Sunday Night Surprise

So last night I was house-sitting and working towards my deadline and watching the mighty Red Sox lose to the heinous Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim. In short, not having fun.

Then, my luck changed. My friend came by to return my truck keys, and next thing I knew, we were drinking white wine with ice cubes and showing each other our new favorite artists (his: http://www.kozyndan.com; mine: http://www.sandowbirk.com) and talking about ancient Greece. (Did you know the ancient Greeks always mixed their wine with water? HA!)

One thing led to another led to Entourage, which we happily watched and re-watched, and then my friend took off, leaving me to watch Grey's Anatomy in merciful solitude, since I cry during that show like my mother during The Waltons.

So, instead of a boring work night, I had one of those random spontaneous hangout nights, which are somehow always more fun than anything you can ever plan.

Get Thee to the Valley

Why, you ask? Well, in my case, because it was my friend Jill-AY's birthday, so whatever she wanted, we had to do. We all met up at and got down at the Chimney Sweep, a janky little dive bar with bowling trophies on the wall and Tom Waits on the jukebox. Drinks were four bucks, the waitress was cool as hell - she even bought the birthday girl a G&T - and it was fun to be somewhere I hadn't been 5000 times before. So get thee to the Valley. At least once every five years.

Long Live Da Mayor

I had drinks with the Mayor of Silver Lake last week at Malo. (PS - who doesn't love Malo? Cheap drinks and amazing homemade chips and salsa for the piehole.) It was his last drink, as he took off the next day to become the Mayor of Bernal Heights.

The thing I love about the Mayor is that this blog was his idea. And, in the course of the evening, he had pimped it out to practically everyone in the bar. Especially the lovely ladies. And, within five minutes, the lovely ladies were giving suggestions for the blog, fo' free.

I should also disclose that I was drinking a beer purchased for me by the chivalrous Josh. Which leads me to another bit of super-obvious dirt: Ladies, let the gentlemen buy you drinks.

We love you, Mayor. You will be sorely missed. Enthusiam, support and ribs like yours are hard to come by.

See This Month's Bacon of the Month

This was delivered to my door today by my lovely UPS guy, who said, "Do they really all taste different?"

Yes, they do.

HOBART MARKET NO NITRATE HONEY AND SEA SALT BACON

Made from carefully selected pork bellies, cured with honey and sea salt and smoked to a mellow flavor. No nitrates, nitrites or artificial ingredients of any knd. Hobart is in the heart of the beautiful Western Catskills of Upstate New York.

Gotta give the props: http://gratefulpalate.com

RoboCoco

You can tell it's me by the lipstick.

I'm kicking out a script at warp speed (I'm not saying it's good...) and my writing group has dubbed me RoboCoco. And thoughtfully provided me with a playlist.

ROBOJAMZ:
1. Freak-a-zoid - Midnight Star
2. Don't Stop the Rock - Carious
3. White Lines - Grand Master Flash
4. Computer Love - Zapp
5. Dream Team - LA Dream Team
6. Don't Stop (Planet Rock) - Afrika Bambaataa
7. Don't Stop the Music - Peoples & Yarbrough
8. Jam On It - Nucleus
9. I Want to Be Your Man - Zapp
10. No Parking on the Dance Floor - Midnight Star

The Bday Dirt Just Keeps Coming

I'm sitting here stuffing my face with a Coco Cupcake - birthday cake for breakfast the next day, hell yeah.

As for the party - there were bikinis, there were waterguns, there were short ribs, there were presents that matched my dress perfectly, there were open flames, and finally, there was 'Bob and Carol and Ted and Alice'.

This was the outdoor movie we watched, all about the Swingin' 60s. And I've only got one thing to say - how come the guys got Natalie Wood and Dyan Cannon in fluffy matching bras and panties, and we got Elliott Gould in baggy tighty-whities up to his armpits and tufts of back hair that you could see through? NOT FAIR!

Still, props to Biggie G, my favorite tech geek, and The Real Janelle, the best cook this side of Fresno. And, for everyone who was there and was shoveling down those Korean short ribs, here's one more bit of dirt that I think you'll appreciate.


