Little Fun,
Have Your Ten Dollars Ready When The Police Man Comes" o/~
-- "Deep Elem Blues" performed by The Grateful Dead
Dorie and I are both crafters and whenever we go on vacation, we make certain to visit any unusual hobby suppliers we can't find in Florida. Since childhood, one of my favorites has been Tandy Leather Factory. My grandfather had employed leather working as a hobby. I could remember many satisfying summers spent holding watching him tapping at the leather with a die and hammer until he created something beautiful. Once or twice, his big work worn hands held mine steady as I struck the final marks in the design. For a time after he passed away, I had custody of those tools. They were eventually given to a male cousin. I'd not replaced them --- yet --- but I figured I might as well do so and if I were going to do so, the tools ought to come from one of the best known leather companies. Besides, who could possibly resist rifling through a store containing endless shiny bits and entire cow hides?
That's the persuasion I used to get Dorie out of her comfort zone, anyhow. Neither Dee nor Mr. Shapeshifter had been able to accompany us on this adventure out west and navigation just wasn't my strong suit. Oh, we would be perfectly fine on major thoroughfares or in cities I'd visited within the last ten years (provided I had driven around, of course) but neither of us could get successfully from one address to another.
"Don't worry about it," Mr. Shapeshifter had airily assured us as we pulled away from FoxHeart Acres. You've got Siri on your iPhone. What could possibly go wrong?"
Somewhere between Houma and dallas, we realized he'd removed all our paper maps when he had cleaned the truck up. Siri did all right guiding us to the hotel in Garland so I let down my guard. We usually stay in the DFW metroplex a few days to take in the museums and, as I mentioned previously, do some shopping. DFW also happens to be the headquarters store for Tandy Leather.
I don't type well on mobile media. After several abortive attempts to pull up the address and get the map software to give us step by step directions, Dorie sighed and said, "Just talk to the damned thing and let Siri read the directions."
The circuitous route took us over the expressway, through several neighborhoods which had evidently seen better days, and then directed us into a grubby parking lot supposedly placed there free of charge for public convenience. In light traffic, it takes about two hours to transverse the metroplex and then make your way into downtown Dallas. We'd been on and off the expressway so many times I felt dizzy. In the dusty late afternoon sunlight it looked as though all the storefronts had either closed up for the day or were not yet open for business. Some street musicians could be heard tuning up around the corner; immediately to my right and across the lot squatted a dilapidated trailer which proclaimed itself to be a bar.
"I don't think this is the right area," I said doubtfully. The store in front of us had hookah pipes and other head shop paraphernalia in its window display. The business next to it was probably a gentleman's club judging from the clientele lined up outside and the scantily clad women going into the building via a side entrance.
Dorie's mouth had dropped open. "I guess not," she sputtered. "Those ladies didn't look like crafters."
I was already scrabbling for the passenger lock and slouching down the seat. "I don't think those are ladies."
"Awww, crap!" She snatched the iPhone from me and then, speechless with rage, held it in front of me.
I looked around to confirm our location and caught an unfortunate glimpse of a man wearing ass-less chaps disappearing into a store with a glaring neon pink sign declaring its name.
Siri, in her infinite wisdom, had sent us to Candy's Leather!
Author's note: I linked to this particular lyrics site because it so aptly demonstrates the topic. Also, Deep Ellum itself suffers from a similar issue. The true name of the neighborhood is Deep Elm, truncated variously to Deep Ellem, Elem, or Deep Ellum. It is listed on most maps with the last designation.
He Went Sown To Deep Elem, Now His Preaching Days Are Thru
When You Go Down To Deep Elem To Have A Little Fun,
Have Your Ten Dollars Ready When The Police Man Comes" o/~
-- "Deep Elem Blues" performed by The Grateful Dead
Dorie and I are both crafters and whenever we go on vacation, we make certain to visit any unusual hobby suppliers we can't find in Florida. Since childhood, one of my favorites has been Tandy Leather Factory. My grandfather had employed leather working as a hobby. I could remember many satisfying summers spent holding watching him tapping at the leather with a die and hammer until he created something beautiful. Once or twice, his big work worn hands held mine steady as I struck the final marks in the design. For a time after he passed away, I had custody of those tools. They were eventually given to a male cousin. I'd not replaced them --- yet --- but I figured I might as well do so and if I were going to do so, the tools ought to come from one of the best known leather companies. Besides, who could possibly resist rifling through a store containing endless shiny bits and entire cow hides?
That's the persuasion I used to get Dorie out of her comfort zone, anyhow. Neither Dee nor Mr. Shapeshifter had been able to accompany us on this adventure out west and navigation just wasn't my strong suit. Oh, we would be perfectly fine on major thoroughfares or in cities I'd visited within the last ten years (provided I had driven around, of course) but neither of us could get successfully from one address to another.
"Don't worry about it," Mr. Shapeshifter had airily assured us as we pulled away from FoxHeart Acres. You've got Siri on your iPhone. What could possibly go wrong?"
Somewhere between Houma and dallas, we realized he'd removed all our paper maps when he had cleaned the truck up. Siri did all right guiding us to the hotel in Garland so I let down my guard. We usually stay in the DFW metroplex a few days to take in the museums and, as I mentioned previously, do some shopping. DFW also happens to be the headquarters store for Tandy Leather.
I don't type well on mobile media. After several abortive attempts to pull up the address and get the map software to give us step by step directions, Dorie sighed and said, "Just talk to the damned thing and let Siri read the directions."
The circuitous route took us over the expressway, through several neighborhoods which had evidently seen better days, and then directed us into a grubby parking lot supposedly placed there free of charge for public convenience. In light traffic, it takes about two hours to transverse the metroplex and then make your way into downtown Dallas. We'd been on and off the expressway so many times I felt dizzy. In the dusty late afternoon sunlight it looked as though all the storefronts had either closed up for the day or were not yet open for business. Some street musicians could be heard tuning up around the corner; immediately to my right and across the lot squatted a dilapidated trailer which proclaimed itself to be a bar.
"I don't think this is the right area," I said doubtfully. The store in front of us had hookah pipes and other head shop paraphernalia in its window display. The business next to it was probably a gentleman's club judging from the clientele lined up outside and the scantily clad women going into the building via a side entrance.
Dorie's mouth had dropped open. "I guess not," she sputtered. "Those ladies didn't look like crafters."
I was already scrabbling for the passenger lock and slouching down the seat. "I don't think those are ladies."
"Awww, crap!" She snatched the iPhone from me and then, speechless with rage, held it in front of me.
I looked around to confirm our location and caught an unfortunate glimpse of a man wearing ass-less chaps disappearing into a store with a glaring neon pink sign declaring its name.
Siri, in her infinite wisdom, had sent us to Candy's Leather!
Author's note: I linked to this particular lyrics site because it so aptly demonstrates the topic. Also, Deep Ellum itself suffers from a similar issue. The true name of the neighborhood is Deep Elm, truncated variously to Deep Ellem, Elem, or Deep Ellum. It is listed on most maps with the last designation.