In which our heroine visits yet more strip mall emporia

The weather was quite nice again the other day, so I decided to combine my errand running with urban hiking and further exploration of the many strip malls near my house. (The results of last month's exploratory visit were detailed earlier on these pages.) I put on my hiking shoes for comfort, army backpack for purchases, and loose shirt for minimizing lascivious comments from passers- and drivers-by -- the last of these strategies, unfortunately, not terribly effective, though I am reminded that although I usually am embarrassed and ashamed by my lack of Spanish comprehension, there are times when it is actually quite useful to not understand the things that are being said around you. One site of enthusiastic but incomprehensible comments was Ritmo Latino, which my dictionary says translates to "Latin Rhythm", a music shop down the street that's right next to this vegetarian Indian restaurant I frequent. I decided recently that I quite like reggaeton, at least as dancing/house cleaning music, though the reportedly sexist and violent nature of the lyrics is Exhibit B of "times when it's better to not understand so much Spanish." I stopped by Ritmo Latino with the intention of going in and asking for reggaeton advice, but got caught up in the Hollywood Boulevard-style display of hand imprints of famous Latin-type artists. Tito Puente was my favorite of the bunch, but I thought it was pretty cool that Shakira and I appear to have the exact same size hands. (Of course, that's the only way we match up. Oh well.)

Not far from the music store was a religious supply store. This is one of the window displays; unfortunately, the photo of the full-bodied John the Baptist didn't come out so well. I didn't go into the music store because it was too crowded, and I didn't go into the religious store because it was too empty. But I bet they have other exciting things for sale. I'm not sure why Meso- and Latin American Jesus imagery is just so much bloodier than elsewhere, but you end up really feeling the pain.
When you've moved as much as I have in recent years, you realize how much you try to recreate your old life in your new place -- immigrant communities are much more comprehensible to me now (it's tempting to refer to Bourdieuan habitus, though I'll refrain) (although I guess I just didn't, now that I think about it). This is much easier to do in Spookytown than it was in provincial Russia. For example, I used to live just around the corner from this fine establishment here.
Classy, yes, although for whatever reason not daring enough to go whole hog with alternative 'k' spellings. So imagine my delight when I realized that I live basically around the corner from here.
These salon owners are much bolder, incorporating both the 'k'-for-'c' substitution and the "urban" 'z' plural marker: nothing says "street creds" like alternative spelling.

Also daring are the owners/managers of the thrift store down the street, who appear to be either storing or selling baby cages just behind the store. Apparently this is where we stash unwanted children before they are recycled, although maybe the cages are just used for disciplinary purposes.
Inside the thrift store, I found myself remarkably able to resist purchasing this sweater. Yes, in part because it was a size 22 and 100% acrylic, but really, does my clothing need to remind me of how the aging process is taking a toll on my appearance?
By contrast, these 1950s Nancy Drew-esque novels for girls were irresistible. Oh, Cherry Ames and her many nursing adventures!












Here you get a sense of the many delights that lie in store for readers.
Cherry Ames, count this girl in as admirer number one million and one. My friend Mr. T., who found himself flipping through the books last night as we decided where to eat ("Burmese", apparently, is always a right answer), is quite possibly admirer one million and two, though his interest seemed to lie more in finding inadvertently pornographic sentences and pictures. Which brings me to my final purchase of the day, this from the pot cookie store.
I looked for the "mild" variant, but all they sold was "spicy." Figures. I have now deleted about eight really bad double entendres here, and so will simply say that suggestions for the storage, display, and consumption of this food product are always welcome.