Today, Utah. Tomorrow, the World. Actually Vegas.

The Utah part of our trip is coming to an end. We will be saying goodbye to Big Love state and spending a night in, yes, Las Vegas. My first trip ever to Las Vegas, and I am spending it the same way I spent my first trip to UK and all my trips to Florida - with my family. It's getting harder, but I'm still not complaining.

I find it a little embarassing that I've lived in California all my life, lived in Los Angeles for five years, and know people who hop the state line all the time to see friends and family, and still I have not been to Las Vegas. My ex-boyfriend went once while we were dating and texted me saying 'We need to do a dirty weekend there one time.' A couple I know got married there, and I still hold a (petty, I know) grudge that I wasn't invited by them or any of our mutual friends. I know about the whole Lucky Luciano/Virginia Hill/Flamingo Hotel debacle from 1947. I've seen Sister Act, Austin Powers, Showgirls and that episode from season one of Six Feet Under where David gets gonorrhea from a male prostitute. I plan to see The Hangover on DVD at the latest. That's the closest I've come to the city where everything stays... in that city.

This is the trip where I bust my Vegas hymen. I don't know why, but it feels like a big deal. I'll say it: I feel lame. I feel like I should be hitting the strip with my man friends, getting really drunk and touching gogo dancers in their private areas. I want to meet a handsome stranger, or two, and go back to their hotel room. I want to not worry about editing myself in front of the people who bore me and are helping my pay for college. Vegas is the kind of place where you're never supposed to even think about that.

If I'm lucky, I'll either see a show or hit some 18-and-over club with my sister. I'm not saying it can't work, I'm just saying I'm not holding my breath. Maybe I could argue that this trip doesn't count. We'll have to see how it goes.

There is a silver lining to this Vegas trip. There's a great line at the end of the movie Hamlet 2 where Steve Coogan is imparting some words of wisdom to a Tuscon-born student: "You know, Chuy, you're going to have an amazing life. Because wherever you go, it'll always be better than Tuscon." I kind of feel like this trip will be a really great one, because whatever we do, we won't be doing it in Utah.

*Sassy*

Touch-Down in the Big Love State

Today was the first day of a three-quarters of a week trip into the middle of those United States. It's a long story as to why I'm here, and just explaining the itirerary looses people, but suffice to say that I am, at the moment of this writing, in Cedar City, Utah, and twelve hours ago, I was in Burbank, waiting for a flight to Las Vegas.

Oh, and I'm with my family. And I've had a soar throat and dry, stuffy nose since Tuesday. I found myself saying "It hurts to swallow" to friends when they ask me how I am. They open their mouths to say something tacky about that. "Don't!" I say preemptively.

I'm not complaining. Really. This is what not complaining looks like.

One thing I'm definitely not complaining about is the scenery. We drove the 15 from Las Vegas through Mesquite and across the boarder to our current location, and the mountain ranges we passed through were truly stunning. My brother was trying to get me to watch the Robin Hood TV series (on MY laptop) but the only time I could take my eyes off of the a view outside the back passenger window for any extended length of time was the shirtless male bondage interlude in episode two.

I couldn't focus on the terrible dialogue and slightly better costumes. I was too busy planning my post-apocalyptic remake of 'Hidden Fortress,' to be shot in those amazing red and pink and beige hills. Plenty of shirtless male bondage oportunities there.

Cedar City closes up early, as I suspect most towns do in this part of the world. We stopped in a convenience store that closes at 10 PM. Before that, we were at a Mexican restaurant that closed at 9. The whole place seems to be devided into quadrants of track homes, each with a church in the center. Each church is red or brown with a white colonial spire. As far as I can tell, you can't really walk anywhere.

Watching Comedy Central in the hotel room, I have one question: Why are the Girls Gone Wild adds so loud and so freakin' long? Those aren't TV spots, those are . It's reassuring that, deep in the heart of Utah, you can still see them deviding up segments of The Colbert Report, South Park and The Daily Show. Wherever you go in America, you can still find Comedy Central. When the world ends, there will be cockroaches, Comedy Central and Starbucks.

The hotel has Comedy Central and Adult Swim. And a fitness center that's open twenty-four hours. I will get over this cold. I'm not complaining.

Studio Glamor

I recently bought a hard-cover edition of the brand new Bonnie and Clyde biography Go Down Together by Jeff Gunn. Since I am (slowly) reading about five different books right now, I haven't gotten very far; I've covered Clyde's harrowingly destitute childhood, but that's about it. I can, however, already recommend it very highly as an engaging and well-written piece of historical literature.

Go Down Together gets extra brownie points for its nice collection of illustrations, mostly rare photographs that relate to the principals' early lives. One of my favorite pictures is a 1925 (or thereabouts) studio portrait of a teenage Bonnie Parker, an item the low-born girl would have had to really save up for. It's a gorgeous picture, and worth contrasting with the famous snapshots of her clowning around with a shotgun. Those pictures were taken about twelve years later, and you can see the effects of a stressful and difficult life on twenty-something Bonnie. The woman in those pictures had aged quickly and no longer had any illusions about life.

