I'm Not Hip

There was a time in my life when I thought it important to be in the know. No more.

I'm too busy now to pay much attention to what's in style. I admit to enjoying the Sartorialist once in a while, but that's more about what's classic or individualistic than what's hot. Being hip requires actual study. You've got to read the right magazines and blogs, watch the right TV.

I don't care anymore. I have so many other things to read, and we got rid of our cable over a year ago. (I thought I'd miss prime time. I don't.) I just don't have time to have fashion sense.

I wouldn't mind wearing the latest clothes if someone else would pick them out for me--in fact I really must do something about my wardrobe--but having the house foundation inspected is higher on my priority list than wearing the right foundation underwear.

It's a function of age, I think. You get older and your priorities change. My mother, in her later years, wore wild outfits all of one color group: purple tennis shoes, long purple skirt, purple leather belt, purple cotton blouse, purple knit sweater and purple straw hat for example--not all the same purple, but at least all purple. You couldn't miss her in a crowd the size of Oregon. This I pledge I will not do. I'm only middle-aged, though, so there's plenty of time for my lack of fashion sense to grow out of proportion in some way of my very own.

Why this photo, instead of one of me in my crappy old jeans and Led Zeppelin t-shirt? Just musing on the hipness theme after a visit to Intelligentsia where everyone else there was right out of...well, I don't know, do I? I don't read that stuff.

Friendly Skies

I liked this view when I got out of my car at the grocery store yesterday. I don't photograph clouds often, but that's because we don't often have them. These looked like they decided to squat right down on the roof.

I expected frenzy inside the store, but I guess that doesn't happen until Wednesday. Is it cocky of me to think we have everything we need for the week? (As I knock softly on my wooden desk.) I don't mind going back to the store if I need to, it's not the worst thing. (The worst thing is shopping for gifts the day before Christmas.) I only have one rule for the day before Thanksgiving: "don't travel."

If I were looking for Mr. Right, though, I'd make an exception this year. Boy howdy! Who knows? You might find Mr. Right at the airport. I hear the TSA's a solid job. So if you have to travel, make the best of it. When life gives you lemons, they say, make lemonade.

Vestiges of Deco Glory

I took the liberty of brightening the rainy sky in this shot so you could better see the art deco glory of Angels School Supply at 606 E. Colorado Blvd. Perhaps it's better known to old-timers as United Artist's Theatre. Clifford A. Balch designed the building for the firm Walker & Eisen. It opened in 1931-32.

I love CinemaTreasures.org. I read every word of their page about this building. Even better: I clicked on every link. And most of those links are photos.

Here's the theatre in the 1940's. Cool cars.
This one's earlier. Probably closer to when the theatre opened. More cool cars.
At some point, at least as early as 1961, someone thought it would be a good idea to cover the entire facade in aluminum siding. Sexy, huh?
Here's how that looked at night. (I had to throw that in. Me and the Zep. Wait. Hey! I was actually at that concert. At least as far as I remember.)

So anyway.

I haven't been inside Angels. That will change. Someday soon my camera and I will go in pretend search of school supplies and see what vestiges of art deco glory we can find.

Fish Story

So I was standing in line to buy fish at the Farmers' Market yesterday--by the way, if you haven't tried the fish at the Saturday Pasadena Farmers' Market you're missing out. It's the freshest. And we love sisters Marilyn and Eileen and their friend Juan, who sell us delicious fish every week. The halibut is incredible--but I'm getting off track.

Where was I? Yes. So. I was standing in line to buy fish and I heard Pachelbel's Canon in D Major. Pachelbel's Canon is popular. It's not unusual to hear it at the grocery store or on the radio. Everyone's heard it, it's the 17th Century's answer to Stairway to Heaven, or it would be, if such a thing were possible. But I'm not here to talk about time travel. And anyway, I usually hear the banjo guy or the zither man or the man who sings the Mexican folk songs. It is unusual to hear Pachelbel at the Farmers' Market while waiting in line for fish.

So. There were these two guys. Young. Dillon and Graeme. Or Graeme and Dillon, I'm not sure which is which and I didn't interrupt them to ask. They stood in the parking lot playing their violins for a small but rapt audience. I grabbed a business card that said "classical-contemporary-fiddle/violin duet for any occasion....especially YOUR occasion." You can email them at scran7 (at) att (dot) net (I got their permission to post it). 

These enterprising boys sounded pretty good with the Pachelbel and I wouldn't be surprised if they could give you some Page & Plant if you asked for it. (I can't guarantee that and I didn't ask, but Jimmy was known to play his guitar with a bow, so why not?)

I lost my place in line. But I went back and waited. It was worth it. I got the picture, and the last pound of halibut.