All The World’s A Fair

I haven’t had a night like Saturday night since possibly fourth, fifth and sixth grades? Not that I was an elementary school delinquent partying late into the night – rather a complete Halloween addict who couldn’t sleep all night in anticipation of donning that year’s get-up. Get-ups that consisted of a frog, a fly and the pink panther. Yes, I was a bona-fide geek. It’s that all-night anticipation however that came flooding back Saturday night in crazy anticipation for Sunday’s Festival Of Brides (www.festivalofbrides.com) which set my mind a blaze, keeping century watch as the clock flipped from 1am, 2am, 3am, 4am – finally giving up at 4:30am and called it a night to start my exciting day!

A booth that’s been weeks in the making included hundred of miles schlepping without leaving the City of Los Angeles: Trips to the downtown fabric district, antique store hunting, marble and stone yards in the boonies and endless communications with my amazing album, print and signage vendors. (www.wildmagnolia.com, finao.com, bayphoto.com, wellingtonsigns.com respectively). Amazingly, all the tiny pieces came together bright and early Sunday morning and I could not have been more thrilled with the wonderful responses from all the couples and brides I met, along with the other fabulous wedding vendors and photographers present. Hats off to Mary Ann Bradley and her staff at Festival Of Brides – Odalys, Olivia and Katie Tiffany are event planners extraordinaire!

The booth however did not build itself (my muscles will remind me of that all this week). I am unbelievably blessed with such loving friends and family who all rallied before the sun came up to meet at the Langham Huntington in Pasadena to build this booth. Hubby Greg and niece Colleen helped unload and reload two cars, including a 200 lb. slab of Carrera marble. My dear, dear friend of 30+ years, Erica, along with her wildly talented mom Karen, came to design and decorate the space. I wish they could have stayed through the day just to hear the oohs and aahs.

The booth got built and the brides flooded in. I met so many fun and happy people with wedding locations ranging from Wayfarer’s in my own backyard to Santa Barbara and and the Russian River. Oh! The magic I will create!!

My ONLY regret from the day was the missed chance to walk the fair and meet-up with all my colleagues. My booth achieved completion only minutes before the fair opened and remained a bustle the entire day. By the time the fair ended, my 4″ heels had other plans for my feet and walking the ballroom’s circumference was not one of them. Hopefully, next time  – which will be February 28th at Terranea Resort in Palos Verdes!

One down two to go.

Shameless Plug

I’m often overwhelmed by my head’s inner dialogue as to what is blog worthy and what is not. I could be here every single day exploiting the fact I breathe – but rather I prefer to choose days in which I’m enthusiastically inspired. All the marketing gurus in the milky way instruct me to check-in here daily and leave some remnants of my mind. Forever geared towards sincerity, I just can’t play that way. Thank you for loving me just the way I am.

If I’ve whipped up a frothy fervor of intrigue as to what inspired me to type today, it’s nothing more than my week’s preparation for the “Festival Of Brides” wedding fair on Sunday, January 31st. Located at the fairly new Langham Huntington in Pasadena (formerly The Ritz Carlton) this event is marketed to the higher-end of the bridal wallet spectrum. Given that marketing spin, I’m worrying myself sick trying to create an exhibit alluring and informative enough to justify the mini fortune invested to participate.

All my worrying and visa charges would be for naught without you to help me spread the word! If there is a wedding invitation in your near future, please encourage your love-struck friends to visit Mimi Teller Photography this Sunday at the “Festival Of Brides” wedding fair. I do have a handful of complimentary passes to the first dozen or so brides who contact me. I would be happy to share those passes with your friends! For more information please visit: www.festivalofbrides.com

Tell them to look for this face in the exhibition ballroom

Anatomy Of A Kids’ Portrait

We spent a cool and hazy afternoon yesterday on the otherwise beautiful Laguna beach for my annual Campbell/Morgan/Michael family portrait. In addition to most of the familie’s wedding photography I am enlisted this time every year to capture the family’s reunion. Half the family members are in Orange County while the rest travel in from Collierville, Tennessee!

Two of my Tennessians are the adorable Gregory, age 5 and younger brother Spencer, barely two years old. Neither has the gift for sitting still (acceptable given their age) but Spencer, poor guy, was sporting a 102 fever! Despite the odds, we captured a photo mom is destined to love – but here are some of the moments leading up to the winner slated for framing and posterity:

It’s A Small, Small, Small, Small World

Somewhere in the summer of 2007 we befriended (and eventurally hired) Venice Beach based architect Michael Eldridge to help us rebuild our home in the Hollywood hills. While in his office today for about our 8th or 9th two-hour visit over the past two years, I noticed behind where I always sit a cabinet of file drawers with the project names on the handles. I noticed one of the handle tags read “30 Copra” and squealed “how funny! One of my oldest and dearest friends Tori of owns a home with the same address” and Michael replied “Tori Robinson?”…..

There are some 10 million people in L.A. county and probably thousands of architects in the same area and two friends of 28 years unknowingly hired the same architect. Tori and I need to talk more.

New Facebook Friend

Looks like Marty’s journal will reach his son after all….. (see: “His Father’s Son” entry)

Playing In My Backyard

Our dear friend Susan sent her newly engaged niece (and soon to be nephew) down to Redondo Beach today for their engagement photographs. We played around the pier and had a grand old time keeping it all soft and romantic until Kimmie mentioned they love grunge – far be it for me not to give them grunge:

His Father’s Son

This entry must start with the disclaimer that I’m not holding any sort of a flame for the man I once considered the love of my life – even though no better chemistry ever existed. While Marty will always rate high in many memories, the downside of our relationship is worthy of mental lapse. He’s been dead for ten years which actually makes it harder to forget him.

