"Are you taking pictures of my DOG?"
Sunday was spent trawling what the Martrix called "the paranoid bedroom community of Monrovia." Apt, jive turkey, apt.
First stop was the Aztec Hotel, famous for being old and, uh, thematic. Possibly also haunted.
All I wanted to do was take a picture. While I was trying to get details of the Mayan stonework, a little biddy out walking with her biddy friend came up to me and said "Should I take pictures TOO?" as if I would know. I think she was being sarcastic, I'm not sure though on account of being a social retard but since she didn't have a camera, I'm going to go with sarcastic. I busied myself with my camera buttons and told her "Sure! Why not?" and smiled widely. They wandered off. Then, while I turned back to try and figure out how to have shaky hands yet use the zoom without getting a blurred image, a silver fox rolls up in a battle tank Mercedes, leans out his window and yells "Recording history?!" Yeah, I'm trying to, thanks. He continued rattling on about something but I turned away because the main thing they teach girls during those secret propaganda films in 6th grade is to not talk to strange men in cars.
This was after standing next to a police car while waiting for the traffic light to change to cross the street while the policeman just sat there staring at us, like we were going to steal a car right in front of him.
Also, everyone in Monrovia has to have at least three cars for his or her own personal use. One to park in the garage, one to drive, and one to keep in the street in front of anything interesting so that every single photograph looks like this:
Another law is that if you live in an architecturally or historically significant home, you must make sure that no one can see it and/or keep it as ugly as possible. Do not keep a clear vantage and for Pete's sake, do not clear the brush or keep a tidy lawn. Make it look as much like a hippie/serial killer compound as you can and they have grants available to help you buy giant plants, extra cars or to rent piles of lawn bags filled with trash. It also helps if you have every member of your family come outside to sweep up the sidewalk, sit on the porch, wave a hose around ominously or just stand and stare at people.
This one's not so bad although we had to wait a while before the guy sweeping the dirt patch out front cleared off and there's a truck in front (of course!)
But then there's these.
Somewhere in all that mess is a Newsom and each one of those houses is worth over a million Arrowhead penny jugs. The house with the tarp was the best, they had a white trash dog run and what looked to be a homemade catapult made out of scraps of plywood. I hope they didn't use those two things together.
Everywhere we went, aside from the constant police presence, there were people out walking their dogs. Each person had to stop and stare at us or stay in their cars and murmur into their phones. No one actually curbed their dogs though, I had to really watch where I was walking at all times.
They mean it!
The scary tarp house actually had a nice front lawn with an enormous oak tree that looked like the Whomping Willow.
I wanted to climb it. Like, I reaaaaaally wanted to climb it. Of course, after going crazy about property rights and trespassing and such, it would not have been seemly. I am all about the seemly.
Just in case I thought Monrovia welcomed me, I met the Curb of Deceit, a normal looking street curb that went about its business elevating the sidewalk out of the street, until I approached it and it grew to calf-height.
Thud!
It wasn't all crap-filled growth-spurt sidewalks and paranoid neighbors though. The Comic Cellar in Old Town Monrovia had the nicest clerk. "Let me know if you need anything! Let me know if you want me to make recommendations! Let me know if you need help finding anything! Do you want bags and boards? They're free!" He kept talking the whole time, the actual purchasing of comic books took more time than the selecting of comic books. Maybe it was a slow day, who knows? I had a calzone at the pizza place across the street with the wandering cashier and it was good, oh my it certainly was.
And to answer: Yes, lady, I was taking a picture of your dog!
He was aged and cute and there weren't any cars in front of him.
First stop was the Aztec Hotel, famous for being old and, uh, thematic. Possibly also haunted.
All I wanted to do was take a picture. While I was trying to get details of the Mayan stonework, a little biddy out walking with her biddy friend came up to me and said "Should I take pictures TOO?" as if I would know. I think she was being sarcastic, I'm not sure though on account of being a social retard but since she didn't have a camera, I'm going to go with sarcastic. I busied myself with my camera buttons and told her "Sure! Why not?" and smiled widely. They wandered off. Then, while I turned back to try and figure out how to have shaky hands yet use the zoom without getting a blurred image, a silver fox rolls up in a battle tank Mercedes, leans out his window and yells "Recording history?!" Yeah, I'm trying to, thanks. He continued rattling on about something but I turned away because the main thing they teach girls during those secret propaganda films in 6th grade is to not talk to strange men in cars.
This was after standing next to a police car while waiting for the traffic light to change to cross the street while the policeman just sat there staring at us, like we were going to steal a car right in front of him.
Also, everyone in Monrovia has to have at least three cars for his or her own personal use. One to park in the garage, one to drive, and one to keep in the street in front of anything interesting so that every single photograph looks like this:
Another law is that if you live in an architecturally or historically significant home, you must make sure that no one can see it and/or keep it as ugly as possible. Do not keep a clear vantage and for Pete's sake, do not clear the brush or keep a tidy lawn. Make it look as much like a hippie/serial killer compound as you can and they have grants available to help you buy giant plants, extra cars or to rent piles of lawn bags filled with trash. It also helps if you have every member of your family come outside to sweep up the sidewalk, sit on the porch, wave a hose around ominously or just stand and stare at people.
This one's not so bad although we had to wait a while before the guy sweeping the dirt patch out front cleared off and there's a truck in front (of course!)
But then there's these.
Somewhere in all that mess is a Newsom and each one of those houses is worth over a million Arrowhead penny jugs. The house with the tarp was the best, they had a white trash dog run and what looked to be a homemade catapult made out of scraps of plywood. I hope they didn't use those two things together.
Everywhere we went, aside from the constant police presence, there were people out walking their dogs. Each person had to stop and stare at us or stay in their cars and murmur into their phones. No one actually curbed their dogs though, I had to really watch where I was walking at all times.
They mean it!
The scary tarp house actually had a nice front lawn with an enormous oak tree that looked like the Whomping Willow.
I wanted to climb it. Like, I reaaaaaally wanted to climb it. Of course, after going crazy about property rights and trespassing and such, it would not have been seemly. I am all about the seemly.
Just in case I thought Monrovia welcomed me, I met the Curb of Deceit, a normal looking street curb that went about its business elevating the sidewalk out of the street, until I approached it and it grew to calf-height.
Thud!
It wasn't all crap-filled growth-spurt sidewalks and paranoid neighbors though. The Comic Cellar in Old Town Monrovia had the nicest clerk. "Let me know if you need anything! Let me know if you want me to make recommendations! Let me know if you need help finding anything! Do you want bags and boards? They're free!" He kept talking the whole time, the actual purchasing of comic books took more time than the selecting of comic books. Maybe it was a slow day, who knows? I had a calzone at the pizza place across the street with the wandering cashier and it was good, oh my it certainly was.
And to answer: Yes, lady, I was taking a picture of your dog!
He was aged and cute and there weren't any cars in front of him.
Labels: Fist shaking, Great Outdoors
posted by CMURB at 1:33 AM
2 Comments:
Taking pictures? Oh, taking pictures. Taking pictures? If I don't call the police, my neighbor will.
In Soviet Monrovia, Dog walks YOU!
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