Home again, home again


Well, that was terribly amusing.  Down to LA and back in three days time, thanks in large part to mreenee’s driving.  Usually R Man is reluctant to allow me to take the wheel because of my well established opinion that anyone in the left hand lane doing less than 90 is a traffic hazard, an opinion I’m happy to share with them, in sign language, as I shove my way past.  This time, though, he was distracted worrying about the trial he was going down there for so he handed over the driver’s seat and, hoo hoo, we were off.

This is what it looked like as we wheeled out of the Bay Area.  The rainy season here can be so pretty. 
This is what it looked like in the pass just outside of Los Angeles, in a treacherous, mountain area called the Grapevine.  Welcome to sunny Southern California, indeed.  I’ve mentioned how suspicious I am of snow, raised as I was on the Gulf Coast, so my theory was to just ignore it and drive really fast to get out of it more quickly.  Worked great.

We had lunch at Clifton’s cafeteria, a relic of the Great Depression.  Not this one, silly, the last one.  They have fabulous terrazzo murals outside, but I was in too much of hurry to get to the steam tables to get any good shots. Sorry.

Naturlement, the interior is decorated to look like a redwood grove.  That’s appropriate since many of the regulars look like they came straight from sleeping under a log.  Did I mention there’s an animated raccoon that pops up out of a carved rock?  Oh yeah.

Jellos of many lands.

The Specialitie d’Maison, tapioca.

The Urban Street Pirate and I made a trip out to the Saint Vincent de Paul’s Thrift Store in Lincoln Heights, mostly because the reviews of it were so scathing.  All of them accurate, too. Fortunately we are both capable of being amused by how bad a junk store can be.   This one just happened to be the biggest, nastiest, scruffiest one I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen plenty.  The level of quality was universally dreadful; everything there looked like it had been thrown away at least once.  This was the only time my insatiable love of crap has actually been thwarted.

There was a crowd of people waiting at the front door when we arrived, shortly afterward someone rolled a gate open and they surged forward into a fenced off area, literally running to get to bins of unsorted clothing.  My favorite part was when someone screamed “OW.”  You don’t get to experience moments like that at Nieman’s.

Their finer dishware selection.  Melamine and plastic, and some of it was clean.

Fashions pour madame.

Really cool bits and scraps of leftover art deco architecture remain in downtown.

As does art.

The view from our room was sweet. Oh, and R Man, as predicted, knocked his trial opponent’s dick in the dirt.  Yeah Man.

Miss Janey protests that we didn’t get together.  Next time, sweetie, I swear.  We can meet for tea at Clifton’s Cafeteria.  By the raccoon.

About mrpeenee

A former bon vivant and terror of a number of New Orleans bars in the mad, gay 1980s, I'm now quietly retired and widowed in San Francisco. I have a crooked nose due to an unfortunate Frisbee accident.

7 responses »

  1. Mr. Peenee’s travelogue and thrift store guided tours. I think there is money to be made in mapping these establishments. Something with a rating system and use of clever icons like a bag of dirt for the bad ones and sacks of gold for the good ones. I’m still working on that. Sounds like a lovely excursion. I drive the same way, must be a Gulf Coast thing.


  2. Mr. P always knows the right thing to say to assuage Miss J’s churlish snit. The LA Times just did an article about Clifton’s… a place Miss J has never been. Something to look forward to.Being a lawyer who knocks his trial opponent’s dick in the dirt is HOT. Go R Man.As Thombeau remarked, Fabulous Travelogue.


  3. Any place with a bobbing raccoon and JELLO gets my nod of approval. I know what you mean re: thrift store disappointment. I’m a junker from way back and always got pissed when the junk was, well…junk.I think this post needs to be filmed and on the Travel Channel…


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