Blood And Dumplings

Darling readers, I got to do something this weekend that I've ALWAYS wanted to do. I went on Esotouric's Crime Bus, where these smart, hilarious guides take you on a tour of LA's historic true crimes scenes.

These folks have gleefully turned over every rock in our fair city to reveal the slimy secrets that lie beneath, and they're happy to dish them up along with dumplings to a busload of nosy urban-spelunking weird-history geeks like myself. (And a bunch of Red Hat Ladies, who didn't seem to be as thrilled with the expletives and the ephemaera as I was.)

This one was themed 'Blood and Dumplings', and took us through the San Gabriel Valley, sometimes lovingly referred to as the "rat's asshole of LA." (I'm paraphrasing Mr. James Ellroy cause I'm too lazy to look it up.) Who knew there were that many trailer parks? Or the onetime headquarters of the US Nazi Party? Or lesbian roommates shooting each other up with coma-inducing drugs? Well, now I do.

Then we ate dumplings from one of LA's most amazing secret restaurants. What could be better?

Oh yeah, the fact that it was FO' FREE, cause I went on it for work! (Usually $60 bux, which is why I hadn't done it yet.)

Thanks and secret handshakes to Richard and Kim and their partners in mayhem who made the tour so fun, and a tip of the fedora to my crime buddy, Terry, my new favorite denizen of our cracked-up oddball glorious rotting city.

Faygotastic.

Pop. Not soda. And you pronounce the 'o' like an 'a'.

I got all nostalgic when I found Faygo pop in a grocery store in Traverse City. It's a local Michigan brew, and I lived on it when I was a kid, cause it was cheep. So I hauled a bunch home and shared it with fellow Michiganders and other lucky friends. It tasted like syrup, sticky and sweet.

And then there's the real syrup that my Aunt Jan gave me. She made it. With her friend. Who has maple trees. Homemade. It takes 40 gallons of sap to make one gallon of syrup. That's right, suckas. Pancakes at my house.

(And check out the Faygo recipe site - Faygotastic Ribs!)

Life, Liberty, Beaches and Pie

Yep, that's the slogan of my ancestral home, also known as the Cherry Capital of the World. So fitting, because when you think of Coco, I'm sure that's exactly what you think of - Life, Liberty, Beaches and Pie.

Here's the cherry pie that my aunt made with Traverse City cherries. They were from Uncle Timothy's orchards, so you know they were fo' free. And the local cherry wine that we drank with it. Yum.

One of the bottles of win was from the National Cherry Festival. Did I mention that there was a festival? With a Cherry Queen? And Cherry Princesses? I thought not.

Fashion & Family, Traverse City-Styley

Dudes, I'm back from Traverse City, and I will never be the same. I went for the Heritage Foundation Fashion Show that featured clothes from my great-great-grandmother and other relatives. It took place in the Opera House that my ancestors helped build, it was emcee'd by my fantastic Uncle Timothy, and it was cool as hell to see these models wearing vintage clothes against a backdrop of my ancestors decked out in the same gear.

For extremely obvious reasons, it was especially gratifying to yours truly when they busted out a pair of my great-aunt's panties. Ruffled.

It was a weekend of non-stop history, fashion, and eating (lest you forget, it's always about the food). I loved it. And, as it turns out, I'm related to practically everyone in town.

Other highlights:

- The freakin' amazing architecture of this teeny little town. Some architects have moved there and created cool modern eco-house, which somehow fit in well with the classic barns and farmhouses.

- Fluffy white cherry orchards and rolling green farmland surrounded on both sides by blue, blue water.

- Tea at my Uncle Timothy's house, on one of the old family farms, for which he busted out the Limoges.

- Eating lunch in the mental institution where my grandparents met.*

- The State Theater, a vintage movie house that Mr. Michael Moore has updated to HD and turned into a venue for a world-class film festival.

