Welcome! You will find myriad ramblings about living a vintage lifestyle. Entries include details of my ever expanding vintage wardrobe, my purchases at antique fairs, classic film entertainment, swing dancing, and occasional commentaries sprinkled throughout.
Cheers!
The Master of Suspense: Alfred Hitchcock. I am a long-time fan of his films. Whenever there is a Hitchcock festival, I am there. If there is a single showing at any of the local theaters, it's a guarantee that I will be in attendance. (In fact, Stanford will be showing a double feature of a Hitchcock and the late Joan Fontaine collaboration next week. Yes I will be watching.)
This weekend I went on a brief excursion to Bodega Bay; famed for providing the setting for The Birds. The local community embraces its contribution to Hitchcock's film with somewhat of a mini-museum (or maybe even a shrine). The old schoolhouse and church still stand today. The schoolhouse, though, is now a private residence. Below are a few pictures taken from my excursion. I hope you enjoy.
Looking across Bodega Bay
A sea lion enjoying a swim.
BIRDS!!!
The Hitchcock Mini-Museum
On Location
My re-enactment 50 years later.
Since Hitchcock shot many films at a number of Bay Area locations, I'm going to make it a goal to visit as many areas as I can this coming new year. Stay tuned...
As another calendar year comes to a close, it is only fitting to reflect on the events over the past 12 months. Overall, it was a pretty decent year. There were some peaks and valleys; of course nothing is ever 100% positive or negative. I can truly say that despite the few hardships, I have the strength to overcome them and I know that what ever comes at me in 2014, I will thrive. The list below consists of the good, bad and ugly of 2013. In some of the entries you will find hyperlinks that will connect you to the original post.
The Good
Earning my Masters Degree in English - TESOL. It took me 3 years to get through what is typically a two year program. I ended up getting a full-time teaching position, and that cut down my class schedule to part time status. I was okay with the delay considering that I could use my teaching position as my own personal laboratory for my final "Culminating Experience" project. It was a success, and my conference presentation received much positive feedback. What's next? Yes, I will be pursuing my Ph.D. in Literature. I want to stay local so my only options are Stanford, UC Berkeley and UC Santa Cruz. Why does the Bay Area have to be home to the nation's top universities? I'm giving myself two years to adequately prepare for the program.
Joining a dance troupe. Swing dancing has been my saving grace. I'm always my happiest when I'm on the dance floor. When a friend of mine approached me about a new chorus girl troupe in San Francisco, I immediately signed up. It took me a while to adjust to the thought of wearing skimpier clothing. I'm known for wearing dresses that fall below my knees, so when it came to wearing costumes that exposed my legs, I was nervous. Then I started getting compliments not only for my performance but for my hourglass physique. I've trimmed down some and have developed more strength in that I no longer wear myself out. But most importantly, I've developed new friendships with my fellow chorus girls, and I've learned to be more comfortable in my own skin. This new self-acceptance has led to modeling gigs with local photographers and building my portfolio.
My promotion. The director at my campus promoted me to Coordinator of Staff and Curriculum. So in addition to teaching my classes, I am in charge of hiring and training new teachers as well as developing new curricula. My primary focus was promoting reading and literacy through American literature. I was given the green light to use this curriculum in my class (which I subsequently used for my MA degree project). My students enjoyed reading unabridged American novels, and now I have more students signing up for my class next quarter.
Home loan approval. I am in the market to buy a house. I was pleasantly surprised to learn that I was approved for a loan. The next step is to find the right house. I'm looking to buy in San Mateo County, but it is no easy feat. Many sellers are greedy and the buyers are just plain nuts. I can't comprehend people paying $100K over the asking price. Seriously? Did they not learn from the last housing bubble that burst? I'm not in any sort of rush. The right house is out there, and I will find one to call home.
Vindication. It was really tough having to sit before a lie detector test to determine the truth of what happened that fateful 2007 evening. I've made no secret of the fact that I am a rape survivor and that justice was never served. But it's now documented that I was not only a victim of rape but a victim of Orange County's miscarriage of justice. To finally have it confirmed was a tremendous weight off my shoulders.
Vintage galore!Although I'd been vintage shopping for several years, I've pretty much topped off this year. Not only did I expand my vintage wardrobe, I also expanded my vintage collection of furniture. My most prized purchase is my 1912 Victrola. And it works!
Being at peace. I made it a point to take mini-excursions throughout the year. Sometimes, you need to get away from the daily grind and surround yourself in serene environments. I found that in the following places: Half Moon Bay, Port Costa, Santa Cruz, and Pescadero.
The Bad
The SuperBowl. After 18 long years, my 49ers finally made it back to the SuperBowl...and they...they...I'm still stunned and in disbelief. Lets move on.
