Tacky-ass clothing
Literally. Well, only partly literally -- not actually sticky, but definitely butt-related.
Today I had every intention of going to the enormous book festival taking place on my campus. Not sponsored by said campus, merely hosting. But after biking to the farmer's market (today's semi-incomprehensible Spanish-English conversation with my never-talking-with-me-in-English friend involved the heat, and also I realized he calls me "amiga" but where the g is pronounced somewhere between h and kh which made me wonder if this means that he hails from southern Baja, which is the only place I've heard this pronunciation)** I found myself really not up for biking to campus. Esp. since I'm biking over early tomorrow for a meeting and to give a midterm.
So I headed to the beach instead. Inland here at my place it went up to 93 maybe (Celsius lovers can convert here) and although it was a bit cooler in Venice I found myself wanting shorts anyway. For some reason I have no beach shorts. And for other reasons, the pickings were pretty darn slim on the shore. And I found myself buying a pair of black athletic shorts with two white stripes down each side and the phrase Venice Beach Lifeguard on the back. I think I wore them ironically. That's what I keep telling myself...
**CORRECTION: Apparently I was mishearing, and my farmer friend is calling me mi'ija, an ellision of mi hija 'my daughter' and a term of endearment used with younger people. Mi'ijo for the boy types. Live and learn!
The sweeter the juice
This morning, like most Sunday mornings, I headed to the Hollywood farmer's market. My fridge was already pretty well-stocked with stuff I hadn't managed to cook yet from last week's jaunt, but I needed a few more things, in particular, both some kind of vegetable for a side dish and some flowers to bring to this evening's seder over at R-ka's place to the northwest. The flowers and side-dish vegetable were easy enough to locate (the chard was deeply discounted in the last half hour of the market), and once purchased I could return from my goal-oriented shopping to a more general aesthetic appreciation of my surroundings. As I stopped by a stall where I often buy root vegetables, I was struck by the enormity of what lay before me -- specifically, giant beets. There were a few bunches with one mega-beet and the remainder normal, and one bunch with two mega-beets, so I decided to get that bunch and bring it along for the entertainment of R-ka's four year old. And maybe R-ka herself. My conversation with the farmer behind the table went something like this:
Me (English): Hi. How much are the beets today?
Him (Spanish)*: They're really big, aren't they? Two dollars.
Me (Eng): They are big. I don't know...
Him (Sp): You know, the bigger they are, the sweeter they are.
Me (Sp)**: Really? I believe the smaller, the sweeter.
Him (Sp): No, really. Here, check it out. (Cuts enormous beet into slices, cuts edges off one slice so no skin remains, and hands it to me to bite into. He himself bites into another slice with gusto. The beet is, in fact, remarkably sweet. Especially given that it is the size of a small watermelon.)
Me (Eng): Ok, I'll take this bunch.
Him (Sp): Thanks, Senorita. Have a nice day!
Up at R-ka's house, the beets were greeted with great excitement and immediately found a place of prominence on the kitchen table.
Mr. Fish, the four year old, thought he might use them for weight training, like dumbbells. The Survivor, R-ka's husband, immediately decided they resembled nothing so much as female secondary sex organs, and proceeded to put together a fruit-and-vegetable fertility goddess. (With matzoh shoes, which don't seem very worshippable at all, although what do I know.)
When I related my morning conversation with the farmer who had sold me the beets, Mr. Survivor said, "Wait, so he told you 'the bigger they are, the sweeter?' Are you sure he meant the beets?" And then gave an unholy chuckle.
Meanwhile, my question is, why, when I buy enormous vegetables simply because they are so very huge, do people always relate them immediately to human primary or secondary sex organs? A beet is not a breast. And a carrot is not a penis. As Sigmund might say, sometimes a big vegetable is just a big vegetable. Or am I deluding myself?
*This guy, for whatever reason, never talks to me in English, even though I very very rarely respond in Spanish
**If I controlled the past tense in Spanish, and also had a sense of how to convey imperfect aspect, I would have said something more along the lines of "I always have believed that..." So much for verbal nuance at the market.
Further exploration
So, in principle the function of our playing-hooky-on-a-Friday excursion was straightforward shopping -- there were a wealth of sample sales last weekend, and Dr. P. and I set out to sample said sales. She bought only a hat; I got a cool skirt and a tunicky dressy kind of thing, one that I'm pretty sure I can't teach in, although if it hits 90 again, maybe I will.
