The Other Nashville OR Embracin' the Country.

Ask anyone in the US about Nashville. Most will immediately assume you're talking about Nashville, Tennessee.

But a small section of the populace will think of a different Nashville. One nestled in the hills of Brown Country, Indiana.

This one:

Or rather, "This 'un."

Nashville is part artists retreat, part folksy small town, part tourist destination. Craft and curio shoppes line the main drag, not to mention the block off of the main drag.

One you get past that block, you've got maybe two blocks of houses before forested hills kick in.

Sometimes the forest doesn't even wait the two blocks.

But let us take a brief, not-at-all-thorough tour of the town. (I've said it once, I'll say it again: You want thorough? Get a travel guide.)

We'll begin with the crafts and folksy shoppes.

Sometimes both in one!

They are everywhere.

Count 'em: Nine shoppes just here. That's more than most Historic Downtowns.

And lest you think that's a huge area... It's pretty literally an alley:

Big cities have alleys between buildings.
Nashville has alleys between large trees and large stuffed animals.

Some establishments went for the more polished style of old-school charm:

I do declare...

While others embraced the rough and ready:

Those are, in order, a crystal/jewelry shoppe, fudge shoppe,
coffee shoppe, and candle/soap shoppe.

But honestly, whether charmin' or chahming, the whole reason to come here is for the old-fashioned style. And like all good merchants and respectable shoppe owners, the people here know that.

"Should we get some sort of unified design aesthetic?"
"Nah. Random IS our design aesthetic."

For these awesome shoppe owners, it's not enough to have a player piano in your ice cream shoppe entry hallway. No, it must be fully stocked in the Nashville/Muppet style:

And if you asked,
"Why would they have a player piano in a ice cream shoppe?"
then you probably don't belong in Nashville.

But let's take a second to step outside the ice cream shoppe. (Preferably with a very tasty banana shake like I did.)

First floor, ice cream, candy, and fudge.
Second floor... Why would anyone leave the first floor?

Astute students of architecture would probably notice a few things about this picture. Not being one, I have no idea what those would be.

But being one who vaguely pays attention to architecture and also someone with a fondness for history, I can tell they probably didn't build buildings like that back when this was being settled in the early 1800s. Probably.

I believe Informative Plaque tells me
they built rough wooden public houses in 1867.
Thank you, Informative Plaque.

Brick buildings like the above seem more late 1800s. Much like this sort of wood building:

The stoplight? Probably not an original fixture.
Probably.

Or the Brown County Court House.

Sshh! If no one can find the court, all us judges get to go home early!

Buildings like these imply that for a brief period, Nashville, like every other small town at the time, was moving forward into the future, embracing the new, boldly striding forth into the twentieth century kicking and screaming while dragging a big stick and talking softly.

Or something like that.

But somewhere along the way, they realized that wasn't really who they are. Sure it's a part of them, and they gladly accept it, but they learned to really embrace themselves.

Like the cheerleader who gets to college and suddenly remembers she likes "Icky Math."

Or in this case, old wooden buildings.

Because that one right up there? That's a modern building. Built in the old style.

With a Modern Alley.
(Punkish Hipster Joe not included.)

There are many who come to Nashville and talk about the rich art culture, the galleries, the crafts, the theaters (they're small, but there!), the restaurants, the junk food country food...

...but what I like about it is its sense of identity. Which, to be fair, is quite possibly, "I'm not sure what I am, but I'm damn proud to be it! An' if'n yeh don't like it, yeh can git out!"

And darn-tootin', sometimes a little countrifyin' is good fer waht ails ya'!

The Fair Town of Fairmount's Fair OR Run, James Dean, Run!

Cool aficionados, that is to say, aficionados of cool, not aficionados who are also cool, are already familiar with Fairmount, Indiana.

For those of us who aren't as cool, Fairmount is the birthplace of James Dean.

Which means, of course, that the Hoosiers will have an annual fair.

Because Hoosiers will take any excuse for an annual fair.

Now, I am pretty familiar with fairs, usually of the art variety. For years my mother has had booths at various Art & Wine Festivals across the west.

Let me tell you something:

This weren't no art n' wine festival.

The first thing we noticed was the parking. Fairmount gets an enormous influx of people for this festival, and their street planning is clearly not ready for it.

I see someone's lawn. Others see a parking lot.

Fortunately, however, the Fair Citizens of Fairmount are ready for it.

I see an empty lot next to their house.
They see an opportunity.

And this wasn't limited to parking. Lawns with strategic locations between the main street fair and the incredibly large car show (don't worry, I'll get there) are clearly aware of their "plight."

Plight: Noun. An annoyance one can turn into an opportunity
to sell crafts to passersby.

As for the fair itself, well, let me start with the first thing I saw:

I giggled at the irony of naming an auto part
after someone who died in a car crash.

Followed by the second thing I saw:

Yup. This was, in fact, part of their parade.
And it wasn't the only one.

The fair was down-home country style all over:

Ah, good. I was worried they'd only have a large tenderloin.

What is a spiral spud?Well, take an enormous potato,
spiral cut it so oil can really get everywhere, and fry it.
Oh, and more giant tenderloins.

Excellent! A "healthy" alternative!

This juxtaposition, however, entertained me the most:

An enormous Avon tent, bringing perfumey smells to the whole block...

Manly man, sculpting logs with a chainsaw.
Bringing sawdusty smells to the whole block...

