jb

Ordinarily I wouldn't post a blurry photo, but I don't want you to miss meeting jb from Mainz Daily Photo.

Being part of the San Gabriel Valley blogging community has brought me myriad blessings. Being part of the City Daily Photo community expands those blessings around the globe. I've made virtual friendships with bloggers worldwide. Meeting them in person is the grandest blessing of all.

jb recently spent two weeks in France where he and Mrs. jb met Nathalie from Avignon in Photos. He had a couple of busy days back in Germany, then he flew to Los Angeles. A 10-hour lay-over gave him time for a drive to Pasadena. I am not amazed that he and Mrs. jb have visited the Huntington Library and Gardens and the Norton Simon Museum, or that they have a friend who works at the local J. Crew.

We had coffee at Intelligentsia (his suggestion--he knows Pasadena pretty well). Then we walked a bit in Old Town and I took the photo for yesterday's post. (jb claims to have assisted and indeed, he gave moral support.) When we parted I headed home to work. jb was off to get a meal then back to LAX and a flight to New Zealand. In a later email he said last Thursday "will be forever missing" from his autobiography.

I'd trade a day of my autobiography for world travel. But I'm getting wistful.

I feel bad about giving you a blurry photo of this smart, funny, interesting, international man. (At his blog you will find examples of his wry sense of humor.) But I believe he shines through my bad photography and you can see who he is in spite of me.

jb and I have a deal. I'm posting my photo of him today and he's posting his photo of me. He took his picture with an iPhone. I took mine with a Canon 20D. I haven't seen his photo on the computer screen yet, but I believe it'll prove good photography is more about the photographer than the camera.

Here's an Old Town photo of a superfluous detail. Not blurry. Just to redeem myself.

Coffee Break

John and I cleaned out the garage last week. Yesterday we delivered two carloads of semi-useful stuff to the Salvation Army. I considered offering it to you all, but recoiled when I recalled certain Craig's list experiences when too many people showed up, or no one showed up, and before we'd made a new plan the garage had filled up again.

Our garage is now pristine. I can open the drawers of my potting bench without having to move aside a chaise lounge. I'm able to approach the washing machine without bumping into a box of hardware-bits-we-might-use-someday. I can see out the windows.

Drunk on open-space bliss, I started on my office after lunch. I began to purge, beginning at the top of the bookshelves. Why am I hanging on to Paris guidebooks from 2006? Why do we have a Chinese Checkers set? Why do I keep a magazine from 2005? I had a reason to save it then, but is the reason still valid now?

I got a little less than a third of the way down the shelves before my body shouted out for a break. Once I sat down with my afternoon coffee, I didn't get up again. I'd better finish the job this week, or those shelves will fill up again.

I'm Not Hip

There was a time in my life when I thought it important to be in the know. No more.

I'm too busy now to pay much attention to what's in style. I admit to enjoying the Sartorialist once in a while, but that's more about what's classic or individualistic than what's hot. Being hip requires actual study. You've got to read the right magazines and blogs, watch the right TV.

I don't care anymore. I have so many other things to read, and we got rid of our cable over a year ago. (I thought I'd miss prime time. I don't.) I just don't have time to have fashion sense.

I wouldn't mind wearing the latest clothes if someone else would pick them out for me--in fact I really must do something about my wardrobe--but having the house foundation inspected is higher on my priority list than wearing the right foundation underwear.

It's a function of age, I think. You get older and your priorities change. My mother, in her later years, wore wild outfits all of one color group: purple tennis shoes, long purple skirt, purple leather belt, purple cotton blouse, purple knit sweater and purple straw hat for example--not all the same purple, but at least all purple. You couldn't miss her in a crowd the size of Oregon. This I pledge I will not do. I'm only middle-aged, though, so there's plenty of time for my lack of fashion sense to grow out of proportion in some way of my very own.

Why this photo, instead of one of me in my crappy old jeans and Led Zeppelin t-shirt? Just musing on the hipness theme after a visit to Intelligentsia where everyone else there was right out of...well, I don't know, do I? I don't read that stuff.