.....
THE REAL JANELLE SEZ:

The secret to cooking on the cheap? Asian markets. Produce is a steal, meat a fraction of its price (and butchers at the ready to prep it the way you want), and if you don't get grossed out by whole fish sitting in buckets of ice, you can buy yourself a whole snapper (delicious when stuffed with herbs & tossed on the grill) for just a few lousy bucks.

Korean Short Ribs for 30? A mere $24.08.

And now, for your birthday, I will share my super-secret Korean Short Rib recipe:

4 lbs short ribs (cut barbecue-style -- the guys at Bangkok Market, on Melrose just east of Western, will know what you mean)

1/3 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup soy sauce
4 chopped garlic cloves
2 TB sesame oil
4 green onions, chopped
3 TB toasted sesame seeds.

Mix all the above together. Marinate for an hour. And then toss on a
hot hot grill, 5-8 minutes.

Cocofest '06: I Get Dirt for My Birthday

Before I head off to Cocofest '06 at The Love Shack with my sleeping bag, bathing suit and some pork ribs, (BBQ, SuperSoakers, and outdoor movies with the Superposse), here's the Dirt that I got for my bday. But first, a few awards:

Worst Rendition of Happy Birthday: Currently #1 with a bullet - The Real Janelle. Believe me, this was hard-won.

First Person to Call Me on My Birthday: Fazzzzzzz. Working The International Dateline like nobody's business, the scrappy Aussie called last night and yelled "It's your birthday in Australia today!" Fuck, yeah.


And just so you know, everything you really need to know about me can be learned from the first posting.

....
DAD SAID:

As the reigning KooponKing, You must remember the 1972 Olds Custom Cruiser I bought NEW with a coupon from a 2 for 1 book. Saved +/- $600 in 1972 which was about 13% of the actual price ($4692-can you imagine?). We celebrated many of your birthdays with it, but alas it is gone now. I will celebrate this one with a large cocktail later on this afternoon. Love, Dad

........
BOOMSLANG:

Happy BDAY DirtGirl. OK here are my Dirt alerts:

1. Cheap Moving -- I need to borrow your truck for 2 hours tomorrow, that will be on the cheap or free right? (ok I'll put some gas in). What other blog can do that?

2. Pho Siam Thai Spa / Massage -- 1525 Pizarro Street (213) 484-8484. Forty large for an an hour is a great deal for such a classy joint. Here's the real Dirt Alert though. Search your local area for massage schools, they're always looking for bodies. You can get an hour for 20 bucks or FREE and as the Dirt Girl says, "you can't beat free".

........
FROM SOMEONE WHO WOULD LIKE TO REMAIN ANONYMOUS

My darling girl -
it's inappropriate to tell you what I did and got for free the other night for fear of what your father might think while reading your blog....but it was free, and I was acting pretty cheap. In a classy kind of way, of course.

.......
MAYOR OF SILVERLAKE SAID:

happy b-day coco,

some of the best things in life are free as you know better than anyone. like aggressively spooning with a good friend, on a cold night, on a camping trip after sharing a bottle of wild turkey. wild turkey indeed!

long live thedirtalert, another example of a daily pleasure that is completely free!

love you lots,

the mayor

........
THE BIBLIO-DIRT ALERT:

Want to get lots and lots of free books, read them way before anyone else does, and occasionally get paid to read them?

Become a book reviewer.

In addition to the massive prestige, power, and public recognition, and the whopping paychecks that all freelance literary critics command, you'll also get free books. Lots of them. Like five to 25 a week.

Of course, for every one book that you're really keen to read or pass on to a friend (like, recently, the Peggy Lee bio, the collected Joyce Carol Oates stories, new novels by Ken Kalfus, Shelly Jackson, Fay Weldon) you'll receive several from publicists who clearly haven't bothered to check what sort of books your publication actually features (historical romances, diet books, knitting guides, romances about girls who diet and knit).

But those you just set aside and let pile up until you're good and ready, and then you sell them at some nice used book store, to supplement your whopping paychecks.

Free books, and free money.

Good, right?

Happy birthday.

