View allAll Photos Tagged PHOTOBOOTH
I don't remember much about this day, actually. All I remember is that it was taken at the Kress photobooth in Berkeley, on the corner of Shattuck and Addison. (Little did I know back then that I'd work a block away from there for 8 years.) But I can imagine EXACTLY what we did, because our routine didn't vary much, unless someone actually drove -- which was very, very rare.
We went to Berkeley all. The. Time. We'd get on BART, transfer to the Richmond line at the MacArthur BART station (racing like mad down then up the stairs to the opposite platform, breathless and triumphant when we justmade the connecting train), and get off at the Berkeley station. First we'd idle downtown -- walking over to Big Fun on Shattuck and University, to look at all the neat stuff and, if brave enough, talk to the supercute guy named Robert who worked behind the counter. (He sold me my very first pair of Go Go boots.) Then we'd go to Snoopy's (or Edy's) for a Coke, or if we were feeling sophisticated, to Upstart Crow & Co. Stop off, sometimes, if we remembered, to the photobooth at Kress Drugstore. Then down to Hink's Department Store to spray ourselves silly with perfume. And then up Center where we'd stop in at Stop the Clock, where we'd ogle the vintage clothes and sometimes buy. (And I wound up working there, many years later.)
Then up Center to the shortcut across campus, where we'd walk out of Sproul Plaza (with the chalk drawn DEVO potato on the Campus store, there for years) and onto Telegraph and its crazy swirl of hippies, punks, students, sounds of hare krshna tambourines, and smells of clove cigarettes, patchouli and pizza. (God I loved it then, and hate it with every fiber of my being now and avoid it as often as I can. Sad, really.) We'd make our rounds -- eating Blondie's on the curb, Rasputin's Records where we'd by The Velvet Underground or The Three O'Clock records), down the street to Yarmo and Shark's, and always, but always, stopping at New Haste Street, a tiny 60's/ mod vintage store, where the owner, Bob, was always kind to me and gave me huge discounts on paisley shirts and checked dresses. (He died right when I started working at Stop the Clock, and my boss relayed my gratitude to him for his generosity to a silly little girl all those years before.) If there was time and we were feeling daring, and down a few more blocks to The Cellar to look at more vintage clothes. We could -- and did -- spend hours poking around. And then we'd retrace our steps, get back on BART, and spend a whole dime on the payphone to get someone's mom to pick us up.
But this picture is a lesson, more than anything, on the (in)correct handling of photobooth pictures. Clearly, as the pinkness shows, we were a bit too eager to see the finished product, and didn't wait for the little fan to somewhat dry it in the slot. We must have, in our impatience, grabbed it and smeared it against the metal. I'm no scientist, but that's my hypothesis.
Another photobooth fact: The B&W ones always smell like eggs.
-within solar chair-
blue star
~liquid cookie smoke~
*1960*
_pluto_
:::spells and whipped cream trances:::
^^halloween 1, 1950 and 1960^^
haddenfield
on 1960
Faye could hear other people thinking. She couldn't tell WHAT they were thinking. She just heard a buzz like a busy signal.
Today I brought Santa (the chocolate version). He didn't last long, and lost his head. Was yummy though!
Merry Christmas you guys!