Shopping for vintage clothes was for me something of an art. Or maybe a sport. I had a little talent for it. When I was a teenager, I almost exclusively wore antique (what we called it then) dresses. Shirts and coats as well. The only vintage pants I remember buying were those old high-waisted navy sailor pants. Those were so friggin’ bitchin. But they were made of wool and itchy. I was all about the look though, and an itch I could tolerate for the look.
When I started driving, I would head out to a favorite store on Wilshire in that strange hood just before Santa Monica, near Barrington. The Junk Store. A semi-nasty person owned the place and when I tried to purchase my first item there — a black velvet 1940’s coat with big padded shoulders and white, sorry to say, elephant ivory buttons — I was told to go straight home and get a written note from my parents.
A lot of parents were coming in complaining about and returning their kids’ purchases. I thought, “WHAT? My mother loves my style and everything I buy and wear. I also make my own money and it’s not my parents’ business.” But I went along with it, and I’m such a goody-goody that I brought back a legitimate note. I could have gone outside and written my own. I’m slow. Everyone went to The Junk Store for the must-have ski sweater and the patchwork quilts.
Jane Curtin, my former colleague on Saturday Night Live, characterized school cafeteria food in a way I’d never thought of. One day, on the set, I was waxing poetic about the fact that I loved the stuff. I think Spaghetti Day was my favorite. 
Back in the day, I did buy pre-packaged granola bars. The ones that we were told were “good for you”. The more I got into making homemade everything, the more I realized that most things in a package, bottle, or can contain lots of ingredients that are not only manufactured but one’s that I cannot pronounce.
The song you’ll hear after the jump is about driving my daughter Charlotte’s teenage carpool in 1998. The absolute horror of it. All I can remember about it was how much I hated it. Then, today, I was reading through my journal from back then, and come across the following entry. I must have been writing things for Charlotte to read in later years. She’s 26 now, so Charlotte, this is for you:
I have
taught English for over twenty years and the reading, planning,
grading, and yes, the teaching consume much of my waking time from
August 28th until June 20th every year. I have never had children of
my own. But I guess you could say, I'm "the village." I have taught
about 3200 students in all, ranging from the kids whose mothers clean
the homes and care for the children in Santa Monica to the kids in
Santa Monica whose moms employ the other moms.