Bowl-O-Rama: La Habra 300 Bowl

I had this blog backlogged and thought I would bring it to you while I finish editing all of our pictures from Barcelona.  I have left you good people without decent reading material for long enough and I can't countenance one more day without a post...

Have you noticed that contemporary buildings have become so utilitarian by nature of their design that the only discernible difference between a shopping center, a suburban home, and a jail in Communist Russia is the generally good humor of the Russian inmates.  This was an abstract concept for me until they started building a new strip shopping center near my house.  As each new building went up, it was impossible to guess what would go inside the stucco, taupe-colored boxes.  Frankly, it could be anything - Taco Bell, auto parts store, bank, dentist office, shoe store, market.  I guess the idea is to make it as generic as possible so that when businesses cycle through, the only real change that would need to be made is switching out the outsized, plastic sign.

Don't get me wrong, I love the convenience of Target.  I love the abundance of food choices and the idea that with new construction comes new jobs and new opportunities for businesses to thrive.  But would it kill architects/contractors to give these buildings a little personality?   More than just boring, these buildings fail to serve as the landmarks that I so desperately need when driving or giving directions.  I live near and work in a certain community that is famous for being "beige" in every aspect.  I get lost there all the time because not only do the streets meander (I'm a firm believer in the grid), but when someone says turn left at the tan building, you could be driving in circles for hours without ever reaching your destination.  I say all this not to bemoan the foibles of modern society, but only express my deep appreciation for the masterminds that created the wonderful 20th Century bowling alleys that are still plentiful and ready to be enjoyed not just for their leisure activities, but for the distinct figure they cut in the skyline.  One such bowling alley is La Habra 300 Bowl in La Habra, CA.

La Habra 300 Bowl is so old-school that they don't even have a website (editor's note: as of December 2012, La Habra 300 Bowl has a website), so you'll just have to take my word as gospel on the information I provide you.  Situated just a few miles east of Friendly Hills Bowl (our last featured bowling alley), LH300 is just as famous for its unusual coffee shop as it is for its gleaming lanes.  Consider this, the most popular items on the menu are, if you can handle this, Chinese food!!!  Chinese food, albeit of the American variety, seems like an unlikely style of cuisine to be proffered in the coffee shop of a bowling alley, but it's true and every regular in the place told us that we had to come back for some Egg Foo Yung.  I think it's a fiendish plan by the management; everybody knows that when you eat Chinese food and then bowl, you'll just be hungry for another frame of bowling an hour later.

I think we had just eaten, but there's something about a
bowling alley coffee shop that makes Mary HUNGRY!!!

The nice folks featured in the center of this photo gave us a strange look
 when we walked in and promptly started snapping photos.  However,
when they realized we were bowling alley enthusiasts, they practically
 invited us to share a late breakfast with them.  The gentleman assured us that
 it was neither a special occasion nor was he being favored as a regular when our
eyes got as big as saucers looking at the humongous, 27-egg (or thereabouts)
 omelette that was set before him on the squeaky-clean formica table.  

My favorite thing in the world is authentic, vintage wallpaper from the 50's...
at least there weren't life-size cut outs of James Dean and Marilyn Monroe

My usual coffee shop favorites are still in place -
barstools, terrazzo, original fixtures and display cabinets, and a
pretty stellar color story of black, gray, and pinky salmon

Maybe not the best example, but don't you love the light-box,
"cocktails" signs with the block letters?

The 13th Frame is the bowling alley's bar/lounge and has
an entrance from the inside and outside.

Button-tufted oxblood leather, brass nailhead trim, beer pennants, stained-glass
 lanterns - it's such a totally different world than the coffee shop, but I'm so glad
these two worlds exist under one extremely-sloped roof!

The private party room is adjacent to the bar and reminds a little bit of
The Regal Beagle from Three's Company.

The hand-painted figure seemed to indicate that this alley was full of real music enthusiasts.
  The bar actually would be a great place for shows.  Hmmm...maybe I need to
 add booker/promoter to my resume and include La Habra 300 Bowl as a venue!  

You read that right, that's a pin-full of "Ball Polish."