The photographic gem below was purchased the same day as the Hawaiian vacation group shot, and from the same vendor. I don't have any information on the woman, but the picture struck me with its simple beauty and wonderful little details (look at those sleeves!) as well as its clarity.

Matching Hats

This was another pick from Sunday. Not quite worthy of submission to Awkward Family Photos, but close. The dour expression on the little girl is priceless.

Bad Ideas: 40's Teeth

Here was a terrific find from Sunday's foray into snapshot hunting.


One thing I learned from this photo: Women with tragic grills tend to favor leopard collars (?!?) dramatic scream queen eyebrows (a given).

Also, I question the armchair upholstery. I know we can't see the whole thing with the Lois and Stewie in the way, but it just looks bunchy and unprofessional. That dashes to the rocks all my assumptions about the superiority of pre-1970 furniture.

The baby is adorable. How much you wanna bet those eyebrows turned him into a homosexual during his adolescence? There's a screenplay in there somewhere.

Flea Market Finds

Last Sunday (the 17th) I went out in the morning and spent money on two things that, in my current financial state, I shouldn't be spending money on. Those things were a) brunch at Canter's and b) some old snapshots at the flea market over on Melrose and Fairfax.

I bought some other photographs along time ago (see the on other post from this month so far) from the same guy. He's an older guy, and always been their ever since I can remember. His relatively haphazard enterprise consists of a few tables of wide, shallow cardboard boxes filled with photographs. All kinds of photographs. Snapshots, slides, negatives, old ones and recent ones. For the most part, they are two for a dollar. Depending on how many you buy, you can go back and pick out a few more (I bought $9.00 worth, which entitled me to four additional freebees).

Everyone who was looking through the (college-age hipsters, a thin diminionative matron, a pair of well-to-do-looking Mexican guys) all had the same question about the merchandise: 'Why would anyone buy this stuff?' It's a reasonable question, especially since most of the pictures are recent, and bad. There's a reason they weren't wanted. If you aren't looking for something specific, and then even if you are, it can tend to blend together after a few minutes. I was trying to keep an open mind and, even though I'm happy with what I found, the process was like digging through several glossy color haystacks to find some decent black-and-white, aesthetically interesting needles.

I have no idea where this guy gets these pictures. I need to ask him next time, but I don't know if he'll tell. Something tells me that word would have gotten out and it would be part of Fairfax lore if he was open about it. You have to wonder where they come from though since most of them are clearly very recent. Like, literally from the 90's and 2000's. And they are terrible. They are unflattering. 80's hair and 90's makeup abound. Subjects are caught at embarassing angles or with their eyes forced closed by an unexpected flash. There are lots of pictures of peoples kids, which is creepy. The fact that these pictures are of people who are still alive is creepy. And I do wonder who buys them. I sudder to think what purposes they fill.

The question 'Why woudl anyone buy this stuff?' implies one of two questions, the real question that's on the asker's mind. The first of these would be the 'What do you do with them?' That's what diminutive matron asked me. I had to admit I didn't do much. I just like having them. Being the archivist I am, I could never think of incorporating them into a collage or cutting them up. And, with plenty of my own family photos back home in Palo Alto, I'm not in need of a new family history. I guess the other thing I could have said was 'I post them on my blog.' That would be true, but I don't want her to think I'm too pretentious. I care what total strangers think of me.

The one other question that people are really asking is 'What do you see in them?' What do you see in these old, faded, rejected pieces of ephemera, usually completely cut off from any context (I have found that it's rare to even find a year or a name written on the back). Apart from interesting clothes and hair, I find their appeal hard to pinpoint. I guess if anything I feel like I'm rescuing memories. Wanky, I know, but again it's the archivist in me. These pictures have been thrown out once. The disposal stops with me. I am happy to have them.

From My Collection

I've been equal parts busy, uninspired and neglectful when it came to keeping up this blog over the past month. With my extended work trip up to the bay area and constantly shifting schedule back here (with a fair number of social engagements to provide distraction), posting snarky comments about hundred year old photos hasn't been anywhere near on my mind.


I promised I would post something from my own small collection of vintage snapshots, and I think I chose the right one. No real back story on this one. I got it on my last trip to the flea market on Fairfax. I have no idea who these people are. I wish I knew the story or even the year (my guess is c. 1915). Can anyone identify that steel bridge-structure behind them?

So there you have it: the first update in almost a month. (I feel so ashamed!) I thought this post would double nicely as a tribute to some friends (and they shall remain nameless by request) who will be visiting Hawaii. After all, those things around the woman in the center are unmistakably wearing lei's. Come to think of it, it can do triple duty by also paying tribute to some new friends (themselves Hawaii transplants) I acquired while staying in San Francisco about a month ago. Everyone wins!

There will be more posts like this in the future. However, I think I will try to diversify, and write about things other than old movies, old photos and old fashion.