I’ve been to three swap meets in the span of three weeks and I couldn’t be happier. You can complain all you want about traffic in Los Angeles (ahem), lament about all the pseudo-humans you meet here, but there’s one thing L.A excels at better than any city: outdoor flea markets.

Here are a few finds from the Rose Bowl Flea Market which has been existence for over 40 years.

While the Rose Bowl Flea Market is amazing, this outing left me disappointed. Not only was it too crowded and lacked any really good finds, the entire process has become so commercialized. You have to pay $8 to just get into the meet, with no pets allowed and performers who are hired to keep crowds coming through the turnstiles entertained - men on stilts, unicycles, that sort of thing. It just seems so…contrived.  On top of that, the food inside will take a nice chunk out of the wad of cash you’ve saved for those sweet antiques or chotchkies you’re after.

Still, it is definitely worth it - especially when you can find such treasures as “The Wandering Jew.”

I’ve saved my favorite find for last. I know you might be thinking - hello? Did you not see the incredible Sonny and Cher barbies above? What can be better than the plastic versions of the dynamic duo responsible for “I’ve Got You Babe,” (which plays like a loop in my head even if I sing it once)? Well I’ve got news for you, no pun intended.

Behold.

Bound editions of bound  bi-weekly New York Times newspapers spanning from the mid 1920s to late 1940s.

I KNOW. I almost went into cardiac arrest right then and there. Most of these beauties came to the swap meet from the libraries of universities, and were being sold for $20 each. After scouring to find one in the best condition and some haggling, we left with the March 16 - 31, 1943 edition of the Times, which came from the Stanford University Library in all it’s glory for $15.

As any writer can attest to, there’s nothing better than the scent of a musty old book. For a journalist, a bound edition of the Bible of Newspapers from 1943 smells like absolute heaven. Heaven I tell you. Full description and pages (complete with Old Gold cigarette ads and calls for Victory Gardens!) to come in subsequent post. Excuse me while I go smell my newspaper.

The unbearable heat today rendered me almost completely incapable of doing anything productive. A bit of fact checking here, some reading there, accompanied by a delicious tray of bing cherries, one which burst while I bit into it and leaked all over my hand. It looked like I had cut myself, this rich, dark burgundy splattered over my fingers. After my hunger had worn off and night finally set it in, I felt like nothing could be asked of me - unless it involved lying still on the couch and watching a film. Tonight’s fine choice turned out to be “Miss Potter”.

Here is where I have a confession to make. My boyfriend sent this lovely film to me quite a while ago, one that I should have watched no more than a few weeks after getting the package. But life, as it so happens, always has other plans and so I sat down to watch this story of one of my favorite children’s authors late, late enough to feel guilty about, but I watched it, ok? And that’s really all that matters.

The movie itself was wonderful, pretty well acted and had the most beautiful scenery ( the English countryside feels like heaven on Earth to me), but what it really did was bring back a slew of  emotions and thoughts I had about children’s books, and “The Tale of Peter Rabbit” most particularly.

You see, in addition to all my passion for journalism, all my dedication to print and radio and news and reporter’s notebooks, there is a big part of me who would one day like to become an author. I’ve often been completely taken aback when I’ve read my favorite books, not only because of the story, but because I’ve wondered how in the world did this person manage to pull this out of their imagination and then coherently string those thoughts into beautiful words? It amazes me - the gift an author has to be able to write 200 pages about the same thing and have it come off so wonderfully.

My dream has always been to write one or perhaps a series of children’s books. In my scribbling habbits, these dreams have always manifested into illustrations and ideas locked away in some journal and for quite a while, I had locked them out of my thoughts, until I saw “Miss Potter.”

I truly admire Beatrix Potter. Although in the film, “The Tale of Peter Rabbit” is published by Frederick Warn & Co., it was Potter who self-published the book herself before attracting the publisher’s attention. I always feel like there’s a slight stigma attached to self-publishing (if someone else, i.e. a publishing house doesn’t approve, it’s probably just not good enough) but finding out that she did and became successful really just says that if you have a good idea, it will work no matter what.

All images are rights cleared and obtained from Project Gutenberg

Because when I wake up and see a gem of a comment like this, it makes my day just that much brighter.

I wish everyone would die on Earth except me. I hate people.

Oh dear commenter, I feel like we should discuss this over a late lunch, where we exchange horror stories about our encounters with the human race. You can go first.

