Not a week ago the deciduous reaches of the neighborhood were barren and leafless. A few degrees rise in farenheit and suddenly, as though a switch were thrown by an unseen hand, nubby ends crack open to blossom forth from the scrag. How observant I am to notice this. I tell myself. All that passeth the Valley before me, shall be duly blogged. And so I turned the corner and -BAM!-
I had not been paying attention nearly enough at all.
How soon before it becomes a pot shop?
Just pile it in front of the fire exit. I’ll be back for it later.
This guy’s mug has been staring down the Metrolink tracks for over a year now. He (or the artist) must have some kind of pull in the tagging world, because he has yet to be de-faced despite a douche expression which invites…er, editorial comment.
The Mayor-apparent in a flesh-pressing frenzy at Valley College.
Eric Garcetti, on the other hand, would like to show you his gadget:
Too bad Kevin James doesn’t have more money. It might be a really interesting race:
A remnant of mid-century retail architecture still doing business with the old signage in place. Time and tide have exacted their toll, but fifty years on it seduces the eye, even amidst a cluttered and blighted commute along Saticoy. A living relic, somewhere between googie and the world evoked in Tom Wolfe’s Kandy-Kolored Tangerine Flake Streamline Baby.
The crazy cat lady at the end of the block let things get out of hand. Overwhelming numbers have led to nighttime foraging. If that weren’t enough, the base of our elm tree has become the neighborhood litter box. One of many.
Unexpected zen at the northern terminus of what is usually the grimmest form of civic architecture.