In any case, most of the places were downtown, either really downtown (there is an actual downtown here) or by the river. Dr. P. seriously misses New York, even calling herself a native New Yorker (this is entertaining in her faint Indian accent, but even more entertaining when she puts on a faux New York accent and throws in some Yiddish). I'd been downtown a bit before, mostly for visits to the textile district, where I got fabric for some curtains and also for a dress I think I'm never going to make, and also for musical and theatrical events, but we bopped around in slightly different places. And I have to say, I really like it down there. It reminds me, as much of this town does, of Oakland, except on a larger scale. There are people down there doing real business, with jewelry or clothes or fabric or other stuff. Not as many gold tooth places as downtown Oakland, though, at least not at first glance. And many of the excellent buildings from the 20s and 30s and 40s are still around, lending the streets style and flair. One thing I didn't care for in Spookytown was its physical limits -- within a year I felt that I'd explored almost everything I wanted to explore. Here, this town is so very vast and multilayered I think I could live here for years and still have a world of unexplored pockets awaiting discovery.
A taco truck stop off at MacArthur Park (of the famous song? perhaps, although no melting, or even drug use, visible in the midday sun) en route downtown showed that some buildings are more inherently patriotic than others: this one has not only the color scheme but also color placement of our beloved flag. 
Downtown proper, there are lots of little, somewhat marginal businesses, many of which appear to cater to various immigrant communities. For some reason, I found the juxtposition of businesses below quite touching.
This one, less so. Sad to say, for the more mordant among us, not even one glass eye was displayed in Dr. Ross's window.
This family seems to barely be holding it together -- I get the feeling from the sign that business isn't all that great.
Across the street, this super-creepy Death figurine display was part of a Catholic religious accoutrements store that had a surprising amount of customers.
By contrast, Zoot Land, specialized as it is, appeared to be completely empty.
Some aspects of the downtown buildings were peculiarly Californian, especially this office building on a corner, which I will have to return to and document more fully at a time when there is not an expensive meter ticking. It has Italianate, somewhat Rococo decoration, but instead of the usual lions and griffins and whatever, the animals referenced the American West, with bison heads on the corners, and these long-horned steer skulls on the carving flanking the doorways. I was entranced.
This Zorba-esque mural is at least 5 stories high, and makes the adjacent parking lot much more pleasing. Although if parked there I might worry that Victor, if that is Victor, was about to step out of the wall and onto my vehicle, crushing it like a bug.
Further east lies the Coca Cola bottling plant, which takes up more than one building. The older one is built to resemble a ship, lord only knows why, since it's not adjacent to water, and Coca Cola is not necessarily related to seafaring, unless there's something I don't know. The newer plant, just next door, has golden tiled statuary niches in each corner, but instead of a Pharaoh or caryatid or some other ancient-type splendor, there is a massive, not particularly well-rendered bottle of Coke. Worship me, corn-syrup addicted consumers!
Even more dangerous is the meat-packing plant just around the corner.
I think this is the original home of Soylent Green. Click in to see the eyeless, mouthless faces of the consumer/victims. Ouch. Just across the street from People's Sausage, meanwhile, looks like it might be the place where they grow the consumer/victims.
Less frightening and just more pleasing overall are these shade providing fabric things (surely there is a technical term, but damned if I know it) adjacent to the bank where Dr. P. was engaged in a phone dispute over some specious charge. I entertained myself by taking lots of photographs, of which these are just a few.
I especially liked how they were reflected in the building next door, whose mirrored bottom part is angled such that you can see people entering and exiting the building. I so rarely see the top of people's heads: this is probably part of the reason I enjoyed it so much.
Different time and place for these last few shots, but also enjoyable, if a bit more West Side. This truck was spotted en route home from Malibu, and had no other markings anywhere. I haven't the faintest.
And the next day, this little guy or gal prevented me from slaking my thirst. I opted to hold out for beach lemonade.
While I was waiting for my beach companion, delayed in terrible traffic, I entertained myself by watching the throngs, some of whom are under strict control,
and enjoying the view of Santa Monica.
Which is, of course, quite lovely at sunset, like all the beaches here.
Oh Spookytown, there is simply no comparison.
Less dissolute sea creatures
So the tidepools of Malibu have much more going on than just dissolute sea stars lying about. Sea anemones, for example, also spend a lot of time lying about. But seem more engaged somehow, either because they're busy collecting an array of crap to coat themselves with (why? I haven't the faintest),
or because they're waving about flower-like tentacle-type things.
Sometimes, though, it does look like they're just hanging out, in either large
or small groups.
Underwater sea stars seem to have to work just a bit more to stay in place,
while eaten and discarded mussels used to be all clingy and now have earned their eternal rest.
And surely it takes work for sea urchins to stay so spiny.
But it's the shorebirds who are most industrious seeming, always flying about or poking in the water or sand for something to eat.
Although predatorial in the tidepools, they must be prey for somebody, because they're so well camouflaged when not moving, as seen here.
