Back in the saddle

As I approached the -------- motel I remembered a bit of cautionary advice I had once read in a book, beware of motels with turquoise and orange doors. Might have been Hunter S. Thompson? Damn, they were orange all right... It was one of those typical single story jobbers on State Street, but the place looked clean enough and it was certainly located in close proximity to the show.

Anyhow I had little choice in the matter at this point, it was cheap. I had booked online and it's not like there is a query box for vulgar paint jobs on the website. I checked in at the desk. Somebody had put a couple of guitars on the wall and hung an innocuous pastel of palm trees that evoked a beechnut gum wrapper in a half hearted and largely unsuccessful attempt to make an artistic statement.

I grabbed a dirty, spotted, complimentary orange out of the freebie basket and went in search of my new weekly domicile. Spartan, but no serious hygiene issues.  Hard mattress but the towels had some thickness and there was a nicely stocked basket of complimentary toiletries in the bathroom. Commode and mattress, everything else is fluff, isn't it? The shower had two temperatures, scald and freeze, and like today's political scene, would brook no middle ground.

I have spent the last several days in Santa Barbara doing an antique show of long standing that is pretty impossible to get a spot in. I did it last January and struck pay dirt - begged for readmission for the greater part of the last year and think I may have actually wrangled a permanent spot. I was cautiously optimistic, mostly hoping to avoid the dreaded sophomore jinx. Things went okay. Better than okay. Pretty good. Not nearly as glorious as the first time around but what is in this life?

I do not believe that I engage in excessive hyperbole when I say that Santa Barbara is the mythic and idyllic burg where most of us would live if we had the loot. Try Brigadoon or Lost Horizon.

The cottages are the quaintest, the trees are greener, the women are the most beautiful, the children are smarter, people's teeth are straighter, yada, yada. Living in S.B. and the surrounding tony villages requires serious bank. If you are not a self starter family money would certainly help.

I drove over to the show on the beautiful country road that wends its way through Fillmore and Santa Paula, positively love that valley. I was shocked when I hit the water, encountering a smog strata on the water horizon that enveloped the nearby Channel Islands. I don't believe that I have ever seen such a band in San Diego. Tragic.

Dumped off my stuff at the show grounds on wednesday morning and went through my usual drill. Run my lighting, staple up the backdrop paper, lug the paintings and antique boxes in. I only put a few paintings out, try to feel out the corner space and visualize a pleasing layout.

The dealers are really top notch at this CALM show. Funny and caring promoter who laughs at my jokes. Best decorators and folk dealers I have ever done shows with. Everybody does a beautiful job and I need to raise my game. I tend to orient my sales to collectors rather than the decorative but need to do the former at this show if I am to be successful. Already planning my attack for the next show in May.

The inner structure has billowing tent material radiating from the ceiling. The acoustics are quite curious, at one specific location your voice triggers an echo that broadcasts across the foundation and practically through the soles of your feet. Reminded me of the place in the nation's capitol where Franklin pretended to sleep while secretly eavesdropping on his rivals.

I decided to check in and find something to eat, needing to look at everything with fresh eyes in the morning. It was starting to rain and the girl at the desk suggested I consider the local hang, the Tee off, where I might find a cocktail and steak while rubbing shoulders with a colorful clientele, if I so chose.

I walked over to the joint. Located at the end of a strip center, the Tee off is an old school place with funky sixties captain's chairs, an ample portion of the world's naugahyde supply, a niblick or two mounted on the mint green walls. Believe it dates back even before me, to 1956.  Think some of the waitresses go back almost as long as the persimmon woods.

I took a seat where I could eavesdrop with my back to the bar while still having full view of the basketball game on the widescreen and a ringside look at the servers tossing salad after salad. The Tee Off is old school, way too much food. I started out with prime rib soup, hearty and delicious, then rolls and a big caesar salad. I was feeling full already and was starting to get scared. Then my "colette" arrived, a grapefruit sized sirloin center cut with the molten core a brilliant hue of pink perfection. Baked potato, vegetables, gigantic onion ring, I was crying uncle and begging them to stop. Actually didn't finish my dinner by a long shot, out of character for me.