I think my snickering at the ball polish combined with the consistent flash of my camera finally brought about the inevitable - a confrontation by the management.  We're always so distracted by our excitement over neat stuff (and taking pictures of said stuff) that it never occurred to me that anyone would question my motives.  Nevertheless, after a brief interrogation by the manager, where I told her that my intentions with her bowling alley were quite chaste, we were back in action.  Although, given her grimace, I'm sure I left her unconvinced that we weren't just weirdos with a camera.  Heck, I haven't even convinced myself of that.

It's become a bit of a bad habit, but I keep forgetting to remind you that these bowling alleys do indeed offer bowling services.

Just a question, before I let you go.  Is "300" a perfect game in bowling?  That is my guess as to the significance of the name, but maybe someone out there can clarify this small detail for me.  Oh, and one more question; who determined that a strike in baseball is a bad thing but a strike in bowling is the best?  Until I find out the answers to these, life's greatest mysteries, I wish you turkeys all the turkeys I can spare.

Hardy har har!!!

La Habra 300 Bowl
370 E Whittier Blvd
La Habra, CA
(714)526-2058

www.LH300Bowl.com


Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Doin' the High Rockabilly Low Down

Hello friends!!!  I'm so conflicted about being home that I really don't know how to get back into the normal swing of things.  While I was glad to reunite with family and friends, I just wasn't quite ready to return to our land of waving grain and purple mountains' majesty - especially since our last day in Barcelona was magical!  Why am I so emotionally suited for the life of a bon vivant all the while hindered by the meager bank account of a very poor whatever the opposite of a bon vivant is...

Truly, I am not sure where to begin as we saw so many wonderful things and had so many splendid adventures.  I guess the best way to begin is to tell you that I saw Greenland!

Greenland!!!

It never occurred to me that our flight home from Spain would include a fly-over of that mysterious and giant island.  Like dipping my toes into the Mediterranean Sea for the very first time, I took particular delight in seeing a cartographer's view of the land of myth and vikings.

Remember, the camera adds ten pounds...to each toe.

I have it on good authority that I am partial to sharing too many photos.  Even family and good friends seemed to get a little bored at the 1,000-photo mark in my slide show.  Before we left, everyone said, "Take loads of pictures."  Although, in fairness, they never finished that sentiment with, "And then be sure to favor me with a three-hour show-and-tell including a detailed explanation of each and every photo."

I figured the best way to handle this is to take the enlightened, new-age approach and write until my soul feels that there is nothing left to be written; which, taking into account the crazy jet lag (I'm awake by 4am every day), should be in pretty short order so hang in there with me.

As I'm sure that you are still reeling from the second-hand thrill of Greenland, I guess I'll give you a moment of pause to collect your thoughts before I share the highlights from...

I must say that Jose, the man behind High Rockabilly, really does an amazing job in terms of coordinating flights, itineraries, bands, accommodations, etc.  As a total hanger on-er, I felt pretty special with my all-access, aqua wristband AND my all-you-can-eat, purple wristband.  We were treated extremely well and it made our trip not only easy, but fun and affordable too.  Even with thirteen years under his belt, I don't know how he does it but he takes the logistical nightmare in stride, and is a great host.  My experience at High Rockabilly is best broken down into three parts - the beach, the music, and the people.

THE BEACH 

We arrived in town early the day before the official start of the festival.  Apparently, the town of Calafell is not too averse to the idea of all these tourists descending upon their quiet beach community.  In fact, banners all along the strand welcomed our motley crew - in multiple languages, no less.

Not only were there banners, but many of the shopkeepers tried to appeal to
the crowd by dressing the mannequins in front of their shops in
"rockabilly fashion" - only sometimes a contradiction in terms.

Install plumbing and I could live in the incredible
 lifeguard towers.

I was going to try and get some good outfit photos of the things
 I made for Mary, but all my motivation was applied to walking
 along the beach and engaging in that most wonderful of all
Spanish pastimes, the siesta. 

A cool shell mosaic on someone's beachfront home.

Impressive sand sculptures on the beach

When supplied with a bucket of water, the Gromit look-
alike on the left was fully functional and filled the pool. 

Another attempt at an outfit photo was interrupted by
Mary trying to save me from getting hit by a truck.
As we came to learn, there is very little distinction
 between street and sidewalk for Spanish drivers; the
 lights, signs, and rules of the road are accepted merely
 as a loose framework of guidelines.

