When Jim and I had us a trip to LA earlier this year, I was California dreaming about sunshine and good grooves and the Venice Beach Boardwalk was our first stop. There was no sunshine and no good grooves, instead there were lots of junkies and cheap tee shirts. I had visions of the birth of the Doors, healthy skateboarders and those neat hippy porches with surf boards and wind chimes that mesmerized me as a kid when we would visit. The beach and its kooky residents just seemed like such a different lifestlye, you know, one that I found enormously appealing when I was young and could picture myself enjoying – despite the fact that then (and now) I was not particularly fond of being in the water and would never get on a surf board to save my life.
On our more recent visit, a grey sky didn't help and it was definitely one of those situations where the glorfied and possibly confused expectations we held could not match the reality – probably how Californians feel coming here expecting quaint lines for Magnolia cupcakes, sitings of Woody Allen, and glamorous nightlife but end up only seeing Moby and experience subway rides that smells like feces or ketchup (gross right? It happened to me this morning and I can't get over it. Ketchup that smells like ketchup is one thing,?and a fine thing, but a subway that smells like ketchup creeps me out).
Highlights of our visit were: a man on stilts covered in hand made moss and scrouning for tips; a corner where you could find everything you want – kettle korn, shaved ice, sunglasses, a man peeing himself in a stoupor, and probably tetnous; this brilliant tee shirt, “The Happy Fisherman” where a fisherman is receiving a blow job from a fish; and last, but not least, this fall out aftermath of a shop that had the balls to call itself Kids Happy Land.