Bang

The Intel structure downtown (the TV anchors loved calling it The Intel Shell, which is just a little too cutesy-poo for this blog) came down yesterday right on schedule.  Or more accurately 37 minutes behind schedule, as I heard someone grousing later that morning at Quack’s.  Myself, I was glad it was late so I could wake up in enough time to watch it on TV.  Even so, the Channel 8 live feed didn't make it look much more interesting than any number of dust-storms I've seen in the desert.

Afterwards the intrepid Time-Warner reporter ("My first implosion!", she gushed) asked a bystander for his reaction.  “That was just about the sickest thing I’ve ever seen,” the dude said approvingly.  (Young  man, allow me to point you to the Army recruiting station in the Dobie.  They’ll teach you all you want to know about how to do such sick things.  Maybe there will even be people inside sometimes.)  In case you had any questions about what kind of person turns out at 7AM on a Sunday to watch a building fall in on itself, there’s your answer.

I was in the area Saturday and took some pictures while I could, mementoes of high-tech hubris.  I kind of wish the city had decided to keep the structure around awhile yet as an ugly reminder of what happens when you lay back, spread your legs and let the private sector have its way with you, all the while panting “More, more.”  And I doubt the federal courthouse slated to take its place is going to be much of an improvement, at least as far as the view from Republic Square is concerned.  But I can’t complain too much.  I’m kind of a big fan of dust-storms.