Did I mention that I broke my self-imposed ban on shorts and went
swimming in the sea only to find out later that it was the tail end of
 JELLY FISH SEASON?!?!?!

THE MUSIC

Pretty much by the second of five days, I was growing weary of rockabilly music.  I love the music but everyone has their saturation point; mine came when on the third day (for the third day in a row) I woke up to the music being blasted by the pool party DJs.  Nevertheless, there were some awesome musicians that kept my toes tapping all weekend long - The Tin Stars, The Rip 'em Ups, The Ladykillers, Miss Mary Ann & The Ragtime Wranglers, Rusti Steel & The Star Tones, The Delta Bombers, and many more.

Our room was perfectly situated to get great aerial views of the pool party shenanigans.

The Rip 'em Ups
This band is awesome!!!
We ended up being on the same flight from LA with these
guys and they were so cool - showing us the ropes and showing
us how to put on a KILLER show.  Definitely one of my
 favorite bands of the weekend!

I don't recall the name of this band but their western swing sound was a welcome relief!

Rusti Steel & The Star Tones
A great band and full of generosity; they played their own
awesome set on Saturday and backed Mary up for her set on Sunday.

Mary - even with her eyes closed it was easy to see that big
things are happening for her.  This was the opportunity of a lifetime!!!

THE PEOPLE

Being preternaturally shy, I let too many opportunities to meet new people pass me by.  Fortunately, this blog has opened some channels for me and I got to become acquainted with a couple of folks who follow my blog.  One Aussie minx in particular became - in four short days - a mentor, a chaperone, and a friend.  The most rewarding part of blog writing is connecting with  new people and I count myself very lucky to have made a new pal.  We ended up meeting and spending time with a bunch of great folks and got a world view of the United States; I was surprised and entertained by the foreign fervor for American politics.

Michele, Mary, and Raina
The most fortunate part of the weekend was reuniting
 with old friends and meeting new ones.

I wish I could say that I was that quick on the camera trigger,
 but there is no way I could have planned this photo;
I honestly don't even know what my subject matter was.
Superbly dressed and light as a feather on the dance floor,
  I show this picture not to embarrass, but to ask if you think the
face was for my benefit OR if I just benefited by capturing the face?

The tricolor Swedish fish - Elsa, Sara, and Teresia
Some of the most fun people you'll ever want to know!

Rusti Steel & The Star Tones shining a little light on Mary and Mr. Tiny
Stewart, Andy, Mr. Tiny, Mary, Rusti, and Lloyd

My absolute favorite moment of the weekend came when the only Swede I love more than the Swedish Chef, Sara, performed her most infamous dance move - THE WORM!!!  It's has been two years since I've seen her perform and I am overcome with joy every time. 

Well, that's about it for now.  I'm sure there is plenty I forgot to share with you, but I'm all tuckered out.  Please stay tuned for more Spanish-flavored adventures coming soon and don't forget to like us on Facebook if you haven't already (which I'm sure you have).

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

wacky tacky Icons: Yma Sumac

Yma Sumac

13 September 1922 - 1 November 2008

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In high school my friend's house was the party house; they had a pool table, a soda machine, a deep fryer, a pool, giant televisions, and a jukebox.  Her parents were really cool in the eat-whatever-you-want-we'll-just-be-over-here-drinking-wine-and-dirty-dancing-to-"Mustang Sally" kind of way.  It wasn't quite the duck phone/miniature train set-up of Silver Spoons, but it was cool.  I truly thought the coolness ended with the bottomless platter of taquitos and the sodas dispensed from the machine with absolutely no quarters required; it was impossible for me to fully realize the depth of their cool until the day they fired up the jukebox and out throbbed the breathtaking, five-octave range of the "Peruvian Nightingale" - weightlessly trilling one moment and growling like an injured tigress the next.  I still get the chills anytime I hear the vocal talents of Yma Sumac.

"Taki Rari" - Yma Sumac

If Martin Denny was the godfather of Exotica, Yma Sumac was the reigning high priestess.  Purportedly the descendant of an ancient-Incan tribal chief, Yma Sumac considered herself royalty and operated as a princess in every aspect of her life.  I think that was part of her allure - the regal poise, the mysterious background, the exoticism.

"The first one to tell me I'm not an Incan princess is the first one to die."