Option B: Make friends with a book reviewer. Raid the discard piles regularly. Get the benefits (free books) without the drawbacks (impoverishment, obscurity, storage issues)

.........
FIELD REPORT FROM DAAAAAAV:

Dav is currently hanging out with a baby elephant in the Vancouver countryside. Pictures to follow, if he knows what's good for him.

......
CINEMAGOAT SEZ:

I know I can't ask for a pity party from someone living in Los Angeles, but it was hot here in Seattle yesterday. And the bus just didn't come. I was supposed to meet Ryland, my favorite 75 year old, on the bus. Bad plan - never arrange to meet anyone of any age on the bus. After an hour, Ryland came running down the hill with his friend. They said, "Where is the bus? Where is the bus?"

Just as I had convinced his friend that we should use his, um, CAR, the seemingly a.w.o.l. #8 appeared. There weren't any seats on the bus, but there were three blind people with really hot furry dog panting under their feet and one man in a wheelchair screaming. Finally, a seat became available and a woman offered it to Ryland. She said, "Oh, please, sit down, sir, you've earned it." Ryland cracked up and couldn't stop laughing, but refused to sit down.

An hour later we arrived at our destination, an intertribal PowWow. An eagle feather had dropped from a costume, so all the veterans were called out to the field for a ceremony. Each one introduced himself (yes, all men) and named their dates of service. The last man said, Whenever an eagle feather falls, it is like one of our comrades who fell during combat. We must recognize all of these veterans, for they have earned it.

Ryland nudged me and smiled

...........
FAMOUS PEOPLE BORN ON JULY 22:

Alexander Calder
Willem Dafoe
Robin Williams
Albert Brooks
George Clinton
Bob Dole
Keith Sweat
Alex Trebek
Edward Hopper
Rufus Wainright
Don Henley
Steve Albini
Pope Innocent IX
Gregor Mendel
James Whale
S.E. Hinton
Alexander the Great
and Coco.

What I Want for My Birthday

It's my birthday tomorrow, and in honor of me, I want you to each send me a little piece of dirt.

You've read The Dirt Alert long enough to know how it works: Tell me something you've done recently, and how you did it/got it/saw it on the cheap. Or fo' free. And how you rocked it. Send me an email if you can't work the comments field. Dad, this means you.

It'll be like opening presents. And I'll post them on the blog on the big day.

WHO'S PARTYIN'?! ME!!!

I Am White Trash

What can I say? It's hot here and the wine was warm.

The Pigs Talk Back

I got this in the mail yesterday. No joke.
And last night, I dreamt that I went to buy pork ribs, and a talking pig that looked JUST LIKE THIS helped me pick out the best ones.
Sheeeeet.....

Skunk vs. Dog vs. Clam

So I went to two parties yesterday. The first was an early-afternoon product thingy at the Argyle. Basically, we went for the free schwag and champagne. To get invited to these things, just make friends with a journalist or publicist. It's that easy.

It was blazingly hot, like 104 degrees, so we ate mint chocolate chip ice cream and checked out all the cute summer dresses. Then we watched an actress pose for photos, and I figured out why I never look good in pictures. Basically, this girl, who isn't any cuter than you or me, twists herself into a semi-pretzel to present all the right angles for the camera. It is one of the most unnatural-looking acts ever. Ah, the deconstruction...

Anyway, it was too damn hot to stay (I felt sorry for the publicity ladies), so we walked out of there with a big duffel bag full of expensive product, including a lip gloss ring, like the kind you had when you were seven. Fo' free, suckas!

The next party I went to, that night, was up in my friend's beautiful little house in the Echo Park hills. It was lovely and peaceful, til her dog George got sprayed by a skunk. Then it was not.

So I ran round to the corner store and bought baking soda, hydrogen peroxide, dish soap, and three bottles of Clamato juice, picante style. (Working on MythBusters finally came in handy.) For all the critics out there, I got Clamato because they didn't have any plain tomato. Back at the house, I was roundly ridiculed, til a friend wisely pointed out that maybe the Clamato was better, because have you ever seen a skunk take on a clam and win?

I thought not.

Check Out My Tomatoes

So I'm eating these organic heirloom tomatoes that I just picked off the vine on my patio. They're still warm from the sun. Bill Gates can't get better food than I'm eating right now. He can try, but he will fail.

