Bienvenue, hipsters! Today we set sail down SanMonBul to the magical nonsense world of the Far East (of Hollywood that is): Silver Lake. A land of both caring and not caring, of quaintness and calamity, of treasure and trash, of paying a dollar for 30 cents.
I threw on my t-shirt with a band on it I don’t know, grabbed Roommate Paul, and we loaded up our iPhones with Hipstamatic apps. We were ready for Silver Lake.
Hipster-ism is very catch-22. The most hipster thing you can do is rag on hipsters. Kind of like when someone says you’re being defensive. You can’t argue that you aren’t defensive without sounding defensive.
These are some of the things Paul and I would’ve been talking about on the drive over had we been interacting with each other and not tweeting, texting, facebooking, tumbling, and four-squaring that we were on our way to Silver Lake.
Paul and I stop to record the Zapruder filmon the way.
I’m so fucking worried about the fanned-out deck of cards that is LA street parking signs that I neglect to notice that I’m parked blocking someone’s driveway.
Intelligentsia. Highly recommendable snooty coffee & tea emporium. Get the Ginger Plum iced tea. I did!
Oh no…
Paul enjoys his gourmet Hot Chocolate.
Oh no…
The Cheesestore of Silver Lake. Just around the corner from Intelligentsia. Such wonderful scents! This takes me back to Chicago, Fox & Obel. You know? Oprah’s grocery store.
Paul and I enjoy the Cheesestore’s ice pops while we wait for our food. Paul has Lime Mint Mojito. I take a Pineapple Basil. Basil is getting huge, you guys!
Cheesestore Snackers! Hipstamatic isn’t kind to them, but allow me to explain. Dates. Stuffed with gourmet cheese. Wrapped in bacon. Grilled. Flavor grenade.
I share a tender moment with a big, black pug.
And a big, white pug! Nothing but pugs in this hip wonderland!
I’m having a great time! As a goof.
The Sunset Junction music festival was fast approaching when we visited the plaza. I love a good festival, but I’m far too much of a grandma to pretend to get a kick out of large crowds and concerts anymore. To quote Burt Reynolds in “Boogie Nights”: I want mellow! Mellow, mellow.
It’s time to return to the land of sanity where t-shirts cost a mere $50 instead of an outrageous $99. Just say the shirt is $100, okay? I am not to be so easily seduced by double-digits instead of triple that I forget what tax bracket I’m in.
Oh well. I will meet you again, Silver Lake, when I feel the pull to be fabulous again and light a paycheck on fire.