- All the food you can grow here: Cherries, blueberries, mushrooms, milk, cheese, grapes for wine, and every vegetable you can think of. You could eat entirely locally.

More Michigan tales to come, but in general, I have one over-arching thought: I love being from this place.


*I promise neither was an inmate. In true form, the building is now being turned into a chi-chi residence area, with apartments above and food/wine/art/cafes on the ground floor. We ate this amazing meal with all locally grown ingredients from area farms. Word.

Fashion & Family, Part II - More Pix

You're So Not Ready For Traverse City

And neither am I. This is what I'm doing this weekend:

"Grand Traverse Heritage Center presents A Vintage Fashion Show & Chocolate Decadence Buffet, 2-4 p.m., featuring the Norma Wilhelm Carroll collection, $20, benefits GT Heritage Center, reservations; City Opera House, 106 E. Front, Traverse City, MI; 995-0313."

Why am I going? Because Norma Wilhelm Carroll is my grandma's sister, and my Uncle Timothy, who used to be the head of the Peace Corps in Russia and Poland and is now a gentleman farmer, found a trunk of her old clothes in the attic and donated 'em to the ladies of the Heritage Center. The togs are from the 1800s and 1900s, the fashion show is going to take place in the City Opera House, which my family apparently helped build, and there's gonna be old photos of my relatives wearing these clothes as the backdrop to the show. Then we're gonna go to Uncle Timothy's and have prune kolach and tea.

Dudes...how does it get any better than this? Family history, vintage fashion, Northern Michigan...I'm almost speechless at this upcoming gold mine of Dirt. And guess who's gonna get it fo' free? That's right. You.

The Most Hollywood Sentence I Will Ever Write

Here it is:

After turning in my screenplay last night, I got up early and went over to Venice for the first surf of the season with my producer.

It just don't get more LA than that.

Clear blue morning, sparkly waves, salt water in my hair, coffee outside - the perfect way to celebrate. And it's so damn good to get my little fishy self back into the water. And of course, it was fo' free. (Cause Gus bought the coffee - thanks, G!)

I Finished My Script!

The now-ritual photo of the ritual glass of wine while holding the finally-finished product.

Not that I haven't been drinking - it's just that now I can go back to drinking with other people.

Word.

LOPeeps Fly Cheep!

Dudes, unbeknownst to them, Southwest is sponsoring COCOLOPO8 by throwing a super-cheep ticket sale to Sacramento. Check it: $59 each way to Sacto from Burbank. You don't even have to deal with LAX!

Get 'em now and lock that shzit in. Shuttle service available from SMF-LOP. (Driven by super-foxy drivers.)

*Be sure to thank Jackie and his hot-pink YSL. He Alerted me to this Dirt.

I Wear My Sundresses At Night

Saturday night Miss T and I went for dinner at the sushi joint around the corner. Like me, she has also been so incredibly busy that she was kind of beyond speech, but it didn't matter, cause it was one of those hot hot nights where we both just tooled around in sundresses and flip-flops and the smell of jasmine was overpowering and tons of folks were hanging out at the bars around the corner from my house and talking and laughing and smoking and drinking cold beer.

Sometimes it feels like a vacation just living here, and no more so than nights like these. Sundresses at night - so good and completely fo' free.

Love From The Lily Pad

I know I have been extremely girlie lately and posted about flowers THREE TIMES this year, but I am walking around my little hothouse in the sky all drunk off the smell of these amazing giant lilies. I picked 'em up at the Hwood Farmer's Market. (Tip: Go just as the market is closing and they're like $2 bux a stem.) Flowers are the one thing that always make me feel rich, even when I'm broke (and have the best life).

Love from the lily pad.

Ruffled Panties. Cheep.

Dudes, the store around the corner from my house is having a ruffled panties sale! They're just like the pineapple kind I posted about long ago, and they're only $12 bux, which is expensive for panties but cheep for the cutest pair you'll ever rock beneath a sundress. Trust me, you need these.

