Writing on Ice

 It's everywhere. Mostly unwanted, but often the cause of much pleasure.  Graffiti.  I prefer the written kind, though I must admit some of the artwork out there is nothing short of stunning.  It's on walls, railroad cars, and often over road signs or freeway overpasses.  It's political with little regard to correctness.  It's often lewd, immensely humorous, disrespectful, if not sexist, racist, misogynist, or a prime example of vandalism.  

My first recollections involve public restrooms, especially public school restrooms.  

"Here is sit broken-hearted, tried to shit and only farted."  This was hysterical in the 7th  grade.  It was soon followed by someone's phone number, with one of the myriad versions of "for a good time, call...

I suppose we all remember our favorite piece of graffiti.  I certainly do.  Sometimes, depending on the circumstances, they hit just right.  Like the time I was driving a truckload of my parents' furniture from Southern California to Northern California.  It was shortly after my father's passing and I had just finished cleaning out the family home with my sister and having a weekend-long garage sale.  By 9:00 pm on a Sunday evening, I decided to stop for gas and dinner about an hour before completing the trip.  With enough gas to make it home, I stopped by the men's restroom before entering a restaurant.  It was right in the middle of the Watergate hearings.  As I positioned myself in front of a urinal I chanced to see something written on the wall just at eye-level.  "Smile, you are holding Nixon by the neck. " That piece of graffiti kept me smiling for a good while.  

Sometimes a piece of Graffiti will spawn responses.  As a grad student at UC Berkeley, I saw plenty.  A favorite spot was inside the elevators in the large buildings.  In Tolman Hall, the Education/Psychology building people would cover the walls with messages and responses.  This became so prevalent that ultimately they covered the inside walls of the elevators with carpeting.  While driving through the city of Berkeley on my way to work, I'd pass a building with  big black letters sprayed on the wall saying "Jesus is Coming"  Underneath in red, someone had written, "So is  Yo Mamma."

I've retained other examples from my fairly long life but some are too repulsive to repeat here.  Shockingly racist scribblings found in both the deep South and Northern states.  

I recall a certain billboard that stood on the first floor of Royce Hall at UCLA.  While not the traditional form of written graffiti, people began attaching notes and signs with messages to each other.  Written under pseudonyms, this occurred well before personal ads and computers.  Like graffiti, folks had something to say, and other folks had something to reply.  Though short-lived, this spot became very popular.  Another example of trying to be known and appreciated?  Perhaps, but like all graffiti, it became, in the words of Arthur Miller, "Like writing your name on a cake of ice on a hot July day.