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rue-madame's Diaryland Diary


Le Wrap Up

Yesterday was a total Sunday, one of those slow days that feels a bit like summer vacation, where fun activity follows fun activity, with no parents in sight, no homework, no worries.

Those days are getting rarer and rarer Iím sorry to report.

So the Rose Bowl Flea Market is as obscenely huge as everyone says. Itís really more like 5 flea markets smooshed together, with rows upon rows of vendors. Iím pretty good at maintaining focus in these situations so I didnít feel overwhelmed, but I did get really tired of all of the Ďantiquersí with their old-lady-carts. When did this become de rigueur at flea markets and swap meets? They push those carts into you, they park them right in front of what you want to look at, they are completely annoying. Iím convinced that the old-lady-cart people are the folks who never get out of their cars, the kind who drive up to the ATM and drive up to the mailbox, who have no clue how to actually walk among human beings. They are just dumb little cars driving willy-nilly and I want to kill them.

I didnít buy a single thing! Nobody was selling what I wanted which means that either

a) the things Iím into have already been collected, and Iím S.O.L., or

b) the things Iím into are actually not collectable so no vendors hawk them.


Hereís what I always look for (and seldom find): 10 inch records with cool, cover art (can be photographic, illustrative, or typographic, as long as itís interesting from a design point of view.) Right now I am obsessed with acquiring covers that are French or Parisian in theme. Iíve got an album called ĎEchoes of Parisí and the cover art is so rad! All I want is to keep going so that I can paper an entire wall with album art.

Terence bought a little metal nuts-and-bolts organizer thingie for $3. No Ďcoffee makersí for him.

Marston's was unfortunately not a possibility so no French Toast pour moi. The good news is that we ate at a place in Old Town called Father Nature, and I had a very delicious little aram sandwich with feta, tomatoes, olives, hummous and chicken. Terence ate something very similar that reminded him of the Chiche-taouk sandwiches we used to get near the rue Mouffetard.


Other exciting events this weekend were going out to dinner (at Cadillac) *and* seeing a movie (Igby Goes Down.) We went to the Farmerís Market and the fridge is currently full of food. We even splurged on a tiny little nubbin of cheese and a crusty loaf of bread (to accompany the potage I intend to make for dinner this evening.)

Thereís a French guy at the marchť who, naturellement, sells bread and viennoiseries. I donít think Iíve ever talked to him, but today my request for a pain au chocolat gave me away and we started chatting about Los Angeles. All he did was complain about the lack of culture, the lack of excitement, the lack of interesting people. All of this in French, naturally. He wouldnít want to bite the hand that feeds him. When I told him that Iíd recently been in San Francisco, he perked up and said that that was a great city: cosmopolitan, beautiful, intelligent. I agreed. So weíre talking he and I when all of a sudden some woman interrupts, and reaches across me to point at a pain aux raisins. ďCan I have one of those?Ē she barks. The French guy just looked at me, rolled his eyes and shrugged. It was transcendent.

This week, we have another visitor, Stereo Total with Quintron on Thursday night, research for the next printmaking assignment, and the Long Beach Flea Market on Sunday.

1:22 p.m. - 2002-11-11



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