The Family Crisis. My family was dealt a a major blow this summer. I was the one who had to step up and be the strong one. I dealt with a range of emotions from sadness and despair to outright anger, yet I managed to keep myself from falling apart. I am definitely a much stronger person to have been able to handle that stress, and my mother was pleasantly surprised to see that strength. Eventually, crisis was averted. There's always something to be learned. No one is perfect and you can't expect others to be either. You have to accept that everyone has their vulnerabilities and no one can get through them alone. I learned that my dad isn't Superman. He's more like Batman; he has his flaws and his demons, but he's still a hero.
Be careful who you trust. When I was going through the aforementioned crisis, I turned to my cousin who had gone through a similar experience. I confided in her and told her that I felt that I could count on her the most to not disclose my feelings to certain members of our family. Well, she did exactly that. When I found out about her act of betrayal, I wasn't really upset. I wasn't even hurt. I never even confronted her. I guess I just didn't care anymore. Not for the situation and certainly not for her. I just know now that she isn't a person to be trusted. It's sad that you have to come to that realization with blood relations.
Raccoons are vile creatures. Quite possibly the biggest scare of the year was waking up to my dog, Daisy, fighting with a raccoon. When I ran out to the backyard, I was aghast to see a huge raccoon wrapped around Daisy. Luckily, she sustained only minor cuts to her back side. She may be a little poodle, but she's a tough girl. I think I'm more afraid of her going outside at night than she is.
The Ugly
Gia. The herpes outbreak. It lies dormant only to pop up from time to time. That is what this individual is. One of my friends knew her personally and he started off saying, "She's got a mouth on her. She doesn't know when to shut up. That girl..." And without hesitation, I blurted out, "she's a cunt." (Now I rarely use profanity...RARELY, but when I use it, people know I mean it.) I thought I had encountered some vile people in my past, but this girl takes the cake (and eats it, too). Over the past year, she had harassed, threatened and stalked me (and even some of my friends). She still does. Admittedly so, she was a nightmare, but having my strong support network really helped. Now, I could care less; she's just an insecure little girl who lacks self-esteem. I hope Demian has finally seen her for what she truly is; a total psychopath.
And that is pretty much 2013 in a nutshell. Yes there were some challenging times, but overall, I can truly say that it has been a good year. I know 2014 will be even better.
There's this tiny little town nestled in the hills overlooking the Carquinez Strait. It is a community where everyone knows everybody; people graciously smile and say hello when passing. Storefronts double as private residences because the main town is that small. The big businesses are The Warehouse Cafe, Bull Valley Restaurant and The Burlington Hotel and Cafe.
A friend of mine asked me to join her for some brunch at the Burlington known for its Victorian opulence. It was their "Vintage Vinyl" Sunday where the sitting room features swingin' tunes on the record player. The kitchen in the next room is a throwback to 1930s Americana. It features fully functional vintage appliances. I was in awe of the stove, and now I'm seriously considering looking for an old (yet working) 1920s-30s stove. I already own a 1940s Wedgewood stove, but I'm willing to part with it if I acquire an older one. We'll see.
During our brunch, there was a rush of bikers stopping for some home-brewed coffee and freshly squeezed orange juice. It was definitely an amusing sight that I had to take a candid photo.
There's bikers, and then there's bikers.
Afterward, my friend and I took a nice walk along the strait's edge. We shot the breeze as we admired the scenic views beyond. It's very peaceful. A person can spend hours gazing across the strait while having a bit of introspection.
We returned to main street for a cocktail at Bull Valley Restaurant. We were hoping to have a serving of their brussels sprouts, but it was only available during dinner hours. We were too early. So we sat engaged in conversation and toasting to the coming Christmas holiday.
What is great about Port Costa is that it has allowed time to pass on by. The town is exactly how it looks when it was first founded in 1879; that is if you don't look at the automobiles parked nearby. When another of my friends texted asking how our day was going in Port Costa, I could only respond with a single word: Peaceful. It's nice that there are still places where you can be at total peace free from the daily grind. I now have two communities to run away to for complete serenity: Half Moon Bay and now Port Costa.
I love the Christmas season (and sometimes I hate it). I love those chilly days made warm by a nice cup of hot chocolate while listening to classic Christmas tunes; the only source of entertainment beyond the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree. But when my grandmother passed away on December 17, 2011, I knew then that my future Christmases would be much different than what I'd grown up with.
Old Traditions
Every Christmas vacation was spent at my grandma's quaint little house in Earlimart, CA; a tiny farm town in the Central Valley. I still remember her Christmas tree's flashing lights from her living room. The smell of tamales from her kitchen. Shrieking children running around the backyard. Conversing adults sitting around the dining table munching on whatever homemade treats available on the table. I miss those days.
2010 was the last Christmas with my grandma. We had a bonfire in her backyard and my uncle came dressed as Santa Claus with toys for the kids. I still remember my grandma's hearty laugh; a great big ha ha ha.
