In the spirit of my last post, I will continue with a piece I wrote this past weekend while enjoying another Burbank visit. What a marvelous few days spent with the schmoooopsie. Girl talk, random IKEA treasures, hours lost in the bowels of a used book store and aimlessly wandering through The Village pondering the true meaning of life. (Incidently, I have not come up with the magic answer...) Add to this an outdoor Starbucks where I planted my arse with an LA Times and a post it pad for the following...First in the line of sight, a mocha-skinned sista, scarf-covered headwrap, oversized shades and a yoga mat rolled up under her arm. She pulls her goggles down her nose and with bored eyes, inspects the ugg-booted vixen next to her. The look on her face blatantly testifies that the furry moccasins are soooo yesterday. She pushes her specs back up and walks off, her rear end in desperate need of spanx under her yoga pants.
Out exits a gal with flaming red hair, tattoos and a Starbucks cup, probably filled with an extra pretentious chai-something-or-other. At the crosswalk she decides her shoes aren’t worth the blisters so she promptly takes them off, tosses them in her shoulder bag and proceeds to cross Palm and stroll with abandon down San Fernando. Apparently this is her turf and the sidewalk rubbish knows better than to mess with her 10 piggies.
Catty-corner to me is a pavement prophet, standing in his pulpit in front of the Halloween store. He is preaching the good word to sinners leaving the store with bustling bags promising an evening filled with slutty pirates, serving wenches, Jon Gosselin impersonators or Tarzans in a loincloth. He speaks on the Lord’s resurrection and reminding us the literal term for redemption it “to buy back” in which souls cannot.
Next is a trendy motherista of two. The older child carries a supersized strawberries and crème frap (which incidently requires both hands to hold) and a backpack with a transformer stealthily rearing his evil head to innocent passers-by. Child number two is chilling out in a designer stroller and is completely invisible save for an orange and black striped baby bootie. Mom carries an Urban Outfitters bag with her goodies and, for the crumbsnatchers, a pink handled shopping bag from Justice, a trendy children’s boutique.
Suddenly, a 6 foot-something Adonis emerges looking like he has just stepped out of a calendar. It has been years since I have seen a specimen of this caliber and I wonder if I could put him on layaway for a time when I don't have a special guy in my heart.... If only my camera were ready. A blue convertible a few dents passed bruised carries the typical California girls. It screeches to a halt to appraise this dreamboat. As they pull away on the green light they giggle and sing the Gloria Naynor hit “I will survive” which I hope to be true because the driver appears to still be mastering the inner workings of the stick shift.
Even the elderly lady pushing a walker has on bedazzled support shoes and her walker is decked-out with red bows. She nods her head to me in friendly greeting and I reply in kind. Fancy that... the elderly person is the only one who extends a friendly nod. Apparently manners and signs of respect are old school characteristics not found in generaion "WHY??"
Burbank is indeed the grand poobah of cutting edge fashion folks, so bring you’re "A" game or risk the crushing blow of cutting eyes from the real movers and shakers of downtown suburbia. Have no real fear though, they may shoot an annoyed glance your diection but it will be done on the down low... they wouldn't want those gestures to be mistaken for a friendly adiou...
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