The ones that're on sale mostly feature cute astrological signs, which for most chicks is super-dope. But for me and anyone else born in June/July, there's a problem, because there's no way I'm gonna clap a pair of Cancer panties with a bunch of crabs all over 'em on myself, if you know what I'm saying and I think you do. So I just decided that when it comes to ruffled panties, my star sign is Honeybee.

If you don't live near me and MUST have these undies, let me know. I'll run around the corner and pick 'em up. Please specify star sign and bootie size and I'll do my best. (Girls only - No way am I sending these ruffled panties to guys, not even "for your girlfriend." Trust me, I don't care what you do on your own time, but there are things I don't need to know about you.)

And big props to Caro for Alerting me to this vital piece of Dirt.

The Earth Is Made Of Dirt

Things to do fo' free on Earth Day:

1. Walk somewhere instead of driving. Check out all the stuff that you don't see when you're simultaneously shifting/changing the station/drinking a latte/talking on the phone/applying mascara. (I have never done this.)

2. Put a seed in some dirt and add water. I'm not gonna tell you what happens, but trust me, it's magic.

3. Wear blue. People across the country are doing this to show that they don't want any more coal power plants to open up. These plants are the largest single CO2 producer in the world. (Much worse than those steaks and SUVs.)

4. Call your senator/rep at 202-224-2131 and tell them you want them to enact some badass climate change initiatives. (Preferably ones that create green jobs for our suckling economy.)

5. Turn off your computer. (As soon as you finish reading this, of course.)

5. Go vegetarian. I won't be doing this, but knock yourself out.

Happy Earth Day, kittens.

A Perfect Storm of Dirt

Sunday was a perfect storm of dirt. Here's how it went down:

1. BevMo 5 Cent Sale - I rocked on down to BevMo's twice-yearly wine sale to get a bunch of cases for LOPO8 Fest. Now, you can get all snarky and Silver Lake Wine Shop on my ass if you want, but twice a year at BevMo, when you buy a bottle of wine for the regular price, they give you the second one fo' 5 cents. Which, as all you heavy drinkers out there know, is practically fo' free.

2. Hollywood Farmer's Market - Fresh cheese, fresh bread and warm tomatoes on the vine, straight from the dudes who made 'em. Not free, but cheep considering that they created the best sandwich one could ever hope to eat in one's entire life.

3. Girlie Clothes Swap #3 (or #4 - I can't remember) - I made sangria with 5cent wine and strawberries from the Farmer's Market and a bunch of my best girls came over and we all ran around in our underwear and got a bunch of new clothes fo' free. So if you see a bunch of ladies running around town looking extra good (especially one named Darcy), that'd be us. Calvin Klein and Geren Ford, yo. (And if you live in the area, come on over - there's still plenty left.)

I Become A World-Famous Supermodel

So I'm walking back to my car from the cafe yesterday when all of a sudden this guy in a Hyundai Elantra pulls over next to me and gets out, saying "Excuse me?" I start backing away while of course maintaining my Midwestern wary-but-polite "May I help you?" face (not to be confused with the Colette Sandstedt Look of Death). He says, "I'm a photographer and I'd like to shoot you while I'm in town I love your dress and of course you'd be paid" (cause he could sense that I was not fo' free) and he shoves a business card into my hand and gets back in the Hyundai and leaves.

Now, of course, you know I was looking good, but that is not the point. The point is, he had one of those clip-on police sirens slapped on the top of his Hyundai. And given that, I just wanted to let you all know I'm giving up on the writing and am taking him up on his offer. Cause, you know, I'm gonna be a star.

COCOLOPO8

Yes, it's that time of year again, when I kick my parents out of their home in honor of them giving birth to me and supporting me for more years than I care to admit, so that my friends and I can take over the LOP Sandstedt Lake House for a birthday weekend of ME. And you. And food. And drinks. And the pontoon. And the paddle-boat. And the water worm. And Jake's hot-pink YSL. And all the caftans, cowboy hats, kimonos and cutoffs you can stand.