Grandma scolding Santa Claus
On the day she passed away, I drove down to Earlimart to be with the family. When I got to her house, my tía and a few of my cousins were already there. Yet the house felt really empty. I walked into her kitchen and opened her freezer. It was filled with food. Grandma had cooked. It was as if she knew that the family would be there, and she provided one last home cooked meal for the family to enjoy. I really miss her refried beans...and the SOPITA! Oh man, I'll miss having her sopita. We all gathered like our previous Christmas gatherings; laughing, telling stories. Only this time those stories were happy memories of grandma. All of us had expected her to walk from the kitchen to join us in the dining room. Only it didn't happen. And it wouldn't ever happen again. When I drove away from that little house in Earlimart, tears streamed down my cheeks because my grandma wasn't standing at the porch to wave goodbye. I just can't bring myself to drive through Earlimart anymore.
I don't really see my extended family very much. That's to be expected when the family matriarch passes away. I still keep in contact with some relatives whom I adore. Others, I don't really feel very comfortable seeing again. After a short family crisis, I got to see the true faces of some of my relatives. The usual cases of betrayal. You put your trust in people only to learn that they did the very thing they were asked not to do. I wasn't angry. I wasn't even hurt. It was just an eyeopener. Now I know these few people are never to be trusted, and I'm okay with the possibility that I may not see them again.
New Traditions
I've pretty much been a Christmas orphan since my grandma's passing. Since 2011, I've started my own Christmas routine. I go to the Embarcadero Center with friends to watch the lighting ceremony. I drive around the city to see the decorations (with a mandatory stop at 21st street for that Christmas house). I attend the Noir City Christmas at the Castro Theatre. I dance at the Stompy Jones Sleigh Ride (and this year I'll be performing with my dance troupe). I spend Christmas Eve at my friend's house (who always hosts a Christmas gathering among friends), we drive down to Stanford Theater to watch "It's a Wonderful Life" and end the evening attending midnight mass at the nearest Catholic church. It's a new Christmas tradition for me.
It had been a long time since buying a Christmas tree. When I lived in SoCal, my family and I always drove to a Christmas tree farm. We never went to the local store or temporary tree lots. This year, I made it a plan to buy a tree. I drove down to Half Moon Bay to Santa's Tree Farm off 92 and Pilarcitos. It's a cute place with acres of trees. On the property you will find a little village complete with a Christmas train. Mrs. Claus was there to greet customers and Santa Claus was at his chair available for pictures. What I loved most were the antique appliances in the country store.
I picked out a small tree and bought some ornaments to decorate it. I call it my Charlie Brown tree.
I feel good about starting new traditions. I'm in a period of transition at the moment having completed my master's degree. I've been asked, "what's next?" I kind of want to take a break from school. I'm happy with my current teaching position. But enrollment in a Ph.D. in Literature program is definitely a possibility. Just not now. Perhaps some enrichment courses in the interim. Then there's my current hunt for a new house. So far, I've put offers on 2 houses; neither of which were accepted. Someone always bids higher. I was hoping to have a house by Christmas, but that's not likely. Perhaps a house before next Christmas.
I'll get the real document in January. This is just from the English Dept.
After 3 years, I've finally completed my degree requirements. Thank goodness. Now I can focus full time on my job, my dancing and continuing this blog. That is all. Time for a much needed rest.
About 12 years ago, during the heyday of Borders Books, I was browsing the magazine aisle when I came across a Playboy issue featuring Dita Von Teese. Her photoshoot was a throwback to pre-pinup 1920s-30s styles. I bought the issue because it reflected my personal style. As I flipped through the magazine, I came across an article of Hollywood's top ten scandals of yesteryear. (It's true; Playboy really does have great, well-written articles.) Some of the scandals I had heard of before: The Black Dahlia, Jayne Mansfield, William Desmond Taylor. There was one that was unfamiliar to me, yet it captured my interest most; the murder trial of Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle.
"A good laugh...is the most worthwhile thing in life." - RC Arbuckle
He was described as "larger than life"; a large man who was incredibly agile and nimble. He never used his weight as the primary subject for his gags (i.e. sitting down and breaking chairs). He was just a funny man who happened to be big. For a man his size, his ability to throw himself, fall, roll over head over heels and pop right back up to continue with the scene was quite impressive indeed.
I researched this man's life and career and learned that he was the hottest actor in show business. He was the first to be contracted for $1 million (a lot today; could you imagine the 19teens!); the first to direct and star in his films; the first to have complete ownership of his films; the first to preview his films before a live audience; and the first comedian to make feature films on a regular basis. He also is the only person to have worked with Charlie Chaplin, Harold Lloyd and Buster Keaton who all had supporting roles in Arbuckle films. So why is there very little knowledge of this once great comedian?
It was a matter of being at the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong people. In September 1921, at San Francisco's St. Francis Hotel, Arbuckle attended a friend's party near his hotel suite. A young starlette, Virginia Rappé, complained of violent stomach pains and passed out after having vomited. Arbuckle helped her to a bed and called for a doctor before returning to his room. The following afternoon, he went about his usual business. Four days later, Ms. Rappé died of peritonitis. Ms. Rappé's companion Maude Delmond, who had a record of at least 50 counts of extortion, bigamy, fraud and racketeering, marched into the SFPD station and claimed Arbuckle had raped and caused her friend's death. That night, Arbuckle was arrested for rape and murder.
