tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24442055.post-22946373034643449342007-03-11T21:44:00.000-07:002007-04-25T00:21:15.899-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_fhw-TJnigDo/RfTkHa0i2uI/AAAAAAAABM0/uBF1Iq4uMzw/s1600-h/langlang.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_fhw-TJnigDo/RfTkHa0i2uI/AAAAAAAABM0/uBF1Iq4uMzw/s320/langlang.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5040904699044354786" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_fhw-TJnigDo/RfTkHq0i2vI/AAAAAAAABM8/fq4VvMCuM64/s1600-h/march1806+010.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_fhw-TJnigDo/RfTkHq0i2vI/AAAAAAAABM8/fq4VvMCuM64/s320/march1806+010.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5040904703339322098" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_fhw-TJnigDo/RfTkHq0i2wI/AAAAAAAABNE/2PEgfzf61GA/s1600-h/march1806+011.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_fhw-TJnigDo/RfTkHq0i2wI/AAAAAAAABNE/2PEgfzf61GA/s320/march1806+011.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5040904703339322114" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_fhw-TJnigDo/RfTkHq0i2xI/AAAAAAAABNM/5KwRxjvhHM8/s1600-h/march1806+013.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_fhw-TJnigDo/RfTkHq0i2xI/AAAAAAAABNM/5KwRxjvhHM8/s320/march1806+013.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5040904703339322130" /></a><br />Today, I walked along Telegraph Avenue in pursuit of urban art observing traces of Berkeley's abandoned artistic legacy. Cal students practiced dance routines on Sproul Plaza, for a crowd near Zellerbach Hall. A faceless manikin in a store window looked out on a dead city wondering, "where have the independent book stores,craft artisans, street musicians, artists and sundry intellectuals gone?" Across the street graffiti tagged as blue as the sky, sprawled across an abandoned storefront.<div class="blogger-post-footer">HTTP Request Header * POST /rpc/ping HTTP/1.0 * User-Agent: YOUR AGENT HERE * Host: rpc.technorati.com * Content-Type: text/xml http://rpc.technorati.com/rpc/ping * Content-length: 250 http://rpc.icerocket.com:10080 _______________________________________</div>Princess Haikuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13178263734982687383noreply@blogger.com