A mighty wind blew this way.

Just yesterday, in fact. As I stood atop a local parking garage, a major landmark that has existed my entire life was deflated. At roughly 11am, the RCA dome began it's final journey as the fans were turned off and the enormous dome became an enormous bowl. It was a weird experience, one I'm not terribly fond of but glad to have had. A few of my colleagues and I left the office to document the deflation of the dome, walking the five or so blocks over to where it was happening. At first we went up to the seventh floor of the Simon parking lot (note: the Circle Center Mall parking lot), but were promptly, and curiously, told by the security guards that we were not welcome. Thank you Simon, for your contribution to the people of Indianapolis as one of the monuments which stood for 24 years was being taken down, we appreciate it. Most amusing were the words the guards used:

"Simon doesn't want people on our roof, you've got to leave. We don't want anyone watching from our roof

"We can see you, you know, we have cameras all over the place. You have to leave, you can go next door, the exit is at the fourth floor"

Of course, high above us in their nice little tower were the Simon employees. Heaven forbid we mar the view by watching from their parking lot... In a nice bout of irony, being forced to move actually worked in our favor, providing us a far better view from a parking lot that the Colts apparently own. We went up to the eighth floor (the open air lot) where Chris set up his camera to record the event. Among about 100 people, and half an hour later, the dome started to deflate:

It was truly strange to watch it go. There aren't many things that I can say have played a regular part of my life that have come to pass, but here was this integral part of the Indy skyline, slowly sinking as though a sun on the horizon. I couldn't help but feel a little depressed about it. It's always been there. Every image of Indy has it, and since I've existed, so has it. Until now, there exists no time in which it wasn't there for me. Living on the west side of the city, it always greeted me as I drove down I-70 in the morning or on my way to some event. And now it's gone (fully so in December when they implode the structure too). When I came back and conveyed my... nostalgia?... to my office mates, they kind of looked at me strange about it. Maybe it's just different for me. I've always lived here, and it's always been here. Who knows though. Maybe it's just a part of growing up that I'm going to have to deal with: things change, and what's always been here won't always continue to be here.