Posts Tagged ‘Ca.’

Mom and Pop Grocery

Saturday, September 22nd, 2012


One night in July, my friend Gabri started waxing poetic about summer fruit.  It’s sweetness, color, all of it.  I chimed in, even though he hadn’t directed the conversation towards me:  “I know, isn’t it great?  My favorite thing is walking into Gelson’s and–”  He finished my sentence.  The gist of which is that we both go into our own Gelson’s (we live in different parts of town) produce section, ask what the freshest fruit is, and the guy there will grab an amazing fuzzy peach, slice it just so, and offer you more than a fair sample to taste.  Oh, my God, some of us will gather around, sampling our quarter-to-half peach, then grab a paper bag to stock up.  Is that why we love this neighborhood market so much?  Or is it because it harkens back to a simpler, smaller, safer, slower, time?  Probably.

I love old-fashioned, small markets.  I was about to leave for my two-week holiday in August to a small town in Quebec when my friend Lynne asked me if there’s a small market there.  I thought I was the only one obsessed with them.  I love to photograph small markets or drive by slowly just to take them in.

I miss the one I grew up a block from in Beverly Hills – Haig’s Market — at the corner of Bedford & Olympic.  Owned by Eddie and Bea.  Each day after school I would stop there, right after dropping my books off at home.  Ha, drop off my books!  I barely went to school. I went to Haig’s market much more.  (Later on, when I moved out of my mother’s house — the second I turned 18 — Bea and Eddie kept a signed headshot of me on their wall of fame, with other locals like Michael Lembeck.)  During that period of time I had an addiction to their fresh Kaiser rolls.  I would bring one home every single day and glob butter onto it.  I’m not even sure why it was so compelling since Kaiser rolls are rather dry, but it was my of-the-moment-heroin. (more…)

Whatever Coat I Want…

Saturday, February 4th, 2012

Some women like shoes.  Some dig purses.  I love coats.  And I have lots of them.

I own a vintage Biba coat, which means nothing to most people, but I bought it for 5 pounds at the antiques market on London’s Portobello Road in the late 70’s.  Though I have a few designer coats, it isn’t about the name for me at all.  It’s about covering up and looking good when I am probably wearing sweats and looking faintly homeless underneath.

I screened a documentary about my dad the other night, and in a little speech before the movie I stated that some chicks in this town spend on a purse what I spent on the whole budget of my film.

One day, my son Oliver had these friends over.  The girl made a passing remark that she liked my coat.  Boy, was she sorry.  I said “If you like this, you might also like this,” then I came out to the pool where they were talking wearing a different one.  She oohed and aahed.  At that point, I just went into full-blown modeling every single coat I owned, or at least the ones I adore.  She was a model herself, so I thought she might like my show.  Only, it took over an hour.  An hour of her life and mine spent digging in my closets to find stylish coats that I’ve purchased over the years.  Poor Oliver.

Each year on my birthday, my husband either goes hunting for a new coat on his own or he might go with me to pick out a cool one.  And then I wear the shit out of it.  If you see me in the market, I will be wearing that year’s model, and you can only guess what’s under it.  Not pretty, trust me.

Recently at a party, I sat with my friend Lynne and we stared out at the crowd, commenting on this person or that.  Pointing to the old lady parked on the couch that never moved the whole night, I said, “Look Lynne, that’s me in the near future!”  She said, “Yeah, but you’ll be rocking a cool new coat.” (more…)