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.

Sightly Star Strolls OR Stargazing From the Living Room

To my regular readers (I know you're out there somewhere!):

I'm starting something new. Rather than have this descend into a travel blog, I'm going to vary things up a little. See, not everything fascinating needs to involve travel. Some things are just awesome in and of themselves.

One of those is the app Star Walk.

Icon totally grabbed from the App Store page.

My father-in-law showed this to me when out on a walk one night. My first response?

Awesome.

Now this isn't a tech blog. So I'm not gonna talk about how cool the interface is, or how it uses the technology or other such things like that.

All right, maybe a little, but not because it's a tech blog.

Perhaps it's the child of the 80s in me, but there's always been something about green on black that makes me think, "Technology."

Not just settings. Technology settings

But green is for normal technology. TRUE technology, now that is RED. Like awesome space-age technology from an 80s Sci-Fi movie.

Or Virtual Boy. Which was technically the 90s, but still seemed 80s.

But beyond that is the augmented reality usage by this app.

Allow me to demonstrate:

While on a walk in the neighborhood with my lovely wife, I took a picture of the moon.

Really! That's the moon! And there's clouds and sky and stuff!

Then I took a walk in the stars... (also with my lovely wife):

Told you the moon was there. Also evidently Neptune and Pluto.

And it doesn't just see through clouds. Walls mean nothing to Star Walk.

Ladies and Gentlemen: An ordinary wall...

Voila!

Let's watch that again, adjusting for location...

And yeah, that is compass marks on the image.

This app has been out for awhile, so I know I'm not the first to geek out about it, but I definitely won't be the last.

I've spent way too long staring at this thing inside and outside to be anything but fascinated.

And you know what? I'm going to embrace my geeking out. Witness the spectrum slider:

X-ray! (Located just below the Hulk spectrum.)

Microwave!

The frikkin' International Space Station!

For those of you who are bored, I will cease boring you. Those of you who aren't have probably long since wandered off with this thing.

Where'd they go? No idea. But I have feeling I know what they'll be looking at and when they'll be looking at it.

Probably watching the Draconid Meteor Shower on Oct. 7th and calling in sick on the 8th.

But the best thing about the app is the feeling of belonging I get while looking at it. Things here on Earth still matter, and are still important, but isn't just about Earth.

Moving this app around, I'm reminded that the stars aren't just overhead. They're under our feet, over to the side, behind you right now, and right in front of you.

It's a reminder that the sun keeps moving after it sets, that the planets keep orbiting, and that it's not us vs. the universe. It's us AND the universe.

It also reminds me that we are totally living in the Future.

Falling Over for Pendleton, Indiana OR The Great Mario Lighthouse Battle

Indiana is filled with small towns and cities. In a state with a million less people than the San Francisco Bay Area in six times the square mileage, there's a lot of space to spread out and establish your own identity.

Which is exactly what Pendleton did.

Pendleton's stately Town Castle Hall.

The Historic Pendleton downtown has many of the standard small-town things:

Such as antique shops.

But it also does things with its own local flare. From the local herbal and holistic center:

NOT what I think of when I think of Indiana.

To the imprint of its local citizens on the community:

I sincerely hope Dr. Jones regularly says, "Excuse me, but you're in my seat."

It also has several local restaurants:

A puzzling group of local flavor...

...And you can take that to the bank  

But what I really enjoyed was the rather large park next to downtown. Pendleton Falls Park.

Home of Signs that Say Little and Carry a Big Red Title

One of the things that caught my attention immediately was the unapologetically bizarre nature of the park.

For example the cannon guarding the pond shore from the lighthouse.
In a landlocked state.

I'm still not sure what this is.

Falls Park also enjoys the distinction of being home to the Pendleton museum. Unfortunately it was closed when we arrived, but not, certainly, uninteresting.

Pendleton is nothing if not thrifty.
Why waste a farmhouse/barn when it can become a museum?

Now before you immediately say, "Why would anyone care about Pendleton history?", my friend Ominous Tree would like to say something to you. Say hello, Ominous Tree.

Good evening.

Despite the picturesque area surrounding Ominous...

Picturesque!

...Ominous shades an interesting historical marker.

If you remember US history, back in the 1800s our country and culture wasn't exactly nice to Native Americans. Or really anyone not white. Or even the right kind of white.

So I found it, well, fascinating to see this:

Wait, what? Indians are people, too?

While the rest of the country was fighting about race issues, Pendleton laid down the law (literally): If you're a person, you deserve to be treated like one. And if you murder people, the law will come down hard no matter what their race.

It was the first time in the history of the US that white men received capitol punishment for killing Native Americans. Which, while tragic, is a rather important distinction.

But moving on to less morose subjects...

I said LESS morose, Creepy Graveyard!

Actually, the graveyard was off of a very nice trail that ran through the forest near there. Remember those yellow lines on the stoic sign? That's the trails.

Follow the yellow line trail!

I quite enjoyed the trail: Wilderness and nature just outside of town.

You know, the pretty kind of nature...

...Like the river.

Speaking of the river, remember that whole "Falls Park" thing? And the whole "Pendleton Falls"?