When news of his arrest became known, the media, run by William Randolph Hearst, immediately went into "hot off the press" mode. The headlines printed lurid details of the crime (all baseless and without a shred of evidence) with accounts of rape with a coke bottle, a milk bottle or a block of ice; that her bladder was ripped apart under the weight of Arbuckle. The press began printing inaccurate details of Arbuckle's life painting him as a pervert and a man of ill-repute. They fabricated pictures of him. An overzealous District Attorney used the case to advance his political career knowing that his star witness was lying (the evidence contradicted all of her claims). It didn't matter that the media and justice system were assassinating this man's character; it was all to sell papers and make a name for one's self.
It took 3 trials; two ending in mistrials and the third in his acquittal with a subsequent apology from the jury. But the damage had already been done. No movie studio wanted to work with him. William Hays (the man behind the restrictive Hays Code) blacklisted Arbuckle; that is, any studio or director who hired Arbuckle would face consequence from the movie industry. Close actor friends were not allowed to publicly support Arbuckle as it would threaten their reputation, but they continued to support him in private. Movie houses refused to show his films.
Arbuckle lost everything. He was financially ruined from paying legal fees of three trials. He couldn't get work as an actor; not at least for 10 years. Eventually the blacklist was lifted, but very few production companies would work with him. He was financially and emotionally supported by his few friends in the movie industry (it's always during moments of personal adversity when you learn who your true friends are).
What history (and most media accounts) would like you to believe is that Arbuckle went into oblivion never to be heard from again; a ruined man who died in obscurity. But that isn't the truth. (What news outlet would ever print a happy ending?) In 1925, he was allowed to direct films but only under a pseudonym; William Goodrich (a joke by Buster Keaton suggested it was akin to Will B. Good). As a director, Arbuckle would continue to make important contributions
to film comedy; working on comedy shorts.
By 1927, Roscoe was directing stars such as Eddie Cantor and Hearst's mistress, Marion Davies (yes, THAT Hearst. Ironic, no?) in major features at Paramount. Arbuckle would continue to
use the Goodrich name while directing until 1931 when Motion Picture Magazine printed an article titled, "Doesn't Fatty Arbuckle Deserve a Break?" that was signed by several film stars of that time. The public eventually warmed up to him and demanded that Arbuckle return to the screen.
In 1932, Arbuckle was given a contract to star in short reel comedies of which he completed all six. On June 29, 1933, he was signed to a long term acting contract with Warner Bros. There are some accounts that claim Arbuckle stated, "This is the best day of my life." The following night, after celebrating his new contract, Arbuckle died in his sleep of heart failure. His widow said that he had died smiling. He was only 46 years old.
Despite all the adversity he suffered, Arbuckle maintained his dignity and worked his way back to doing what he loved; making people laugh. I don't see his life ending in failure. He overcame all the negative publicity and managed to find success again. Not many people have that opportunity, but with perseverance and a supportive network of family and friends, it is possible to rise up from the flames.
In recent weeks, I have been watching many Arbuckle shorts. I ordered a compilation of his lost films of which I've only watched one disc thus far. The Niles Esssanay Theatre in Fremont showed two of his films recently. Of course, I was in attendance. The audience was a mix of youth to the very old; I'd say the average age was 50, but it was nice to see younger generations appreciate his contribution to comedy. To hear people laugh at films that are (literally) 100 years old was simply amazing. I'm waiting for the day when Stanford Theatre brings back their silent film festivals and showcases Arbuckle films as the main attractions. Or perhaps the Silent Film Festival of San Francisco can highlight Arbuckle films. I'm sure those days will come.
Meanwhile, enjoy a clip of Arbuckle in "The Cook".
References: Arbucklemania
"Fatty Arbuckle: Mysteries and Scandals", E Network
"The Persistent Myth" by Robert Young, Jr. from "The Forgotten Films of Roscoe 'Fatty' Arbuckle"
Ms. Norma Jean was an avid dancer specializing in the stroll and jive. No matter the venue, no matter the floor space, Norma was on the dance floor jiving the night away, and if she couldn't find a partner, she'd get all the gals up to stroll with her. She was a truly sweet gal who brought a smile to everyone. Though sometimes she could be a bit of a firecracker when it came to defending her friends. She was nicknamed Pistol.
Stroll Nights
We organized Stroll Night at the Dollhut where we gave lessons to all the rockabilly gals with two left feet. We also provided baked treats (by yours truly) bringing in a huge crowd to what was once a dead weeknight. Norma and I shared a birthday, and we had a huge party there complete with a cake and piñata. The night ended with us doing our birthday stroll. Those were some fun times. A few weeks following our birthday, I threw a huge BBQ at my place where she performed a burlesque routine. It was always her goal to perform at her first Viva Las Vegas show. Unfortunately, that never came into fruition.