Normally, I would think these would be at different ends of the fair.

Nope.

Side note: I also saw this tucked away to one side. It made me wonder what this place was like when it wasn't fair time...

This here? It's called foreshadowing for a sequel.
As unsubtly as possible.

But I know why you're reading this post. Particularly you, Dad.

You want to see the cars.

Fine.

I would give this one first place in the whole show.
Seriously.

But honestly, there were a LOT of classic cars, each one more lovingly restored than the last. Which is saying something among ACRES of classic cars.

Let's chronicle my thoughts:

Nice!

Impressive... Good work, here...

Oh, that's neat! They have the matching trailer thing!

Sweet! Something relating to James Dean!
(Note: This is a replica of the car he in which he died.)

Another James Dean... Reference...
....I guess...?

Wow, there are a LOT of cars here....

Oh my god, they just don't end!

Bahahaa! Lookit the tiny neat sportsy thing!

About there was where I may have snapped. I mean, I can admire cars as much as the next guy (well, maybe not JUST as much), but the people behind these have taken it to an art form.

And it really is impressive.

I have much more admiration for people who restore a classic car to the condition these were, then use it as an excuse to get out there, meet new people, and display like the work of art it is.

Because while there were GOBS of these cars, each one, truthfully, was a work of art.

After all, the Louvre is pretty much wallpapered with incredible works of art.

And they're still pretty cool, right?

Before I piss off anymore art lovers by comparing Renaissance masterpieces to restored '57 Cadillacs, I will leave you with a clear sign of my mental state leaving the car show.

For some reason, this entertained me enough to grab a picture of it:

What ARE 'chu gonna do, bad boys, when dey come for you...?
....on their police-issue ATVs?

And yes, he WAS going by at high speed (for an ATV) with full sirens and lights on his way to an emergency.

I guess, in its own way, Fairmount does still breed cool.

Looking Back at Montrose, CA OR The Way We Were

Back before we headed off across country, we lived in a town just outside LA. It seemed a little... gauche to begin a blog with how much I liked where I lived.

But now it's a retrospective! That makes it nostalgic!

So this week, I'd like to tell you about my old neighborhood.

Technically a "Small-Town-Turned-Business-Park"...

...But it was always a woman neighborhood to me.

Anyone who visited me while we lived there knows I have to begin with one place:

The local Coffee Bean.

Quiznos was around the corner, not in the same place.
Though people sometimes came in asking for subs...

I've fond memories of this Coffee Bean (See? Nostalgic!), since I wrote three scripts while vibrating from their coffee.

I spoke often to the various employees there, and while it was corporate policy to get to know the regulars, I always got the sense that they would have done it anyway. There was always people hanging around, chatting, and genuinely enjoying one of the prime neighborhood gathering grounds.

And there were several. See, the bulk of Montrose's commercial district was on two long, tree lined blocks.

Well, trees and sculpted lamps.

Along the streets were enough restaurants for one to easily and enjoyably plow through more than their monthly dining out budget in two weeks. (Ask me how I know!)

Oddly, many of them involving an animal and adjectives...

Sometimes more than one!

But I also need to point out some awesome landmarks in the form of unique, independent shops, the kind which are hard to find in a modern major city.

Like the small bowling alley...
...seemed to have something filming there once a week.

Or incredibly awesome toy stores.

But I also feel the need, especially given my authorly proclivities, to mention one of our favorite shops:

Though I'm still not sure why
"Your Family Bookstore" is in quotes...

To give you an idea how much we loved that shoppe (yes, shoppe), we would find ourselves in there at least every other week... Even when we were trying to avoid it to save money!

I will be honest, there are many things I enjoyed in this neighborhood, bordering on too many to put here. But mostly I'm able to look at things for the standpoint of moving forward. Of enjoying what was there when I had it, but also able to enjoy what I have now.

Except one thing. One thing that I miss about our old place so. incredibly. much.

Allow me to demonstrate:

This was the view down our street from in front of our apartment.

The roses and lawn? Not part of my building. We had concrete.

See that thing in the distance with the red things above the windows?

Let me give you a closer look:

Trader Joe's is usually awesome.
Being half a block away only makes it AWESOMER.

Seriously, there was something just... divine about looking in the fridge, seeing nothing, running to the store, and coming back with tasty Trader Joe's food five minutes later. (Seriously. We timed it once.)

I know, I was spoiled, so it's probably better for me to be a little more self-sufficient. You know, like planning grocery shopping more then ten minutes before you need the food.

But I would like to end with a tiny rant about many of the people you frequented Montrose...

....Specifically the people who liked frozen treats. (And who doesn't?)

This was the local frozen yogurt place, located on the corner across the street from the earlier Coffee Bean.

What? It's yogurt so it's healthy, right? Entirely zero calories?

Right down the street was a place that opened before we moved to Montrose. Home of exceptionally tasty Danish ice cream.

See, "is" is Danish for ice cream, so it's pretty clever!
.....It took us months to figure that out.

We could never understand why people would pay for "healthy" yogurt that they could get a hundred places when a just down the street was a unique place with incredible ice cream that reminded us every time of the gelato we found in Italy.

Oh well. We did our part. By which I mean we bought enough ice cream that the people working there would wave to us when we passed on the street.

.....In retrospect (or nostalgia?) it's probably better for us that we moved away.

Or at least our waistlines.