Well, yes, Virginia, there are falls in Pendleton. And they're exactly the kind of falls one would expect in the flat half of Indiana:

See how the water FALLS a good 2-3 feet?

But actually, that's one of the things I like about Pendleton. They don't make excuses for their tiny falls or weird lighthouse. In fact, they celebrate them both. Seriously, the lighthouse is like a mascot to them.

Because while Pendleton is many things, it can mostly be described by being Pendleton. And it enjoys everything that makes it Pendleton. Odd, quirky, peaceful, awesome Pendleton.

And while leaving, I found the quirkiest, awesomest thing of all:

Some see a planter. I see a Mario pipe.

Yes, Pendleton: Site where Mario decided to stop jumping on his enemies heads, block up the pipes, and take a cannon to them.

And their lighthouse.

Deep-Dishing Again OR Take Me Back to that Same Old University

Back at the turn of the millennium (being able to say that will never get old), I had to choose which institution to attend for my collegiate education.
For a variety of reasons, one of which I will admit was the unique color scheme, I chose...

Note: During my tenure someone may have climbed this to hang signs from the center on multiple occasions.
There is no direct evidence that person was me.

That's right: Good ol' NU. Known for a variety of exceptional academic, science, and arts programs. Also for its usually bad football team.

After 4 years at NU, I lived two in Chicago, then left and haven't been back for 7 years.

...Until now.

Well, hi there, Chicago. Have you been there this whole time?
I guess you have, actually...

Any guidebook can tell you about Chicago. And any tour guide can show you around downtown far better than I could.

But I'm still going to show you highlights. Starting with my favorite buildings in downtown.

Ah yes, the famous Something Towers.
Built in Some Year, these towers are blah de blah, blah de blah...

What's that you say? Why would I like these ones? Well I'll tell you, demanding fictional person.

It's not the weird 60s-idea-of-the-future condos (though those are cool). It's the parking garage. See, the bottom of those is an open-air parking garage where the cars pull into spaces facing off the edge of the building. And the only thing separating those cars from plunging into the river (or the street) is a single chain.

I can't explain it, but for some reason that always entertained the hell out me, picturing someone getting home late, forgetting to put the parking brake on, then a big gust of wind (remember: Windy City) pushes the car off to run free in the river…

Yes, obviously the engineers were smart and took this into account. But it still entertained me.

Like the river.

Known for being dyed green on St. Patrick's Day.
...And having Chicagoans make jokes about dyeing it blue the rest of the year.

Everything made sense to me the time I learned Chicago came from a Native American word meaning "Stinking water." That's right: It was a swamp. (Depending on who you talk to, it still is. Ba-dum CHING!)

Coming from the Golden State and growing up surrounded by natural beauty, it's poetic to me that mankind has built such a city on such ugliness.
There are several jokes there, but I'll just make this one:

Speaking of ugliness... I appreciate the effort, Sheraton,
but nobody's buying that your building was here during the 1900s.

Now before we head up to the north shore, I would like to point out something that was kind of awesome:

We happened to be there during an air show, and headed down Navy Pier, where we got to see a Navy ship...

Ready to kick some alien ass in an entertaining-but-financially-unsound movie.

...And had several flybys by some sort of crazy blue contraption calling itself an angel. They had some sort of name…

...Oh that's right! The Awesomest Pilots Ever.

Ten-year old Gavin was squealing with joy while I took these pictures.
Probably why so many came out blurry.

Moving father north, up LSD (no, not the drug), through Wrigleyville (some people wanted to see Wrigley Field) and ever onward on the lake shore, we came to Northwestern.

And at Northwestern, the Theatre building.

Believe it or not, this is the front entrance...

...See?

I spent most of my four years in this building. Someone was rehearsing somewhere in the building, so we managed to get in and find it blessedly free of those obnoxious things called students. (Not me. I was NEVER obnoxious- Okay, yes. Yes I was.)

It was...Weird. Things were the same, but not at all.

Even the theater I'd spent two years in during acting class was… Just a black box theater.

With a garbage can.
Somehow it breaking the sense of mystique seems appropriate.

Back when I was in college, this was going to be my life: Theaters and lights and performing and drama and other such things.

To a certain extent, I still find theater spaces like cathedrals or chapels: Stately and venerated.

Which is weird, because I was part of a really bad production
in this theater that should be the opposite of revered....

In a way part of me had always felt like I was still a student at NU, that for some reason that part of my life (you know, the part everyone says is the BEST YEARS OF YOUR LIFE) was always there, unchanged and easy to revisit.

But not so much. Time marches on, and so do grand old Institutions. And so does the town. I recognized only a handful of names on the faculty list, and wandered through the empty hallways like a ghost in an old home.

Which is why I was glad to go back. Because while some things stayed the same…

Like the serene beauty of the Shakespeare Garden...

...And the quirky humor of the student body.

...Things change. When I left college and Chicago, I didn't even know the woman who became my wife. My beautiful wife, the woman without whom I can't imagine exploring and living life.

And while I showed this amazing woman around my old college, a thought occurred to me:

I like it when life changes. It's what makes it so damn fascinating.




....And yes, while there we had deep dish Giordano's pizza. That, for one thing, was still just as amazing as ever.