Let me know if you can come. If you can't, you will be missed, but trust me, I'll feel way sorrier for you than vice-versa. The lake will change your life.

Families with babies get first dibs on the private rooms, and we have plenty of water wings etc. from the nephews.

Dates: Friday, July 18 - Sunday, July 20.

The only rule: Don't touch Coco's grill.

Advice

Big ups to the O.G. jogger who yelled at me this morning, "Concrete is 18-22% harder than asphalt!"

I.e. "Get your ass off the sidewalk and onto the road if you still want to have knees at my age."

Advice. One thing that always seems to be fo' free.

Got any?

Death Metal & Porcelain Panthers

I’m just returning from a weekend of death metal and porcelain panthers in the neo-gothic outpost of Cicero, Illinois. A girl needs a vacation now and then, even if it's not fo' free, and I’m not talking about Palm Springs; I’m talking about an entire change of venue, of state, of wind chill.

So, after a long liquid flight with my new long-haul trucker friends Ed and Bob, I touched down in the alternate Midwest universe of dank, dark rock clubs, deer-hoof coat racks, and the ghost of Al Capone playing cards upstairs. The wind howled through the streets in a dusty whirl of stamp collections and Nick Cave and architecture as we mixed mojitos and new tracks and put more damn vinyl on the record player.

And before I could even think, I was doing shots of Becherovka and eating svickova na smetane while famous Czech rock bands gave lectures upstairs; I was rummaging through bins of exotic jewelry in patchouli-filled secondhand shops; I was head-banging to Dead Child in the Empty Bottle while getting hit on by girls and checking the drummer’s right hand for broken bones. That night I dreamed it was so windy the house blew away.

I flew home yesterday with shadows under my eyes, snakes twisting around my finger and a panther at my throat, thinking of satellites and silk screens, squinting into the sun and wondering how it could be 97 degrees anywhere in the world at all.

Tell Me Baby

Nikki Six had an extra ticket to the AFI Music Docs Series at the Arclight last night, so I fought past the paparazzi screaming outside for Britney (some premiere), and went with her to see the new Red Hot Chili Peppers doc. It was about the making of three of their "Stadium Arcadium" videos, including "Dani California" and "Tell Me Baby".

I like and respect the Chili Peppers, but I've never loved them 'til now. Here's why: In "Tell Me Baby", Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Faris (Little Miss Sunshine) had amateurs audition to play one of the Peppers' instruments in the video. Then, while they were playing, the other three Chili Peppers would bust in and finish the song with them. You should have seen their faces as they realized that they were jamming with the band.

At one point, the cameraman for "Tell Me Baby" said, "I expected these sad losers and dreamers, but all these kids were really great." And the whole video kind of acknowledged that everyone starts somewhere and comes here with a dream, and just because they're an unknown on an audition, it doesn't mean they're not great. And believe me, these folks were great.

The Music Doc Series is my favorite thing ever (the two best things in the world together), and it's by far the best thing that the AFI has ever done (including educating me). N6 and I have gone a few times over the years, and every time I came out smiling and happy and loving the Rawk even more.

Free. Tibet.

Chocolate and Cheese

It's what's for dinner. At least it was last night. (And wine.)

When you're a grown-up, you can eat whatever you want, whenever you want. I remember plenty of times as a kid, looking forward to the day when I could do just that. (These fantasies often included eating an entire pound of bacon by myself.) But now that I'm an adult, I sometimes forget to.

And, truly good chocolate is cheeep compared to other luxuries. (Just not compared to Hershey's.) So have whatever you want for dinner tonight.

I Dream of Barack

Last night I dreamed that Barack Obama and I were hanging out with a security guard in a building in DC. He leaned in and whispered to me that he had been in love with me ever since in grade school, and then he started singing Dolly Parton's "I Will Always Love You". He sang really quiet, because he didn't want anyone to hear. Because of Michelle, you know.

