(An aside: anyone know why sometimes Blogger polarizes images? This time I'm keeping it because it makes the building on the right look like it's on fire, but usually it's kinda frustrating. Anyway...)
At my last job, which can be aptly described as "scrapbook journalism," I received angry phone calls all the time, mostly of the chickenshit variety. I didn't make someone's kid look extra-special good; I am a pedophile, a Satan-worshipper, a pillow-biter, and a really bad guy.
Today, I received my first SF angry phone call -- for the above photo, which depicts the word OZONE painted on five garage doors on a Guererro Street apartment building.
The call was from a guy who lives in the apartment, who told me that by running the photo, we were encouraging the graffiti -ists to return and tag the building again. Landowners must, by law, remove graffiti from their properties themselves or face fines, so it's a bigger deal than just "Wah wah wah, we've been tagged."
The guy was reasonable, I must say: listened to me explain, offered some advice, didn't slam the phone down. Graffy or no, this is a much nicer place than exurbia.
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