Saturday, February 28, 2009

Pleated Shorts and Collared Shirts...

We're in Palm Desert and loving it. After 10 days on the road for work, I came back, reformatted, and then we blew off to the sun. Every year Stef's dad and stepmom reserve the timeshare in Palm Desert and we go down for 4 days. It's the best time for weather, in the mid to high 80's, the pool is half empty, and there's still plenty of blue hairs for your people-watching pleasure.

In the San Jacinto and San Gabriel mountains sits snow and in the valley of sand, Mabel from up north is so tan she's orange and lubed, and Stan from out Oregon is geared up for some rounds of golf, a good 4:00pm steak and a Tom Collins... remember those. It's a study in World War II generation. Limping old men with golf hats and golf carts waking up at 6:00am, reading the paper, pondering the economy, wondering where their pills are and finally having some breakfast... And it's just 7:00am. These are weathered old vets who have done more hard work in their lifetime than I will ever do, seen more of this world than I will and are entertaining as all get-up to watch manipulate the greens at Shadow Ridge. They're grizzled and tan with white sneakers and a Lincoln. Times are still good for this generation.

Go to the College of the Desert Street Fair and it's a documentary waiting to be made. Row after row of shoes and socks, kooky hats, bedazzled resort wear, bad art, more bad art, giant wrap-around visors, gadgets for your bad back, cheap sunglasses, cheaper t-shirts and sweaters for your Lhaso Apso. It's a sea of gray hair with tacky clothes, but it's awesome. Old folks as far as the eye can see, bargaining for over-designed tops and sweats. Each year we think maybe their will be a secret nugget of a booth that sells some real slick 50s-60s trinkets or Bing Crosby-style hats or something, but each year we see nothing that we must have. It's mostly about watching the fogies.

GOOD FIND: the Haiwaiian shave ice with the ice cream at the bottom.
NUTTY CHARACTER: on the side street where we parked a nutty white trash local insists that you don't park anywhere near his mailbox. He'll put a note on your car threatening to have your car towed. Saturday mail is important to him. He gave us the snake-eye so we moved.
POSSIBLE GOOD ART: If you have a retro lounge or finished basement, there is an artist there who paints some killer rodeo, cowboy scenes. My favorite was the bucking Bronco in brown and tan.