Colorful cupcakes and  baskets of yarn

Dainty teacups and snow covered barns

Swap meets with treasures that make me sing

These are a few of my favorite things

Rainy afternoons and puddles to jump in

Fuzzy alpacas and knitted mittens

Cakes that easily pop out of silver baking tins

These are a few of my favorite things

Vintage bookstores and animal stencils

The smell of newspapers and old fashioned pencils

Window-sill reading and dancing to swing

These are a few of my favorite things

When traffic starts

When it gets too hot

When I’m feeling upset

I simply remember my favorite things

And then I don’t have to fret

Hi y’all! [insert infectious cackle here] I have come to tell you about my love for one miraculous woman. A woman who isn’t afraid to laugh at herself and put a stick or two of butter in every single thing she cooks. This woman, with her gorgeous salt and pepper hair and round, but adorable frame is none other than cook and author extraordinaire Paula Deen.

You see, I could be having the worst day ever - I could be depressed and pissed off about traffic and wondering what in the world the rest of my life is going to look like, and along comes Paula Deen, with her bigger than life Southern drawl, her wide eyes and her ability to turn every single meal into a heart attack waiting to happen and my life is just that much better.

Paula is my absolute favorite chef to watch on the Food Network. It’s especially exciting when she invites her husband Michael on camera for a bit of banter. He’s a quiet, genteel man, I presume. He’s just this big lovable bear and come to think of it, so is she.

Wait. Just wait. I think I had an epiphany. Michael and Paula are the modern day Santa and Mrs. Clause! Am I right or am I right?

Paula brings the most joy when she’s out on excursions with Michael, such as my favorite episode, in which she travels to France. Imagine Paula Deen in France. Go ahead and I dare you. You think you know, but you have no idea. Imagine that Southern American Butter Ball of a woman running amuck in Paris. She was the greatest thing to happen to France since cheese. She pranced around an open market, kissed a French man and ate almost every pastry at a cafe. She also travels to London in the same episode and is equally hilarious there as she is in the city of lights. The episode seemed to have hit a chord with quite a few people, as evidenced by the comments on Chowhound, but I think people are taking it too seriously and really, you are out of your mind if you take Paula Y’all Deen too seriously. You might as well not watch her, because you just don’t get it.

While she wasn’t always on the look out for coronary arteries to clog, Paula has an incredible background. Her parents died while she was in her 20s and she suffered from agoraphobia and would not leave her house. She had no formal food or chef training, yet she used her cooking talents to create a catering service which became so popular that she opened her own restaurant, The Lady and Sons in Savannah, Georgia in 1996.

In short, I think she’s amazing and the most interesting and fascinating food personality on television today. You cannot even compare her to Rachel Ray or Emeril for that matter. Yes, she’s over the top, yes she’s a bit ridiculous. Yes, you might get cholesterol just by standing next to her, but this is all besides the point. She’s pure entertainment and I love every minute I get to spend with her.

In line with my fascination of extremes in human nature, I sat down to watch “17 and Counting,” the newest documentary style show from the Duggar family. Oh you know the Duggars, admit it. You know, the family with 17 children whose names all start with “J” from Arkansas. How can you forget the patriarch of the family, Jim Bob! And matriarch Michelle, with her long flowing mousy hair, House on the Prairie smocks and never ending pregnancies. To say I am fascinated by this hockey team of a family would be an understatement. Whenever I watch Jon and Kate plus 8, I feel a bit sorry that they have to deal with eight kids with sticky hands, snotty noses and crying. Oh the crying. But then, I remember Jim Bob and Michelle and the fact that this woman has had 17 squirmy bodies pass through her birth canal (BY CHOICE!) and I scoff at Jon and Kate for their measily contribution to society. Eight? Try 17, suckers! You don’t have anything on Jim Bob and Michelle.

The first and second episodes of “17 and Counting” featured the Duggar family going on a trip to New York City to be on the “Today” show where Jim Bob and Michelle were due to announce their 18th pregnancy. I almost fainted. That’s just because I think the idea of having that many children is inconceivable. I don’t mean to pass judgment on the Duggars because clearly, they have managed to raise all those children pretty well and by no means are they in need of any charity. If someone has the choice of never having children, I suppose others should have the choice of having as many as they want.

