Pasadena Adjacent

Day

Talbott Electrical Inc. Neon Sign in non-working condition (since 1924?)

Night

Our latest triumph, achieved under the direction of the home despot, Mr V. While “driving with Mary” I came upon the discovery that we were sitting on an untapped gold mine. Glass bubble lamps! All over the finer chotsky shops of New Mexico (Mary loves her shops) these lamps appear to be a high-end staple. Remembering that Mr V had picked up a couple of them “cheap” at garage sales, (for the purpose of sticking cameras inside; a concept that turned out to be a conceptual dead-end) I decided to retrieve our lamps from rust and early retirement. Since I’ve been channeling Lucille Ball as of late, voices have been repeating “swag! make them swag”. And of course, this turned out to be a “do it yourself” electrical nightmare. Blood and tears were shed. Made even worse by the added discovery that Berg’s hardware has taken a holiday break. Then along came Talbott’s. The voice of experience (since 1924). A dying breed. Six Talbott run’s later (not to mention several runs returning all the wrong stuff to the big box stores) and we’ve got swag.

Translation is the art of failure
Umberto Eco

In a western town on the edge of the Rio Hondo River, where the Navaho don the neon feathers of their distant enemy. They take on names that are untranslatable, but Spanish sounding, familiar, reassuring. Counterfeit reality; the authentic fake. Believe what you wish. No one’s here to stop you.

Our neon guardian, El Vado, stands watch over a multi-unit dwelling. The ersatz pueblo celebrated it’s 70th anniversary by closing. Crowned by chain link and barbed wire, the celebrants have left  their party hats behind. Maybe they’ll return. When it’s to late.  Believe what you wish. No one’s here to stop you.

But we have cowboys. And they have their secrets too. El Don Draper would have you believe Cowboys wear Levi’s. They don’t. They wear Wranglers. El Don Draper wants you to think it’s 1960, life is saturated with color and South Pasadena is Connecticut. Believe what you wish. No one’s here to stop you.

And at the risk of appearing a cultural imperialist, would it be so wrong to imply that not all petroglyphs are created equal? That some are nothing more than mere sketches; started under a blazing sun, it’s author harassed by  biting insects. Is it possible that our “nobel savage” said “I give up!” and did? A skilled critic might argue that these forms are the precursors to the space age. Or South Park. Believe what you wish. No one’s here to stop you.

and the techno flowers embrace colors unreal.  Believe what you wish. No one’s here to stop you

Episode One: Driving with Mary/ Grand Canyon