When Marty died tragically ten years ago it naturally came as a shock – all of 33 at the time, the victim of a construction accident.  I was working for a new client in Santa Cruz and retrieved a cryptic home phone message that sounded like: “This is a call for Michelle, we have news about your mutual funds”. Only legal entities (and Marty) call[ed] me “Michelle”, thus concluding a financial institution had called with bad news. With further thought however I realized I didn’t have mutual funds. I was stumped. In returning the call, the “mutual fund” turned out to be  “mutual friend” Diana calling to tell me of Marty’s fate. I immediately started dialing a few ex-beaus to tell them they were all good people and our relationship ended only cause we were not a good match. I needed to make sure if any of them died all ends were tied. Unlike Marty.

Our four year love/hate affair ended horribly eight years pior – I might even have said “drop dead” never imagining such things came true. He was bad news for my world.  I won’t dis someone unable to defend themselves but the Cowboy Junkie’s song “Misguided Angel” might very well have been written for Marty – I first heard the song while living in Hawaii with Marty and to this day, our story comes to life in those lyrics.

The first few years of our romance Marty wrote prolifically and beautifully. We met early into his naval career, the bullshit of life aboard the U.S.S. Sam Houston had yet to surface, ultimately sinking Marty’s buoyant spirit. In those fleeting days he wrote candidly and poetically, describing life around him and the love within him. It took me many years to dispose of all his words. Half not wanting to forget the depths he took my soul and half needing to forget those depths. In the end, I kept one item, a journal he kept while on a naval deployment. A very personal communication meant for my eyes and heart only.

When Diana told me of Marty’s death, she also told me of his son Shane. A son whose existence became known only in Marty’s last year of life (or so the story goes). At the time I believe Shane was all of six, a tragic time to lose the father you’ve only known for a year. I still had marginal contact with Marty’s Mom and considered sending her the journal. I even considered finding Shane’s mother and sending it to her. In the end, I decided to hold on to it longer. I was not ready to see Marty’s feelings forever disappear, using the excuse that Shane was too young to appreciate his Dad’s adult thoughts. I also didn’t want to risk the archival skills of the adults in Shane’s life. Yet that journal was slated for Shane. Someday.

Someday came today on streaming radio, as the memories of my misguided angel wafted out my desktop speakers. I never really knew how I would find Shane. I didn’t know his last name (his parents were ships that passed one night), his grandmother had moved to Hawaii with no forwarding address, all online searches for Marty’s siblings came up empty. I have no idea what prompted me today to type “Shane Infinger” on Facebook but when I carried through the impulse, Marty’s image flashed my screen. A 16 year old version of Marty’s chest, neck, even jawline – the one, profiled image making it hard to confirm the characteristic shadows beneath his eyes. He was still a ghostly image of a bittersweet memory. Not a shred of doubt in having found Marty’s son.

Will a 16 year old appreciate his father’s journal? I’m hoping Marty’s beautiful exterior wasn’t the only gene passed. First however, Shane M. Infinger needs to be my Facebook friend…..

 

In My Backyard

If you’re holding season tickets to the LA Phil or have visited Spain in the past ten years, chances are you’ve marveled at Frank Gehry’s innovative and fluid architecture. What I didn’t know, his studio is ten miles from my house. Not only that, but I received a full tour today of his studio and all his recent projects, both those still living and breathing (Louis Vuitton museum in Paris)  and some defunct (NY Knicks Stadium, Brooklyn). Having suffered my own years as a design major, all those paper curling and balsa wood projects really do translate into real life. The numerous Dubai Guggenheim scale models alone must have cost million hours of man power, just by the gluing of the conical dome infrastructures (see http://www.designbuild-network.com/projects/guggenheim-uae/guggenheim-uae1.html). As if my life wasn’t complete enough seeing Gehry’s entire studio, I actually got to meet Frank and spend a good 20 minutes while he chit chatted with my clients, the Austrian Cultural and Arts ministry and MAK museum executives. I wish I could share the photos but it wouldn’t be ethical. You’ll just have to take my word for it!

What I can share however are the photos from the Shindler house apartments we visited today. They are adding on a wing to great fanfare. I met a charming group of Austrian, Swiss and Canadian students who won a prestigious scholarship to live in the Pearl Mackey apartments. Wow, talk about sparse living conditions! I think the entire building, with some four or five apartments had maybe seven pieces of furniture – I wonder if I can form a worthy scholarship for someone to come de-clutter my home…

 

Take The Long Way Home

I’m genetically engineered to loathe traffic. I’m sure there’s few who embrace a good jam but my sanity cells start misfiring to the point where both my seat and emotional restraints are millimoments from snapping. I truly nearly walked away from my car in a 1990 jam on I5 near Anaheim. My POS (piece of shit) Datsun 210 was not worth the mental agony of the time being wasted sucking fumes.

With that established, I’m commuting this week a mere 15 miles or so to Venice Beach daily and choose the path of least resistance and convenience. It’s the coastal route running perpendicular to LAX’s departure path (don’t forget to wave). It’s a zippy but circuitous route and super moody when STORM WATCH 2009 meets the sunset. Nice trade off, huh? (PS – it’s supposed to be grainy, it’s shot with little light at 2,500 ISO)

Docweitler Beach

The Learning Never Stops

Day One of Bambi Cantrell’s Wedding Portrait Workshop. Man this Woman has zip! For eight plus hours Bambi enthused, exuded and exulted like the fountains at Bellagio. Had the additional joy of Bambi’s company over dinner at Baja Cantina. Not very creative tonight however – on the way home I found out my beloved Barbi’s papa finally left his Parkinson riddled body for a much more peaceful place. Resto in pesca Valentino Gobbi.