I gave myself a little "mission." I would walk to a bunch of the Downtown Fullerton Art Walk venues and give them posters and flyers for our upcoming Three Year Anniversary Event in the Fullerton Museum Plaza, which is just two weeks away (March 1--It's gonna be awesome!). This "mission" would accomplish at least two things--I would help promote the Art Walk, and I would be able to interact with people, which is another good way to overcome weird lethargic feelings.
So I visited Tranquil Tea Lounge, Eden Cafe, Max Bloom's Cafe Noir, Mulberry St. Ristorante, BTNC, Buffalo Exchange, The Night Owl, American Vintage. I popped into Out of Vogue and Pam gave me a little update on Mike Atta, who is battling cancer. He's getting his strength back, awaiting his next appointment and treatment. I popped into Blanquel Art on Wood, and spoke my broken Spanish with the owner, who is one of the sweetest people I know. He was working on an elaborate wood carving for the USC Latino Alumni Association. I left Blanquel smiling.
Since I'd run out of posters and flyers, I got some lunch and then wandered past my old Alma Mater, Fullerton Union High School, the Indians. I remember when I was going there in the late 90s, there was some discussion of changing the mascot because it was offensive to Native Americans, but the school kept it. (I think it's offensive). I ran into my friends Tony and Scott, who were skateboarding. Scott did a sweet stair jump to rail grind to kick flip. Nice work, Scott. I continued wandering through the empty campus, feeling a little nostalgic, but not too nostalgic, because high school wasn't THAT great.
I crossed Lemon St and wandered through the Fullerton College campus, where I work now. I love the WPA buildings at Fullerton College, the sense of history that is deeply connected to the Great Depression and Roosevelt's New Deal. I thought to myself...I get to work at a very beautiful place.
I continued along Chapman Avenue, named after "Citrus King" Charles Chapman, past the old Hetebrink House, which has given me the creeps ever since I learned that its last inhabitant, Albert Hetebrink, was a member of the Ku Klux Klan. Fullerton has a weird history.
I entered my neighborhood, College Park, wandering past craftsman houses and the occasional orange tree. I tried to imagine what this place was like when it was mostly orange groves. And then I got home, and my weird lethargic feeling was mostly gone, and I felt like writing.