Norma Jean leading the pack.
November 9, 2003
It was 10 years ago today when I got the news that Norma was in a car accident and at the hospital. At first I thought, "Pistol will be alright. She'll be up and dancing in no time." But I had this nagging feeling that perhaps I should go see her. When I arrived outside her room, I found her mom crying. A few of my friends were already there. When I entered, I knew then that she wasn't going to make it. I remember hearing the breathing tubes, the beeping from the heart monitor, the sniffling sounds of those who stood around her hospital bed. After assessing all her injuries, the tears began streaming down my face. Her left arm was completely bandaged, her right leg was in a splint. Her neck was swollen and appeared twisted, her eyes were black. I remember the blood trickling out of her mouth and around the breathing tube the doctors inserted. Her chest was heaving, but I knew it wasn't her taking those breaths. It was the machines keeping her alive. I noticed the blood soaked towels that surrounded her head; her long black hair matted with blood. Her skull must have been cracked. I stayed for about an hour until the hospital staff asked us to vacate. They were taking her to the O.R. to harvest her organs.
Norma died that evening. She was only 21.
The Accident
She was driving home from a show when it happened. The light was green and she proceeded forward. From her left, the other driver sped through her red light and broadsided Norma's car. She was driving a Corolla. The other driver an SUV. She didn't have a chance. The girl who hit her was heavily intoxicated and also only 21 years of age. She was sentenced to 2 years but served only 8 months for good behavior. It may have been a light sentence, but I'm quite sure it's a heavy burden to carry for the rest of her years: the very thought that she took another person's life. Whoever she is and wherever she may be, I hope the experience made her a person who makes better choices. Never drink and drive.
God Bless, Norma! May you continue to grace the dance floor in the kingdom of heaven. RIP
I spent Día de los Muertos in Los Angeles this year. I have always celebrated with my brother as we enjoy the festivities and admire las altares. It's a tradition we've carried out for several years as it's part of our cultures. It's not about decorating our faces as skulls, but the tradition of honoring loved ones who've left us to carry on their memories on earth. We light a candle for each of our grandparents and recount all the happy memories we shared. It's a moment to reflect on their lives and how they influenced who we are today.
Unfortunately, Muertos has been hijacked by many subcultures, particularly the rockabilly scene. It was never like that before, but somehow it exploded, and it has become a defining part of RAB culture. It's upsetting because most think it's cool to have Muertos themed clothing, wearing skull themed accessories, tattooing sugar skulls on their bodies without so much as an inkling on the true meaning of the tradition. It definitely brings out an awareness of the holiday, but it does so in the wrong way.
Alas, I should be happy that non-Latin cultures have taken an interest in the holiday, but there needs to be a respect for it as well. It isn't a passing fad. To treat it as such would be a slap in the face to all souls who graced this planet.
Placita Olvera
Self Help Art Gallery on 1st Street
Grand Park in Downtown LA
Enjoying the view from my brother's balcony (with our dad peaking over the ledge)
Now on to a more serious topic. This post comes at the heels of the latest development in NFL news. A Miami Dolphins player, Jonathan Martin, recently vacated his team and was placed on the non-football injury list. The man is seriously injured, but it isn't one that's physical. It's emotional and it's psychological. To put it bluntly, Martin was bullied by one Richie Incognito, his fellow Dolphin teammate known among his colleagues as the NFL's dirtiest player; a title he holds proudly. It was no surprise that he would be the primary individual to blame considering his threatening text directed at various members of the media.
What I find astonishing is the amount of comments and opinions among the everyman that Martin is "just a wuss crying to mommy and daddy because he got his feelings hurt." "He's 6'5" 300+ pounds and he's being bullied?" Well, yes, any person no matter the age and size can be bullied. It isn't about having feelings hurt but having someone harass you and go as far as to threaten your well being.
Take the situation out of the football locker room and place it in a business office. Would the recipient of abusive behavior still be considered a wuss who needs to put up with a little ribbing? While hazing does exist everywhere, there is a fine line where hazing becomes abuse. Imagine being on the receiving end of racial epithets and life-threatening verbiage. Would you accept that in the workplace? Of course not. A athletic team isn't any different. It's still a job.