I wrote down my first note of the trip, when I heard the waitress tell another that she was bored, having already heard every song on life's jukebox which I kind of liked and sounded like a great country western lyric. The busboy was talking with the manager about taking the Knicks, the points and the over at 204. My vodka and grapefruit was stiff. Dames set up like tenpins at the bar behind me. My kind of place. I stumbled back to the hotel and fell out, stuffed and exhausted.

I won't inflict a whole blow by blow on you. MacBook Pro's battery won't charge, had a fruitless trip to the Apple Store. A setup day segued into the three day show. Nice people around me, Ted next door, an antique rival that I love very much after many years in life's trenches together, fighting for and against. One day you're the new guy and you blink your eyes and suddenly you're the old guard.

Ted runs a show in Glendale that I have failed at miserably. He says that people are looking for edgy outsider stuff, guy sold a great oversized frog last show. Modern stuff with a look. Afraid that as much as I appreciate it,  I may not be able to go that route, my snobby sense sensing little value in much of it, getting a little old to sell things I don't quite believe in. I haven't clicked in Los Angeles in a long time.

I found a yellow pages listing for my grandfather's furniture store in Pasadena in the 1940's on Ancestry the other day. His cousins were early citizens of San Francisco, I now realize that my roots in the state extend much farther than I previously realized.

Met a woman who has just written a historical novel on the pony express, Allison Bailey who gave me a copy of the book to read. Will let you know.

Heard some great stuff at the show. One dealer was talking about "persian bait", a term I was previously unfamiliar with, gilded, glittery, cherub ridden merchandise that is favored by the wealthy Iranian customers that live in Los Angeles.

Another dealer couple that I know had an asian client that was just beating them up on a price mercilessly. D eventually dropped his price but told the lady that she would have to pay ten cents for the bag. "Why?" she asked, incredulously. D kept a perfectly straight face and told her that he was sorry but it was the local municipal law that she cover the cost of the bug and she duly paid up. Small victories.

Ted came back from a Northridge estate sale. The happy days writer who came up with the term, jumping the shark, television lingo for the exact point in time when a series starts to go into inevitable decline and the proverbial shitter. From the Fonzie episode where he humps over a shark to prove his bravery, a point in which the fans sensed that the Happy Days thing was over. Guy's name was Bob Brunner, he had some cool stuff in his house. He gave Fonzie his name and persona and the immortal tag line "sit on it."But the man who coined the concept of jumping the shark ironically found that  the event was his own personal shark jump. Man bites dog, life follows art. Wacky world.

I heard a pretty nasty name for a certain customer base, fingernail ranchers, an epithet directed at asian women that own nail salons. I was taking notes of crazy stuff I heard all weekend. Have shit kicker saturday morning, serengeti jotted down but can't remember the context for the life of me.

Met nice people all weekend - only one minor blemish when I playfully suggested that a woman had undergone a little "work." There was a guy comes along from my old neighborhood in Smithtown, Long Island and we started talking spalding, and moons and playing rough and having a great time when this woman walked into the crossfire and I forgot to hit the brake pedal. She and I exchanged a tentative mutual wave yesterday and I think that we are still cool.

The guy from New York and his wife bought some stuff and I went to his restaurant, Presto Pasta after work and got a really nice free meal of chicken piccata and noodles and the perfect garlic bread. Great neighborhood place. Wonderful people, we jibed instantly. Never even got to the Mets.

Overheard somebody talking about needing to put a dead bolt in the pantry. Maid was stealing the food. When asked why they just didn't fire her, the woman said she was just too good of a cook.

Talked to Chuck, who is a part of a big church business from Scranton, PA. They have been around forever, favoring architectural antiques and garden stuff. Asked him a few questions about the church/business hierarchy, he tried to save me but it wasn't taking. He later told me the show wasn't so hot and I told him to pray harder. Later he thanked me, said the big sale came not a minute later.

Missed my guitar and Leslie a whole bunch this trip, not necessarily in that order.

Found a great coffee place in town, Vices and Spices on State. An amateur winemaker had set up shop for a little tasting among friends one morning when I ambled in to the delightful shop. Great coffee and he let me have a sip of his delicious new pinot noir. Sweet.

Sold a couple nice paintings yesterday. Bobby will live to play another day. Two and a half hour pack up and drove the four hours back in the rain, beat. Cat was very glad to see me. Wife coming home soon. Nice to be home. Won't even pull the stuff out of the truck, next stop San Francisco.