Becoming the hipster urban gardener is so damn easy: Buy and eat an heirloom tomato. Save the seeds. Get a deep pot, cause tomatoes need deep. Get a bag of dirt. Plant 'em. Water 'em. When the vines grow, tie them to long sticks that you've stuck in the dirt. You can buy sticks or find them on the street, which is what I did. I suggest wearing various vintage slips while watering and getting a cute orange retro watering can. For some reason it helps. At the very least, the neighbors like it, so your urban gardening is also furthering community relations.

So I got my tomatoes. Then I got all up in my grill and made chicken skewers. And now I'm chompin'. This is livin'.

The Secret to a Fabulous Life

There's really only one way: Have amazing friends who hand out ass-kickings and other big tools over large glasses of red and with little invitation.

And a mom who'll fly in and take you to lunch. (See, it's that airlines thing again.)

Doesn't matter if you're dead broke or rolling in it. This is how it works.

Thank you, guys.

Rabbit
Carrot
Gun,

Coco

Bacon Candy

So the girls and I went out tonight and we went to this new, very chi-chi place and we sampled what they called Pork Candy. I was highly suspicious, because, as everyone knows, I AM THE MAKER OF BACON CANDY.

Their bacon candy sucked. Mine is so much better. And just to fuck with them, here is the recipe, and it's not hard:

Bacon
Brown sugar

Coat the damn bacon in brown sugar. Put it on a cookie sheet lined with parchment. Cook at 350 F for 10 minutes. Pour off the damn excess fat. Cook some more, about 10 min. Take it out when the sugar is melted and carmelized. Roll into little squarish-round chunks of candy. Eat any mistakes. The candy will cool and harden into little packages of crack.

So there. Save your money and make it at home. Plus, you get more.

Jetlag - Cheaper Than Meth

If you don't have money for drugs, just go with jetlag. You stay up all night. You wander around in a daze during daylight hours. And you really don't want to eat anything, because when you're supposed to be hungry, you're asleep. And just like meth, when you come down off jetlag (which I hope will be soon), you'll sleep for 48 hours straight.

Jetlag: Just another way to have a fantastic life on the cheap.

Home At Last

I just got home, and now that I'm done licking the chocolate off my passport, I'm settling back in. It's a hell of a lot hotter here than in Sydney.

After a grueling 14 hours in business class (I'm telling you, make friends with someone who works for the airlines. This is no joke.) and a mere 1-1/2 hours waiting for my baggage, I couldn't wait to get to my little home. But there are still a few Aussie props I gotta throw out there before I collapse onto the couch and watch three weeks' worth of Tivo'd Entourage episodes:

1. To the chick who played soccer with us last Sunday in Cuban-heeled boots. And kept playing when one of the heels broke off. And scored. With a header.

2. To Iceberg's at Bondi, for having the most-kick-ass swimming pool placed right smack next to the ocean. My friend Daaaaav and I went swimming in it, with huge waves breaking over us, while all our friends drank beer on the balcony above. The most fun ever.

3. And to Bel, who lent me her fur coat after my swim. After all, it is winter.

Rabbit, Carrot, Gun

I went to an Aussie Rules football game the other night. They don't wear pads, you can pretty much do whatever to the ball or your opponents, and I asked three people to tell me what you had to do to get a penalty and no one could quite say.

So for most of the first half, I watched these two little kids in front of me, a brother and a sister. I thought they were playing Rock, Paper, Scissors, but they kept saying "Rabbit, Carrot, Gun". This was the second game of the evening where I couldn't understand the rules, so I leaned forward and asked them how it worked. Well, they said, it was just like RPS, but with different symbols. Gun is easy, for Rabbit you give yourself rabbit ears, and when my friend asked "How do you do carrot?", the girl shot him a look of immense scorn (mingled with pity) and held up her index fingers. Duh!

Here's how it goes:

Rabbit trumps Carrot.
Gun trumps Rabbit.
And a carrot you can stick in the gun.

Duh.