Abusive behavior as bullying is not just an occurrence on the school yard or in the workplace. It can happen in all situations. I currently have a lingering bully which I had identified as a heifer. Now, I don't refer to her as heifer due to her physical appearance (a sow would fit best). It's because a bully comes from the term, bull; a male cow. A heifer is the female equivalent. This gal is a 20-something year old heifer. I'm 37 years of age. Is it quite possible for someone my age to be bullied? Of course. When you are on the receiving end of unwanted and inappropriate behavior that is a threat to your well being, it's an act of bullying. Over the past year I had:
received a harassing, threatening email
been "cyber-bullied"
been stalked both online and around my home
been threatened
received unsolicited phone calls
found slanderous postings on my vehicle and neighborhood
learned of personal contacts who had been harassed by her
I usually just ignored her and go about my own business, but creeping around my house was the final straw. There comes a point where you just can't put up with the harassment and bullying. You have to say something. I did just that. I reported her to the authorities. I was told that I can take comfort in the fact that should anything happen to me, she would be person of interest #1 and only. Well it isn't very comforting since I shouldn't have to live knowing that a heifer is stalking your every move. But the report was enough to put a stop to her harassing, bullying behavior. I must say life has been going very well for me, and it keeps getting better.
Bullies have existed since the dawn of time, but it's long-term existence shouldn't be an excuse to allow it to continue. I'm glad that the Miami Dolphins report has come to light because it also highlights adult onset bullying and needs to be taken as seriously as those that take place in primary/secondary schools. Both society and authorities need to take issue with bullying because it's the only way to help those on the receiving end as well as put a stop to it.
A couple months ago, I posted an entry about my house hunting experience. It's been a while since my last update only because I've been super busy. My school is currently going through the accreditation process, I'm only weeks away from completing my master's degree, I've had a photo shoot, and I've been rehearsing and performing with my dance troupe. Yes, I have a lot on my plate. Despite the stress, everything is going smoothly. Thus, I haven't really been out searching for a house. Only in the last two weeks have I been actively looking. Here's what I've learned.
Stay on the west side
I been driving through neighborhoods with houses for sale. Whenever I see bars on the windows, unkempt lawns, and narrow streets filled with parked cars, that just tells me that most of these houses are filled with renters. They have no pride in maintaining a nice property. No thank you! Any place east of El Camino Real is a toilet (yes, Demian, was right about that).
Cape Cod should stay on the east coast
I know the purpose of this design style is to withstand stormy weather. The whole neighborhood is Cape Cod which tells me the weather is horrible year round. Regardless, not all the houses along the coast are built this way. So why this neighborhood? The garage space is practically non existent. A carport has more room for my truck. Another negative is the angular structure of the rooftop; it cuts into much needed height clearance and closet space. I have a ton of vintage clothing. I need the closet space. And I'm a tall lady. I can't constantly duck under the door frame.
Trust your instincts
I usually apply this logic to my vintage shopping. When I try on a dress and I don't get that, "OH MY GAWD!" reaction, I leave it on the rack. You have to love it before you buy it. Same thing with home buying. Don't settle. If it doesn't feel right, pass on it.
All things considered, I did find a house that I do like. So I made an offer on it. I know I won't get it because I'm bidding on the low end, and it is still a seller's market. I told my realtor that I'm quite positive I won't get it, but going through the process is a good learning experience. At the very least, it's good to know that I've already been pre-approved for a home loan. Most realtors and lenders won't even look at you without one. So I feel good knowing that I'm at least in good standing. We'll see what happens.
The Verdi Club has held five annual Zombie Proms. The club dresses itself as a haunted mansion with a ghostly ballroom. Slim Jenkins provides the musical entertainment with their "voodoo swing" style of music. DJ (Undead) Jeff keeps the dancers cutting a rug with Halloween (or just scary) themed music from big band jazz to rock n roll. I prefer to get an early start of the Zombie Prom so that I can can get enough dancing in. As the night continues, it gets more crowded with precious dance floor space disappearing by the minute.
It's always a fun time seeing the creativity people put into their costumes. It's usually just your typical costume that is zombified. Some of the make-up and dress are so well done, it's hard to recognize people. Often times I'd gasp in surprise shouting, "I didn't recognize you!" before giving a big hug. I have dressed as the following:
zombie 80s prom queen
zombie queen of hearts
zombie gypsy
zombie chorus girl
Considering that this year's theme was Haunted Hollywood AND our dance troupe were performing, it was only appropriate to be a zombified chorus girl dance troupe.
Being part of the act definitely has its perks. Free entry, free dinner, free drinks. It is also a great way to promote ourselves since we now have gigs booked through February (having confirmed a few shows at Zombie prom).
Anyhow, the photos below are a few random shots before and during the zombie prom. Enjoy!
After several seasons at the O'Club, this fall's Vintage Fashion Fair moved to a new location. The Rock Wall Wine Company. I missed the O'Club because of its elegance, but Rock Wall was much bigger with better lighting and fitting rooms. There were also more distributors, including new ones. As I do at each season's sale, I always find something I like. Staying true to my favorite eras, I purchased a 1930s evening dress and pumps.
After examining all my vintage clothing, I noticed that I'm a little light on the day dresses. I have very few; most are evening or cocktail dresses. As of today, it's time to shift my focus to day dresses, light colored handbags, gloves and maybe some jewelry. But first, a break from vintage shopping. I think I'll take November off.
