The villa

When I first went by the villa, I didn’t think it was a villa. I thought it was an Egyptian tomb.

I was riding my bike with a bunch of friends at night, and I said, “Hey, did you see the mummy?” They thought I was crazy. I noted the location so I could investigate further in the daytime.

So I went back on Sunday afternoon. I was in the right place according to my notes, but it didn’t look familiar. I was no longer in Egypt, but far across the Mediterranean Sea where grapes grew and ladybugs bugged and butterflies floated drunkenly in the warm, dry sky.

Actually, it was a little overcast that day.

I guess I wound up taking a lot of pictures, because after a while a man came out of the villa and greeted me. He told me about the work he had done on the house, the origins of the various statues and stonework, and the painter who had made the mural that wrapped around the house. And then he took me inside the house. It was amazing. Peacock feathers and art deco lamps and the mural extending throughout the house, and… the tower! He had a tower with a spiral staircase going up to the top.

I would have taken photos inside the house but I got a little overwhelmed, and I also think I caught the man’s wife in the house by surprise. “It’s okay,” he kept saying as she would disappear into a different room. “I’m just showing her the house.” He assured me that she loved showing off the house.

When we were outside, he showed me my favorite part of the house, more favorite than the Egyptian sarcophagus or the cool stone walkway or the tower that I would spend entirely too much time in if I lived in that house.  My favorite part of the house is the mural on the side that includes a depiction of the house itself.

Critique for a Sunday afternoon

This image from the comic The Hand of Doom is nearly perfect, but it is missing one crucial element. A Don Martin sound effect.

I’m thinking, “PLOK.”

via If Charlie Parker Was a Gunslinger, There’d Be a Whole Lot of Dead Copycats

Waffles for a Sunday morning

I don’t want to take away from the greatness of a cartoon featuring a cat and dog team named Waffles and Don, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t an actual Aesop’s fable:

Of course, I could be wrong.

Temple of The Sacred Aspiring Starlets

“July 23, 2008; Wilcox Avenue north of Melrose in Hollywood:

“We were firmly convinced that it was a moderately priced bachelorette apartment building that we had come upon, and not a tomb.

“The arrangement of entrance passageway, door, and telephone entry system reminded us very forcibly of a more ornate version of our former habitations in the Los Feliz area. The fact that Victoria’s Secret catalogs were to be found in the mailboxes seemed almost certain proof that we were right in our conjecture.

“We were soon to know. There lay the sealed doorway, and behind it was the answer to the question.

“Alas, the manager was not answering her phone to buzz us in. Our discovery was to be delayed for yet another day.”

Apologies to Howard Carter