Hey, I'm not the only one. Check out I Dream of Barack. Cause dreamin' is fo' free.

(And thank god I Don't Dream of Hillary. Or McCain.)

The One Thing That's Been Missing

I've lived in LA for a while now, and I consider myself lucky because I feel like I have it all. But there's been one thing that's been missing, that I start to yearn for every year around this time:

A friend with a pool.

Face it: When it gets really hot in the summer, you don't always want to hike all the way out to the beach and deal with the waves. You just want to jump into a clear cold refreshing pool, then lay in the sun with a beverage. Fo' free.

I figured that sooner or later one of my friends would get a pool, and as it always happens in LA, it never rains but it pours. Not only did the lovely Alex get a condo with a giant one (and a hot tub) in South Pas, but Shaun and G.U.S. and T-Love just moved into a place with a pool over in Santa Monica. Now, no matter where I find myself, I'm never more than 15 minutes and an invitation away from everything I ever needed.

Whorange: The Color Of Craving

Now, we all know that The Dirt Alert is dope, but guess what? There's another sick-ass blog out there, and I'm addicted. It's Miss Tulita's cheeky little Whorange, and it's all about design and decoration and desire. As in: You desire to buy everything that she highlights on her pages. Basically, it's like living inside her head, and let me tell you, I'm just one in a long line of people who would like to do that. She's funny, she's dope, she's sassy, and she's got better gear than you and I ever will. And, at least reading about this stuff is fo' free.

So if you need advice on how to turn your Ikea into I-candy, or you think there's nothing sexier than a squirrel in a suit, go whorange yourself out. Who knows, it may become your new favorite color.

Duudes.

Last night I was throwing back Cracker Jacks and beer with Craig and three of his buddies at Dodgers Stadium (again), when it hit me how much I like dudes. I don't mean like that; I mean like how much I appreciate all my platonic guy friends.

Guys are dope for:

- Shooting the shit
- Not talking, except about pitching stats
- Putting together bed frames
- Going to art openings with you
- Teaching you to surf
- Scratching
- Getting a guy's perspective on that loser you're dating
- Drinking beer with
- And then making sure you get home safe.

Don't get me wrong, I love my girls and they all know it. But man, guys are good. And, as they will be the first to admit, they are definitely cheep and fo' free.

Panties On, Dance Off

I gotta give a shout-out to Daily Candy, who alerted me to the Jockey Underwars. You can win $25K for dancing around in your panties, which you do fo' free all the time anyway. There's a whole tournament, and you can even challenge a friend to go head-to-head.

So who's ready to bring it on?

Sox Spring Fever

I thought I would be lucky to get one person (Craig) to go with me, but a bunch of people rallied to go see MY BOYS THE WORLD SERIES WINNING RED SOX play the LA Dodgers in a pre-season showdown in my very own local ball park.

Now, this was a treat that could not be passed up, but ladies and gentlemen, I warn you, it was not cheeep and it was nowhere near free. But somehow when you get to watch Varitek and Big Papi and Manny AKA Sideshow Bob play ball in the very first game of the (pre-) season, you don't care that you're shelling out $11 bux for a Bud Light, $7 for a questionable hot dog, and $12 for a weird Cuervo margarita thingy that comes in its own plastique shaker.

The tickets themselves were $22 bux for not-good-seats, but that didn't matter so much, cause we never sat in 'em: We went straight down to the empty seats in the better section, and when I went down to the first row to watch a couple of plays, I had a spectacular view of the guy who got popped in the head with a foul ball. (There was blood.)

A baseball stadium is one of the last few truly democratic spaces in America. (I just threw that in to make it sound more important than "a place where you drink beer and talk shit." And, oh yeah, watch baseball.) Maybe you don't wanna go every day, but at least try to make it to one game.

Kudos to: Alex for knowing the sneaky back way in, Tue for his badass spontaneity, The Real Janelle for finding the fast hot-dog line, Val for spearheading the margarita drive, Craig for being the first to sign up, and G-Reg for his stunning garlic breath.

Work The Friendly Skies

She had miles on Northwest, I had a free ticket on Southwest. She wanted to go to San Fran, I wanted to go to Traverse City. (Don't ask why - you'll be jealous.) She called in and used mine; I worked through about 700 NWA computer screens and used hers. Et voila. Now we're both going fo' free.

If you ever need to go somewhere and you have points on some other airline, just call your friends and trade. It feels good to work the airlines. Just like they worked you on that 7-hour layover in Houston.

Half Woke Up

Do this: Go to the Hollywood Farmer's Market this Sunday and buy a big bunch of lilacs. They only have 'em for like, two weeks, so you have to go now.

You get a ton of branches for six bux, which is cheeep, so you can put a big vase of 'em on your coffee table and still have enough put the littler stems in jars all around your house.

Besides the gigantic sprawl of flowers on my kitchen table and in my living room, I put some on my bedside table and when I half woke up in the middle of the night, I took a deep breath and the smell of lilacs was everywhere. Amazing.

Mr. Microphone

I got a new friend. He's this sound recordist who has been collecting microphones for as long as he's been in the business. He keeps 'em in a glass case in his studio.

I love it when people have random, completely in-depth collections of archaic technology - old typewriters, farm machinery, whatevah. It probably has something to do with the fact that I've kept every cell phone I've ever had. And that I'm a total dork.

Tiny little museums. Fo' free.

A Charity (and Robert) Event at the Pink Palace

I am lying on my couch recovering from the champagne I drank at Charity and Robert's wedding reception at The Beverly Hills Hotel last night. It was so lovely to see two people who had clearly found each other, and the crowd of glamazons and foreigners and techno-dreamers whom they call friends were all on hand to share the love and the occasion and to take a dip in the chocolate fountain. (Dessert, people - never hurts to clarify.)

And the Beverly Hills Hotel...so pretty, so pink. It was my second night in a row in Old Hollywood, but this time with a brand-new couple. Congratulations Charity and Robert!

Dinner In Old Hollywood

So last night I had a dinner meeting with The Hardest Working Man In Showbiz. We had some moving-picture business to discuss, but where to go, where to go? Suddenly, he had a brilliant idea: Musso and Frank, The Oldest Restaurant In Hollywood, where all the big stars used to hang out.

Ladies and gentlemen, it was an inspired choice. So I put on my vintage black-and-red chili pepper dress and my Mary Janes and my bright red lipstick, and I swung on down to Old Hollywood.

It's the kind of place where old-school waiters wear red jackets and have napkins draped over their arms, where Hemingway and McQueen and DeNiro used to throw back scotch and steak while little old ladies in hats obliviously spooned up jellied consomme and oyster stew in the next booth over. And, of course, it's less than a minute from my house.

THWMIS and I settled in, and over gin-and-tonics and grilled lamb chops and mint jelly in little paper cups, we talked about our movie. And somehow the food and the pleather seats and the dark wood conspired to give our conversation a larger, more exotic context, because hadn't generations of young, ambitious, strangely-driven people done the exact same thing we were doing? Hadn't they discussed their stories and strategems and dreams in this very booth? Hadn't the guy across the aisle from them also spilled his water all over the floor, bringing not one but three waiters bustling over to mop it up with aforementioned napkins-over-arms?

Finally, after solving all the problems of the world, or at least figuring out how to stuff a few of them into our film, we swung out to our cars, and even the parking attendant was gallant in a way that transcended the usual seediness of the boulevard. Somehow the restaurant and its history and the gigantic, almost ridiculous, Old Hollywood full moon overhead conspired to give the night a glamour I hadn't felt in a long time.

I am in love with this crazy, impossible town.

Happy Easter Peeps!

Easter is my favorite holiday because:

1. Best candy, hands down.
2. And when I say candy, I mean Reeses Peanut Butter Eggs.
3. And malted milk eggs.
4. And Peeps fondue.
5. And tiny jelly beans.
6. Black, to be specific.
7. And the religious pageantry is the best. Blood, lambs, rising again - it's all good.
8. And also winter is over. Like, so over.

The Radioactive Boy Scout

So the other night I had the extreme pleasure of hearing my friend G-Reg's script read aloud by actors at a Sundance-sponsored staged reading. The movie's called The Radioactive Boy Scout, and I've been there as G-Reg has pummeled the story into shape over the last little while. Given that, I am extremely happy to report that Greg has roundly kicked the Boy Scout's ass - it was so cool to see a script that has just lived as words on paper come to life for the first time, especially when the writer is your friend. It's an entirely different being. Plus, there were great shout-outs to Detroit Motor City. Rock N Rye, anyone?

Rock N Greg, I say.

Spring Is Cheep

Dudes, get on down to Trader Joe's and buy yourselves some Spring. It's only $1.49 a bunch, so buy a lot.

It may be freezing out (not that it is here, but we do have some readers in Chicago and Duluth and San Francisco, you know), but:

Daffodils = Spring. Cheep.

A Room With A View

When faced with a choice, always ask hotel (and restaurant and bar) staff what they would do.

Case in point: When I checked into a hotel in SF last week, the lady at the desk asked me if I wanted a room with a king bed or one on the 22nd floor with two doubles. Now, I always want a king, but there was something in the question that made me pause, so I asked her what she'd do. She said "the two doubles", so I did it. And this is the view that I got. Fo' free.

The windows were all steamy when I took this. When they weren't, the view was crispy and perfect, and you could see all the way to the water on both sides.

All Alert, No Dirt

I have been working so much lately AND I got the kerfluey not once but three times, so it's been all alert and no dirt this past month. (I'd like to say I've been working my ass off, but regrettably, it's still there, and bigger than ever since I haven't even been able to run.)

But, I did drag my wasted little self to not one but four birthday parties last week, North and South Coast styley, in a feeble attempt to get back in the action. On Sunday it was Conchita's birthday, during which we downed champagne and coco-cake and then decided to hike to the highest peak in SF (super good for the sickly). Then it was Brother Erik's bday on Monday, during which I represented for the entire Sandstedt family by quaffing 2 giant margaritas and 2 beers (it's hard drinking for five) and gave Erik all his gifts, which Southwest mercifully did not unwrap, as threatened.

Then it was back home for the Pi/Jeff Birthday Combo at Brass Monkey, where I donned a long blond wig and totally horned in on some guy's rendition of "Don't Stop Believing" (which we all know is MY song, way before the stupid Sopranos).

There. I did my part. Back in ackshun. Bring on the spring and the dirt!

PS - That's Pi in the wig, not me.

Total Lunar Eclipse In 40 Minutes!

The last one 'til 2010, yo, and it's sposed to turn red, and it's a full moon. So get yourself outside between 5:45 and 7PM, Angelenos. Or get thee up to Griffith Observatory and elbow aside all those pesky seven-year-olds lined up with their moms and dads to get a glimpse of la lune through one of the many telescopes that'll be set up.

I'll be howling on my balcony like a wolf. Fo' free.

The Strike Is Over!

Hollywood is finally back to work as of today, and the writers got a big piece of the pie. Yum, yum.

We didn't get everything we wanted, and neither did they; that's why it's called a compromise, the basis for any good negotiation. But the writers did get the main thing they were asking for: a fair percentage of gross profits when their shows are streamed over the internet, and that's the most important thing. As Forbes sez: The winner is New Media.

Collective bargaining + the power of the people when they band together = fo' free. Labor = not fo' free. Good job, people. The most important