Whales and Convicts

So today I went for a walk on the Vaucluse cliffs and ran into a guy looking at whales with a high-powered telescope. Never one to wait for an introduction, I started talking to him, and immediately (but subtly) dropped my credentials as a girl who's shot whales from the Fuji blimp. In no time at all I was squinting through his scope at a pod of humpbacks slapping their tails on the water, learnedly comparing Northern Rights to Southern Rights, and telling him about the time my friend Jeff gave mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to a newborn killer whale.

It was a gorgeous morning, and one subject led to another, and in the course of conversation he lets drop that his ancestors were two of the first convicts over and the first couple ever to be married in Australia. Their names were Cable. They litigated against Governor Bligh, better known to us as Captain Bligh, over stolen provisions. Then, proving that history is, indeed, circular, my new friend launched into an impassioned account of his own litigation against Rupert Murdoch, over land that the government gave away to Newscorp.

I know it's suddenly cool to impress credulous tourists with stories of convict ancestors, but if he was making it up, I don't really care. I appreciated his attention to detail, the surprising interruption of my walk, and the peek into the scope. Thanks, mate.

My New Favorite Thing in Bed

So last night I dragged myself home from drinks at the Opera House with a writer friend, and found, to my great delight, something warm waiting in bed for me. It wasn't the first time. And, as I later found out, it was only 79 cents.

The hot water bottle, my friends. It's old-fashioned, but it's making a comeback. I know all about heating pads and electric blankets and geo-thermal self-adjusting mattresses that harness the rays of the sun, but the humble hot water bottle has earned a place in my heart. It's warm, it's heavy, and there's absolutely no chance of starting an electrical fire with it (unless you've discovered uses for it I haven't). And. like I said, you can get them for, like, a dollar.

Secret bonus: If you have a crafty friend or mother, making hot water bottle covers opens up a whole new world for his or her considerable/frightening energies. Steer them away from their baby-blanket-making obsessiveness (and not-so-subtle hints) and get them going on hot water bottle covers in the shape of owls or appliqued with mountain scenes. Perfect.

And just imagine the delight of your houseguests on chilly winter evenings. They slip into bed, and find to their great surprise that you've thougtfully provided them with a warm wet one.

The Pork Platter AKA Aussies Can Dance

I know the Aussies like their coffee and their sandwiches, but I had no idea about their love of the pork. When I took the ferry to Manly (the best way to see the Opera House), I was greeted at the dock by friends who prompty shuffled me off to a restaurant not ten yards away, where I met and fell in love with the Pork Platter.

What can I say about the Pork Platter? There were sausages (2 kinds), there were schnitzels, there were rib thingies, but best of all, there was pork belly. A big square slab o' meat, with a layer of fat on top, with a layer of crackling on top of that. Words failed me, and it had nothing to do with the 3 Jagermeisters we drank while eating said platter.

As a card-carrying member of the Bacon of the Month Club, you'd think I couldn't have been happier. But the night was just beginning. Early on (Jager shot #1), I made the bold statement that I had never seen an Aussie dance. My friends took this as a challege and took me to a little place on the Corso to show me their signature moves. Strangely, I don't remember any of them, but I can confirm that I have seen an Aussie dance. I, of course, showed them my signature move - the Bus Driver. I don't think any of them has forgotten that.

The Skippy Park

My friend Siobhan (pronounced by my little brother, and now all of Australia, as Shuh-VAAAAWN) took me to the Skippy Park, which means, the Kangaroo Park. I got to pet a koala for about half an hour. AND a baby kangaroo, which is being raised in a sack. (Don’t worry, he likes it that way.)

I got nothing funny to say about this - it was just cool. I got to pet a koala.

I Appear on Aussie TV with Chris Martin

It’s true. I taped an interview with Chris Martin of Coldplay on a show called ‘Enough Rope With Andrew Denton’. OK, I was actually about ten feet away from him in the front row of the audience. But still, it counts. So if you watch next Monday, just look for the cutaways, and there I am, nodding sagely, laughing when appropriate, and batting my eyes with cat-like precision.

It’s tough, traveling to another country, attending Nicole and Keith’s wedding, hanging out with Chris Martin. Frankly, I’m exhausted.

If you want to know why I was there, it’s easy. I work in television. Working in television is a great way to have a fabulous life on the cheap. While other people attend accounting conventions or hang out with actuaries, I am assaulted with constant glamour, all the time.