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I'm always thinking of topics for posts and was ashamed of myself when I hadn't thought of featuring Yma Sumac - until I got an email from a friend.  The email contained a link to a craigslist ad for a vintage television cabinet in the chinoiserie style.  The text of the ad indicated that this television once belonged to none other than Yma Sumac.  I battled with myself over calling the seller to see if it was still available, but ultimately decided against it because I just could not justify the expense for something that was so impractical.  As cool as the piece may be, I have no regrets because I like it much more for the provenance than the style.  Although, let's just say that if someone gave it to me, I would not be upset.

Coincidentally, as I was writing this post, my pal, Suzanne, over at Sweetie Suz, posted a wonderful blog about her most recent ebay purchase, a silver evening bag and matching gloves that belonged to the one and only Yma Sumac.  She brilliantly contacted the seller, who ended up being a close personal friend of Ms. Sumac, and asked if she could do an interview about his relationship with Ms. Sumac as fan, friend, make up artist, and confidant in the last years of her life.  Suzanne's post was so far superior to mine, with its first-hand information, that I thought about scratching this post altogether, but I figured too much Yma is just about right.

I was semi-familiar with Suzanne's interviewee, Damon Devine, only because I have followed his Facebook page devoted to Yma, Yma Sumac:The Final Recordings.  The page was created to highlight the previously unreleased recordings of Yma's later years but we are frequently treated to photos of the star and her gowns/costumes as well. 

A beautiful illustration of a gown designed for Yma

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The star in the actualized gown
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A legendary peacock gown

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Even when draped in the familiar silhouettes of the time period in which they were created, each of Sumac's gowns spoke to something romantic and strange - the exotic!  As thrillingly-foreign as her look always was, it was really Sumac's voice that enchanted audiences and made her an international star.  So much is made of her vocal range, but I find her brilliance lies the amazing control she had over her voice; some notes have the vulnerability of an endangered tropical bird and others have the abandon of a primal scream.  Listeners may not understand the meaning of every word, but the dynamism with which she tells her dramatic stories becomes a musical Esperanto.

"Tumpa" - Yma Sumac

Yam Sumac appears on "Late Night with Dave Letterman" (1987)

Strangely enough, the only comparable star I can think of to Yma Sumac is Carmen Miranda.  They were both icons of exaggerated South American culture at a time when, thanks to The Good Neighbor Policy, Americans were just discovering the variety of beauty to be found there.  While Miranda represented the dazzling, carefree spirit of Carnival and the brilliance of sunny Rio, Sumac represented the dizzying heights of the Andes and the moody darkness of the deepest jungle.  If you have not made Yma Sumac a regular part of your record rotation, here is your call to repentance.  After all, the Brits don't have the market cornered on royalty, and we all could use an Incan princess in our lives, right?

Try it, you'll like it
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Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Signs of the Times: Dal Rae Restaurant

I'm going to try and sneak in one or two more posts before we leave for Spain next week, so here goes...

As I have mentioned, mid-20th Century steakhouse have become more than a passing fancy for me.  It is the timeless ritual to which I am drawn as well as the manner of service that strikes me at once as charming, endearingly dated, and somewhat of an endangered species. 

Based on the rich rewards of our forays into restaurants like Clearman's Steak 'N Stein Inn, we decided to pop over to another landmark dining establishment in Pico Rivera, CA, Dal Rae Restaurant.  Family owned and operated since 1958, Dal Rae looks like the kind of place that Clark would take Vera for their fifteenth wedding anniversary, grumbling as he made sure that he had enough change to tip the valet, the maitre d', the bartender, the waiter, and the hat check girl.  It looks like the kind of place that would inspire Vera to cinch her girdle extra tight, borrow Jean's Stone Martens, and splash on a little more perfume than necessary - you know, 50's fancy.  For goodness sake, there isn't just one fleur de lis on the sign; there are four!!!

Doesn't the sign just speak to the wonders within?
I half expected to see Clark and Vera celebrating their
70th wedding anniversary - in early bird fashion.

In the worst case of wacky tacky bait & switch in recorded history, the beautiful signs (thankfully preserved) of Dal Rae Restaurant truly misrepresented what was to be found on the inside.  Inside, Dal Rae is just - wait for it - a regular, contemporary restaurant!!!  Apparently renovated in 1999, the interior of Dal Rae is fine.  It is just fine.  I have nothing terrible to say about the staff, the dining room, or the food.  In fact, they were all quite nice...if that's what you're looking for.  The appointments are clean and subtle, but we weren't looking for subtlety and the signs made a wacky tacky promise that they just could not deliver.