I decided to start the day with the titular statement and taped 2 receipts to the whiteboard in my classroom. I asked each student to read through them carefully and let me know what you find. I was actually surprised that very few students figured it out.
Can you???
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Hopefully you've already figured it out, but if you haven't, then you'd just shelled out $75. If you're a passive reader, maybe $45.
The whole idea was to demonstrate the importance of reading carefully. It can save you money just as it did for me today. Last night, after my dance rehearsal, I found a ticket on my windshield. I was floored because, "damn, the parking police work pretty fast!" Then, I read through it thoroughly. First I checked that it was indeed my license plate number. Then I observed the time ticket was issued: 20:58. Whoa! What a minute, that's 8:58. I had at least 40 minutes left on my receipt when the parking police wrote up the ticket.
SFMTA has some sort of quota to meet each week, and issuing parking tickets is the city's money maker. They expect people to just fork over the cash without ever inspecting the ticket because that's what people do. They hate to read. SFMTA knows people will only scan for the fine amount and write out a check. Notice how the actual violation is written in tiny print versus the larger, bolder dollar amount and due dates. My students just laughed and said, "Yeah, I've donated quite a bit of money to the city of San Francisco, but you're right. No one reads the tickets. They just pay."
So let this be a lesson to you all. READ every little detail.
Oh and before I end this...I called to contest the fine, and they voided the parking ticket.
I didn't expect to go vintage shopping today since the second weekend of any month is pretty slow. My friend invited me over to Alameda to do some vintage hunting at boutiques along Park Street. Generally, I don't like to shop and brick & mortar stores; there's no room for haggling, but I opted to give it a try.
When we got to Park St., I was pleasantly surprised to find a classic car show in progress. I'm a Chevy girl so I was more in awe of the vintage and classic Chevrolets. Usually I see 50s, but there was an abundance of 1920s-40s autos. My tastes in classic autos have changed a bit. Though I still love the 56 Bel Air 2-door hardtop, I really love the 19teens, 20s, 30s autos and trucks. I'm actually considering perhaps investing in an auto from the earlier decades. AND, I'd prefer it to be a functioning rust bucket. As beautiful as those cars at the show are, I can appreciate a muted paint job. Let the car reflect its age.
The first shop we ventured was Juniper Tree. The prices were decent with a huge inventory. Most of it was 50s and 60s (a lot), but among the mix were a few 30s and 40s clothing. I spied a pink eyelet dress from the late 1930s. For $38? Heck yeah I bought it.
My friend found a hat that he thought would be perfect for me. I have so many hats already, but when he had me try it on, I handed it to the shop clerk to add to my purchase. What I like most about the hat is the swirl and netting. Very film noirish.
The next shop we explored was the Rocket Reuse Bookstore. It was a bookstore and vintage clothing shop in one. I didn't find anything there, but I loved its artistic take on the vintage era.
Another good vintage shopping weekend. Next weekend will be a busy one. 2 days of Alameda Vintage Fashion Fair, the F-line Frolic, Stanford Theatre, Half Moon Bay Pumpkin Festival and the 49er game. Whew!
I missed last month's Alameda Antique Faire in favor of the Art Deco Festival and Camp Hollywood Swing Dance Festival in Southern California. This month, I made sure to attend pending the 49er schedule. Thankfully, it was a night game so I was able to pull a double header today.
I spent the morning at Alameda and made 3 incredible purchases; all true 1930s vintage. The first was a dress with gorgeous button detail. It also doesn't have any sleeve, yet has a cape to drape over the arms. It was a popular style during that time (at least among the upper class who didn't feel the effects of the Great Depression.
I also purchased my second pair of 1930s oxfords which are very similar to another pair I purchased earlier in the year. I also bought a pair of peep toe pumps that are perforated with a cute bow adornment.
I had some great scores today, and I'm definitely looking forward to the Vintage Fashion Fair in two weeks.
I would have loved to shop all day, but I had to cut the venture short so that I could attend the 49er game at Candlestick. It was a great game with our 49ers rolling over the Texans 34-3. It was a good day, indeed.
I'm not one of those types who spends the entire month celebrating their day of birth. If my birthday lands on a week day, I'll celebrate the whole week. Since it landed on a Sunday, I shortened the celebration to just 5 days.
Thursday, September 19
My students surprised me with birthday balloons and pie; marionberry pie. They knew about my strong aversion to cake, though I have a strong liking for tart tastes especially berries. The pie was lit with only 10 candles; 37 candles would've just burned through the crust.
Friday, September 20
Pampered myself with a hair appointment to touch up my roots and a pedicure followed. Later, I picked up my dad from the airport.
Saturday, September 21
I dragged my dad to the vintage expo and surprisingly, he enjoyed himself. He's more into antiques and not much into the fashion aspect of vintage shopping, but he certainly could appreciate the vintage attire as they reminded him of his dearly departed mother (sigh...I miss my grandma). I didn't find anything at the expo. Most of the attire was mid-century. I already have plenty of 1940s-1950s dresses. I'm on the hunt for more 1920s-1930s. (Here's hoping the Black Coutour Ball or Alameda Vintage Fashion Faire will provide good finds.)
Sunday, September 22 - Birthday is here!!!!!
After 11 long years, my birthday FINALLY landed on a Sunday. I had always made a promise to myself that one day, I would attend a 49er home game ON my birthday. The last time I went to a Niner game on my birthday was way back in 1985...and it was in Los Angeles...when they beat the Raiders (lots of changes to the NFL since then). I've been to plenty of Niner home games, but to go on your birthday would make the tailgating that much better. I spent the whole day at Candlestick tailgating, talking with fellow Faithfuls including one who shared my birthdate and enjoying the game. Unfortunately, the day did not end well. My Niners got their butts kicked. What's worse, seeing the "fans" leave early in the 4th quarter. Real fans stay til the end. I didn't leave my seat until the Niners had retreated to the locker room at game's end. Win or lose, I always support my team.
Later in the evening, my dad and I sat in my living room watching ESPN highlights of other NFL games. He kept staring at one of my posters until he finally asked, "Does that dome exist?" He was referring to the picture of the Cocoanut Grove at Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk. I was surprised that he had never been to Santa Cruz. Since I took Monday off from work, I told him that we could take a cruise along Cabrillo Highway and spend the day in Santa Cruz.
Monday, September 23
My dad and I woke just before dawn; we're early risers. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, so I knew it would be a perfect day for a drive along the coast. My dad was in awe of coastal views, the abundance of greenery, gentle rolling hills and deep valleys. We made a few brief stops along the way. We stopped at Pescadero, Pigeon Point and Davenport.
Davenport was an interesting place. A tiny city with a population of about 100. We stopped for breakfast at one the restaurants where we made small talk with a few of the locals. After eating, we walked about the town admiring the ocean views and picturesque setting of St. Vincent de Paul Catholic Church.
We reached Santa Cruz around 10am and walked about the wharf, the boardwalk, and downtown. We drove around stopping at antique shops and vintage boutiques. We didn't buy anything, but the browsing is always enjoyable.
It seemed as though my dad was scouting the area more so than visiting it. My parents plan to move to the Bay Area in a few years and have now added Santa Cruz to their short list of possible cities to buy property. It would be nice to have my parents closer to home. Although that would leave my brother alone in Los Angeles. He's perfectly okay with that, though. He says he can always hop on a plane for the short flight to the bay.
Overall, it was great birthday. Despite the 49er loss, the weekend was still enjoyable and I got to spend some time with my dad; I missed having my mom with me, but she felt that my dad needed some father/daughter time which was long overdue.
There was an estate sale not too far from my home. I was looking for some women's accessories since the sale was advertised as mostly 1940s with some items from before and after this decade. There was a stack of 78s of which I bought 25 records. They were in the same room where they had early 20th century chairs and sofas. One of them caught my eye and it was a steal at $30. I had to have it. It needs some minor repair, but the wood is pristine and sturdy. The fabric needs some cleaning, and the cushions can use some padding. I'm looking forward to this restoration project. Funny that I'm buying so much vintage/antique furniture for the house I've yet to buy. It'll happen soon. I've already got the pre-approval; I just need to find the right house for me and my furniture.
3/4 of our dance troupe take over Gatsby Afternoon
Each year, the Art Deco Society of California has their annual Gatsby Picnic at the famed Dunsmuir Historic Estate in Oakland, CA. It is an afternoon transported back to the Jazz Age when music and entertainment was at its apex. It is an afternoon to enjoy the days when ladies and gentlemen dressed in their Sunday bests, feasted on homemade picnic goodies, enjoyed a foxtrot or charleston on the dance floor and interacted with myriad patrons scattered across the lawn.
I chose to wear my vintage chiffon gown; a light fabric to keep the body cool on a steaming hot day. My picnic items consisted of vegan sandwiches, vegan potato salad and sliced watermelon. I met with my fellow chorus girls and established a seating area where we set our blankets/sheets and emptied our picnic baskets of sandwiches, deserts, fruit and mixed drinks. We sat enjoying friendly chatter while a live band played period appropriate jazz music. There was an endless parade of patrons walking about the grounds toasting their champagne glasses and making small talk before venturing off to the next picnic area.
Later, the DecoBelles performed their number and sad to say, I was less than impressed. Here we are kicking our butts with our rigorous routines, and theirs was just a number prancing about in circles.
I walked about admiring the vintage fashion and auto show all the while grasping my iPhone for the latest 49er game updates. I am a 49er Faithful and it pained me to miss the home opener. Following this entry are the pictures I snapped of the picnic. Would I do this again? Perhaps, but to shell out $50 just to sit on a lawn where we have to provide our own food seems a bit ridiculous. Though I definitely enjoyed the experience with my dance troupe. We'll see what I decide next year.
