Back from my “research” trip to LA and its tremendous, sprawling Rose Bowl flea market.
I go down there and it’s super Santa Ana hot, tall palms, teenagers swimming at the beach in their full blue jeans, Maseratis valet parked at the outdoor Korean barbecue joint, toenails, Deco fonts, swimming pools, clean automobiles, crawdaddy boils in Silverlake with the fellas all slim preppy chic & groomed-smelling, all in the same pair of boat shoes, the ladies suspiciously hair-free—
and I think to myself this is California and I wear the appropriate T-shirt. Though I couldn’t help behaving, I suspect, a smidge on the side of inappropriate (nobody wants to see their delicious shellfish smile at them prior to consumption).
But then I make it back to San Francisco and I know that it’s not the California from the movies, nor even the one Joni’s singing about, but for me, it’s the place that makes me feel the feelings I first learned from her song and I’m happy to be home.
With apologies to Ms. Mitchell for the still photo that someone chose to represent this video clip. It wasn’t me, girl. And if it’s any consolation, your dress still looks awfully fetching and I’d like to have one just like it myself.