Window Dressings and Duvet Covers

Everywhere you look in L.A., people are hiding behind houses, cars, clothes, friends, tattoos, careers and many other things. However, the window dressings, the displays, are usually creative and spectacular. Without a doubt, all over the world, people are hiding for one reason or another, whether it is for lack of self worth or for fear, real or imagined, and if self-worth and fear aren't the culprits, then shame and guilt are. Though, in other parts of the world, the duvet covers aren't as pretty as the ones in L.A.. And with a pretty duvet cover, who needs to know what the comforter or blanket underneath looks like?

Today alone, I saw a young starlet wearing sunglasses that ate her face, leaving only a pile of hair and a strong chin showing, which resulted in her looking like an oversized nose with bangs and a bob. Yet, the chic sunglasses and funky platform shoes kept my attention. I counted four Mercedes, two of the E class series, a really expensive sporty one, and a common one, when I was crossing the street at the Sunset Junction intersection in Silverlake, a part of L.A. not really known for bling bling. With two of the cars being white and two being black, at least the owners had classic tastes in car colors. At the gym, I noticed a handsome, short older man with his trophy boyfriend, a Brad Pitt look-a-like but younger. Desperate for the women and the men to lust after his prize, I smiled every time I heard the show-off shout to his purchased companion, "Give me six more!" Sitting at the coffee shop this afternoon, I noticed the scruffy twenty-something guy at the table in front of me. A tattoo of an anatomically drawn heart with crows flying out of it covered his right forearm. Noticing the meditation book on his table, I inquired about what type of meditation he practiced. "It varies," he said, serious and distant. "So are those crows or ravens on your arm?" I asked. "They are just blackbirds," he replied, grinning. "Does the drawing mean something to you?" He nodded, adding, "It reminds me that all the blackbirds have left my heart."

Just down from my apartment are these trendy but hip boutiques. When I walk by, I stop and appreciate all the great dresses on display. I imagine my beautiful girlfriends wearing them. And while I am not shallow or sexist or fashion conscious, I really appreciate a woman who knows how to dress herself, particularly when the essence and spirit of the woman is lovely, and the dress simply matches that, as is the case with the women in my life.

I've lost count of how many times people have commented on my Southern accent. One fellow I met at a play the other evening asked me if my accent was real, a question that I've never gotten before. I was speechless for a few seconds, unable to determine whether he was serious or simply being a smart-ass. The former was confirmed when he added, "I've met guys out here who have faked a Southern accent to get attention." I laughed, and then I managed to string together a few sentences. "Well, if I was going for attention, I think I'd need more than a Southern accent. Maybe a mullet and a dip of snuff. But, you know, my daddy and my brother are the same person." I'm sorry to report that he didn't find me as humorous as I found myself.

Sure, L.A. is full of superficiality and materialism. Overall, though, I'm finding that it isn't as pretentious and shallow as the stereotype. But at this point in my life, I'm willing to embrace the window dressings and duvet covers when it means I get to surround myself with all the creativity and joy that are here.