Therefore, instead of a full "Chow Time" review, we file Dal Rae Restaurant under "Signs of the Times," wishing that instead of valeting the car, we kept driving down Washington Boulevard, dreaming of the smoke-filled dining room of Dal Rae, circa 1958.

Even the parking sign/marquee is awesome.

On a side note, don't you just hate valet parking - especially unexpected valet parking?  There is nothing worse than that thirty-second scramble to turn the radio down, dust the dashboard with the palm of your hand, throw everything into the back seat, and make the car look halfway decent for a valet parking attendant who probably doesn't care but leaves you paralyzed by the fear that he takes pictures of the inside of your car for his blog, entitled "Valet-Cam: The Grossest Car I've Ever Seen," or "Inside the Car of a Mad Man," or "Drivers of Wal-Mart," or something equally horrible.

Really, the worst part is handing over the keys and explaining all the tricks of the wacky wagon.  "Okay, so you're not going to want to turn on the air conditioning; the brakes are a little squeaky but my mechanic assures me that brake failure is not imminent;  if you have trouble putting it into gear, I've found that a quick prayer works really well; yes, the stability traction control warning light is always on; oh, and it's probably easiest to let yourself out the passenger side by rolling down the window and opening the door from the outside."

If you happen to find yourself in Pico Rivera, we definitely recommend driving by Dal Rae to check out the signs and then heading over to Steak 'n Stein Inn for a real wacky tacky dining experience.

Dal Rae Restaurant
9023 E Washington Blvd
Pico Rivera, CA
(562)949-2444

www.dalrae.com


Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Blogging Siesta

I'm never sure if anyone ever notices these things, but I have definitely been lagging on the old blog lately.  The reason is one that I have been too anxious and too excited to share because, as a natural-born worrywart, I was really afraid that it wasn't going to happen.  As the time draws nearer, I feel a little safer in saying that Mr. Tiny is going to Europe!!!  Although I won't actually believe it until the plane has touched down, my passport is ready to be stamped "SPAIN."

This will be the first international trip for Mary and the first European trip for Mr. Tiny.  The reason for our trans-Atlantic crossing is Mary's burgeoning musical career.  She, along with a couple of other bands from her label, Wild Records, has been asked to play High Rockabilly, what is supposed to be the coolest festival in Europe!  Keeping in mind the restrictions of airline travel, I have still been slaving away at my trusty Bernina, whipping up all kinds of stuff for Mary to wear whilst we frolic along the coast of the Mediterranean!

I tell you all of this only to explain that as sparse as my blogging has been in the past few weeks, it is only going to get "sparser."  I am going to immerse myself fully in the Spanish culture by embracing the siesta (with her daily nap routine solidly in place, Mary already has a head start on us all).  wacky tacky, therefore, will also be taking a two week siesta.  Truly, I just don't want to be bogged down by electronics during my first trip to the continent.  After all, if I can't enjoy Europe without checking Facebook and playing Words with Friends, then I'm just kind of a creep, aren't I?  If I am, don't tell me...and just blame it on my parents.  Instead of blogging I plan to be seeing a lot of this....

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and this...

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While we're at it, some of this...

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and this...

"What's My Line?"

Starring mystery guest, Salvador Dali

and this...

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Not so much this...

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or this...

okay, maybe just a little....

But plenty of this...

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And a whole lot of this...

 

"Sing to Your Senorita"

Charlotte Greenwood in Down Argentine Way 

Okay, okay, I know my expectations may be a little misinformed and that last one really has nothing to do with Spain at all, but just let me live in my wacky tacky dreamworld.  I know that Spain will not disappoint.  If you have any travel advice or must-see places while we're in the greater Barcelona area, please feel free to let me know.  I wish that we could stay longer and see EVERYTHING, but time, finance, and Mary's school schedule will not allow.  We are so grateful to be going and I look forward to reconnecting with you and sharing our adventures upon our return.  We will have many pictures and stories to share, I am sure.  Until then, wish us the Spanish equivalent of "Bon voyage!"

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny