MY BLUE MOON NIGHTS: Maven has left the building. Literally!

MY BLUE MOON NIGHTS: Maven has left the building. Literally!, a photo by mavenimagery® Once In A Blue Moon on Flickr.

MY BLUE MOON NIGHTS: Maven has left the building. Literally!
Location: Salinas, California. This is the home where John Steinbeck grew up.

John Steinbeck Web Site:John Steinbeck was born in 1902. My class went to John Steinbeck's home. The first room we went in was the room that John Steinbeck was born in. That room was his mom and dad's room. It had two couches and two chairs. The lady that talked to us was Mrs. Hogan.

Jack-FM, “And now what, Maven? Do you really think they care?”
“I don’t think, Jack. I know.”
Jack FM, “So, you think…sorry, you know that it was worth it to drive a four hundred miles to, um, Salinas, right?”
I just stare.
“…where John Steinbeck’s house is. Stand there with those Peter Pan boots and take selfie and drive back just to post a ‘Farewell to Flickr’ image. Is that it?”
“That’s it.”
“And what’s the story with those fairy-Peter Pan boots?”
“That’s cute. Really funny, Jack.”
“No, seriously…”
“I’m setting a kick-ass trend you lame-o-ass!”
“Impressive.”
“I know,” I say. “Jack?”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you go and take that stinky, disintegrating shirt off? It’s as old as the Statue of Liberty’s gown, for fuck’s sake. And while on it, get out of this little dumpy building and, like, visit the mall or something. You know. Explore. See what’s out there. Get a life…get a new shirt, Jack!
You’re out of the frame. You’re boring. You’re not funny. You’re not charismatic. You dress like shit. Retire. Eat your trans-saturated fat-rich dinner at 4.00 in the afternoon, play golf, drink Yukon Jack shots and scream "Valhalla!!". Boring middle-age climacteric shit. Okay?
A perplexed look on Jack’s face.
“Thought this interview was about you.”
“I lied.”
“You’re kidding…”
“Nope.”
“Oh. What can I do to look charismatic?”
“ Look at me. I got a very unique name people wonder what it means. My name is Maven Huffman (not real name). A maven is a trusted expert a particular field, who seeks to pass knowledge on to others. I deal and produce ‘maven art’. I’m popular in the Jewish community who knows the meaning of my name. Check out my kick-ass portfolio.
“I did.”
“Mind blowing, creative and out of this world images. Hall & Oats personal photographer said, verbatim ‘You’re images blew my mind’. Let me blow your mind. I got Armani. Boss. Another Armani. This is what you need to have respect today. People evaluate you by your material achievement. Image is everything. You drive a Ferrari even the Heavens door will open. Not hard, laborious work. No one can see your 160 IQ. Not dressing like the BeeGees. The Grateful Dead. Whatever… No one will be grateful to see your raggedy-ass, awright? You need charisma. You look like the Bum of Beverly Hills.”
“You truly think I’m not charismatic? Or you're just trying to drown Jack-FM?”
“I guess you can’t force a leper to change his spot. I give up, Jack…”
Maven has left the building. Literally!

“You never really leave a place or person you love, part of them you take with you ,leaving a part of yourself behind.”
Maven

“There are souls in this world which have the gift of finding joy everywhere and of leaving it behind them when they go.”
Jean Paul Richter (German Novelist and humorist)


Gazing in awe, I stood in front of an old, impressive Victorian house. I see a man, in his late fifties, perhaps taking a walk, approaching toward me on the sidewalk. “You know where the John Steinbeck’s House is?” I ask casually.
He stops and looks at the Victorian house, his face wears a clueless expression. “I’m not sure. Isn’t it this one?”
“The sign says Sargent House.” I say, pointing at the huge wooden sign. “Not Steinbeck’s House.”
“Right,” says Mr Clueless. “It looks like this one, though.” Then he turns toward the direction he just came by.
“It could be somewhere back there. I think…”
“Yes. That’s what Tom said.”
His face turns blank.
“The GPS.” I say, rescuing the uncomprehending look.
“Oh.”
“Thanks. Appreciate it, sir.”

We fail to see what is in front of our nose. We take the ‘close by’ for a granted. The farther a person, place, historical place, legend, landmark is the more fascinating. Locals don’t give a rat’s ass about what’s around them. Today, I strolled along Hollywood Boulevard. I realized how much I missed to notice. Who the hell is ‘Sid’?
I stood in front of this Queen Anne style Victorian which was the birthplace and boyhood home of author John Steinbeck.
The by-passers this time were young: a little girl, probably twelve years old and an elder sister. They stopped, showing courtesy for not interrupting the shot.
Click.
I motioned at them to pass by.
“You know what this house is?” I asked.
“Um, it’s a gift shop,” said the elder sister.
“Really?” I feign surprise. “What kind of gift shop?”
“They sell old books, I guess. And postcards of an old man…”
“Interesting. Ever been inside?”
“Nah, I don’t like old books.”
“John Steinbeck,” interrupts the little girl. “He is an author. They sell his books and portraits. Ms Eleanor told us in school.”

Hats off to the new generation. Those kids know more shit than the rest of us…\

Visit our “Best Cellar” gift shop featuring unique gifts. It was here that storyteller John Steinbeck related talks of ghosts to the neighborhood youngsters. Read the banner.
Himm. Ghosts stories? John Steinbeck?
You'd do anything for money...