At times, I find it unfair on the children. Obviously, Michelle cannot raise all those kids on her own, and even with the help of Jim Bob, things could get out of hand, so more or less, the older kids are in many ways responsible for the younger ones. It just upsets me a little that their time is consumed by raising kids, when it should be consumed with teenager-type activities. They obviously don’t have any semblance of social lives, because let’s face it, every day is a social gathering in the Duggar house. That means they can only function within the confines of their family and perhaps town and are more or less unprepared for the real world, as evidenced by their trip to New York City. The family are conservative Baptists who follow the Quiverfull movement. The Quiverfull movement prohibits the use of contraceptives of any kind and endorses homeschooling and homesteading in a rural area.

To put it simply, the whole thing is just…strange. You can pretty much guarantee that I will keep watching, in between bouts of cringing.

I have always had a love affair with rain. When others were craving sunshine and hot days, I was wishing for wet weather. Something about it soothes me. Maybe it’s the sound, how it falls so effortlessly and fearlessly on my car, my window and on leaves. The allure of rain for me, is not just about the rain itself, but perhaps more about what it brings: sleep, comfort, woolly socks, a cup of warm tea, a snuggle, a blanket.

It washes away my thoughts and cleanses my head, along with the outside world it touches. For a while I thought I was alone in my love of rain, and most days I think I still am.

Then one rare day a couple weeks ago, the sky in Los Angeles turned grey and I could tell, I could just tell that it was mustering up all its energy to sprinkle some rain and clean the filthy streets and people of this city, but it didn’t quite have the strength to. So it retreated back and sunshine took over and I was back to feeling depressed about the weather again.

While it was grey though, a song came on the radio that confirmed my feelings: I was not the only one who loved rain. It turns out that Loudon Wainwright, father of Rufus Wainwright, likes gloomy days in Los Angeles just as much as I do. He likes them so much in fact, that he wrote a song about it:

When it’s grey in L.A. I sure like it that way
Cause there’s way too much sunshine round here
I don’t know about you I get so sick of blue skies
Whenever they always appear

And I sure love the sound of the rain pouring down
On my carport roof made out of tin
If there’s a flood then there’s gonna be mudslides
We all have to pay for our sin

And I suppose that they’ll close canyon roads
And the freeways will all start to clog
And the waters will rise and you won’t be surprised
When your whole house smells like your wet dog

When it’s grey in L.A. it’s much better that way
It reminds you that this town’s so cruel
Yeah it might feel like fun when you’re sportin’ sunglasses
But really you’re one more fool

You might remember this song if you’ve seen the film, “Knocked Up.” You can listen to it here.

I thought that discovering this song would be the last I would ever hear of anyone being devoted to rain as I am, until I started my daily website reading routine by going to the NY Times website, as I do every morning. A gem awaited me there, in the form of a written ode and a short film capturing the essence of it all.

Jeff Scher, a painter and experimental filmmaker filmed the rain trickling down on the balcony of his home, while his wife was fast asleep with one of his sons, with a Beaulie wind-up 16 mm. movie camera from the ’60s and film that was, as he says “at least 10 years out of date.” The music in the film and sound design is by Shay Lynch and adds such a touch of loveliness to the whole thing. Even though it’s only three minutes long, this film manages to capture the essence of rain so well. Watch “While You Were Sleeping.”

“The fleeting inverted image of the landscape in the raindrops as they swell from drop to drip is an optical phenomenon, but to me it’s pure magic,” writes Sher. “And then they form streams and pulse hypnotically like luminous quicksilver.”

I couldn’t have said it better myself. And let me tell you, not only is Jeff Scher awesome because he shares my affinity for rain, but he makes these incredible animated short films with amazing soundtracks. Case in point: Reasons to be Glad, which you can watch below.

I would love to be able to interview him for an article, while it was raining of course.

I am a mug collector. Some people collect stamps or pens. Not me. I collect mugs. I think it stems down to the fact that I not only love the various designs on mugs, but they’re something I use in my daily life, unlike stamps that you hide away in a scrapbook. Since tea is so important to me, collecting mugs are just natural. Whenever Keeg and I travel, I can’t resist buying a mug.

The one on the left, if you didn’t already know is a quote from The Smith’s “Reel Around the Fountain,” courtesy of Keeg. The one on the right is a standard Ikea mug I bought for 69 cents on which I drew a matryoshka doll on with ceramic paints. It was my first attempt, so it doesn’t look all that great. You really need a steady hand to be able to draw on mugs with paint.

That’s my Democrat mug from Urban Outfitters. It’s a great size and it’s got people I like on it. The second one was bought at I believe TJ Maxx. If you’re into mugs, Marshall’s and TJ Maxx are great places to find quirky and unique ones. It came with a tea bag holder in the shape of a bee.

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