NOT SUITABLE FOR THE CATTLE PEN

Another Mexican store on Cherokee Street featuring what we call Western wear. No idea who wears these in St. Louis - we don't have much range to ride. But then these boots are for show-off, not work.

It's a cultural thing I don't pretend to understand. I have a colleague in my specialty I'll call C, an initial. He's from Dallas and his family owns a high-end boot store. C is a lawyer, a bit short of stature and very trim from years of long distance running. I see him at conferences wearing impeccably tailored suits with hand-tooled and doubtless very expensive cowboy boots. I guess it's a Texas - New Mexico - Arizona thing. They look heavy enough to build up your leg muscles.

The store also has them for women, of course, so you and your sweetie can go out line dancing in the highest of style.

 

BLOW IN MY EAR AND I'LL FOLLOW YOU ANYWHERE

Um, the caption is just a loose association that popped into my head when I was massaging this picture in Photoshop. It was an often-repeated line on Rowan and Martin's Laugh In years ago, hinting at, let's say, a bit of a dirty meaning. The meaning, like beauty, was in the eye (or ear) of the beholder. 

Google told me that there was also a punk song by the same name released in 1967. You have to hear it to believe it. Don't let the waltz time in the first few bars fool you. 

Anyway, the reason I was down on Cherokee Street was the opening day of Counter Public, a three month on and off, here and there visual and performing arts festival. It kicked off with a walking tour with our docent (whose name I didn't get) and the owner/art director of El Chico Bakery (whose name I didn't get). We saw a lot of stuff. More to follow.       

GREEN ACRES

Eddie Albert wanted to get out of his law practice in Manhattan so he bought a farm way out in the country. "Honey, I love you but give me Park Avenue," said his wife, Eva Gabor. You can get some of each in St. Louis but you have to do it on Cherokee Street. We have a Park Avenue but it's a couple of miles away. 

No one eats what is grown here unless they have a taste for dyed cotton or plucked chickens. There are several good taquerias down the street.               

LA RAÍZ DE TODO MAL

Wall painting on a Mexican general store on Cherokee Street. There is a cash machine in the wall just to the right. STL doesn't have the Hispanic population most US cities do but what there we got is centered in this area. You will find Latino restaurants, clothing stores, groceries (there is even an all-Latino candy store, or dulceria), bakeries and places to wire money to Mexico and Central America.

Now, my question is how many passers-by think this painting is really cool and how many are horrified by it. I'm in the second camp, looking at the scream of short-lived, materialistic joy, that mouth and that dress. Now at least she can afford more fabric. There is a Buddhist temple just down the street. Too bad they weren't consulted. 

Oh, and by the way, today is Mrs. C's and my 45th anniversary. We still like each other and I consider myself very, very fortunate. I think we should do something about the occasion.      

Quite Rightly

Okay, who  is old enough to remember that song? It had quite an influence and not just as a proto-hippy earwig but also on the behavior of wannabe cool high school kids.

Back in the unreconstructed 60s, my all-boys high school had a senior lounge where smoking was permitted. We were pretty much left alone. A combination of the song and street rumors led us to scrape off the fiber on the inside of banana peels. We dried it (or not), then attempted to smoke it in our lounge in regular tobacco pipes. (The pipes were an affectation some of the senior boys were trying out.)  Anyway, the stuff just made us sick. Yellow isn't always cheerful.