I Got A Pig For Christmas

I know that half the people who read that headline were fairly certain that I meant a live pig, mostly cause my new favorite phrase is “if you have a porch you can have a pig,” but alas, no. The pig one of the few things I got for Xmas that wasn’t fo’ free, but it was from a Chilean collective, and if you come to my house for dinner anytime soon, you will most likely get to eat from it.

Our little collective had their Xmas a little early this year, this past weekend (solstice, yo), cause that was the only time that Eeew and Princess Dania and Foxy B and Brotherfromanothermother could come up to the L to the O to the P. And I’m not too shy to say we gave reused, recycled and homemade gifts to each other. We did this one other year and we all liked it so much that we decided to do it again. It’s more fun to make shit than to go shopping, and besides, we’re all cheeepasses. And virtuous recyclers, of course.

So while I did get some righteous store-bought stuff (really cute mittens, a pedometer), I also scored a gorgeous homemade scarf and a photo calendar, and I GAVE gifts that frankly came from various shoots I’d produced (my nephews in Kan’s-Ass scored an entire sporting goods store for the cost of shipping), the Goodwill (where we have always buy Brotherfromanother Xmas shirts – he loves ‘em), and previous clothes swaps (designer shit for the ladies in my family that would’ve ended up at the Goodwill).

Better stuff, less money, and no time at the mall. Fuck yeah. Now all we have to do on the real Xmas is enjoy that other fine holiday tradition – movies and Chinese food.

MERRY XMAS (TODAY IN AUSTRALIA!!)

Yesterday My Sister Cut Down Our Xmas Tree In Our Front Yard With A Chainsaw

And today we saw these cops' horses eating hay out of the back of a pickup truck in the Safeway parking lot. Welcome to Christmas in the Sierras.

What A Cow

Instead of giving each other holiday gifts, the Superposse decided to get together and give a village a heifer. Why? Because nobody wants to go to the mall, and because we already have the best lives, fo' free.

So get together with your crew, give up on the scented candles and pearl-handled cheese graters, and get someone else's posse a yak, a camel, a poodle, a chicken, a pig, a water buffalo or a cow fo' them fo' free.

Dirty Dirty Dirty Girl

Well, well, well. All three holiday parties that I've been to so far occurred on the exact same night, and it's taken me this long to recover. Seriously, my head still hurts, and I mostly blame Tim, or as I now like to call him, TKO.

First of all, there was the 826 Valencia fiesta in Echo Park, where I almost bought Robot Milk and met the truly nice guy Dave Eggers and then failed to recognize Natalie Portman and then watched The Real Janelle try to sell our illegal parking spot to Ed Norton for ten bux.

Then it was on to Heather & Tim's beautiful house party, where Tim mixed me a perfect gin martini that was approximately the size of my head and almost laid me flat (thus earning his nickname). I stationed myself strategically next to the Cowgirl Creamery cheese plate for way longer than it was polite and celebrated the season with the rest of the Posse the best way we knew how - by drinking drinx and talking shit.

And then, as one does, we put on our wigs, moustaches and merkins (I'm not explaining what this is to anyone else ever again) and went on down to D-Lite and Andrew's joint bday party. They received bacon candy from me; I received way too much delicious punch from them. And the evening became one of the most funnest booty-shaking lovefests ever. There's something about putting on a costume that breaks down the barriers and lets everyone connect just a little bit more...or maybe it was just the punch.

Partyin' x 3 = Fo' Free + The Best Night of the Season. But stay tuned, because Wednesday night is the Coco and Darcy Short Stop Holiday Dancy Party Supreme, and I may well have my strength back.

I Got Fleas

Tulita and I went to the Rose Bowl Flea Market last Sunday, and once again, I got a little bit of love while Tulita got a whole damn bunch (see Things To Put Things In at right). I love going to the flea market - great people watching and making fun of weird lamps and finding a great little Xmas present for Queen Sonda (that was my little bit o' love, which of course I can't show).

As we browsed, Tulita and I revisited all the times we'd been there before - when I bought her the Gainey for her birthday (vintage pot, yo); when she scored the perfect turquoise vinyl couch for $100 bux and we put it in my truck (sigh); when I narrowly missed the perfect living room chairs cause some punk had bought 'em 15 minutes before (turned out to be OK cause I later went on to score my orange round chairs at a garage sale on Beachwood for $75 bux. Rockit.)

The flea market is all good, whether you score or not: Sunday morning, outside, walking, yapping, bargains, the recycling economy, telling off a vendor who's trying to sell OPI nail polish for more than it costs in the drugstore. I ask you, what is not to love?

Bass In Yo' Face

It's the first line from my favorite Public Enemy song, and it's what happened to me Sunday night. Josh, AKA one half of Jacobs & Diaz, came with me to see Mark Dresser play and explain the contrabass, fo' free. Mark is the lovely collaborator of my lovely director, Miss Sarah Jane Lapponka,and he did the lovely music for one of her films that, if the truth must be told, was dedicated to moi. ANYWAY, it was great to meet him, even if I do now owe Josh a giant cocktail cause the guy next to him tried to spoon him during the performance. Or, depending on how you look at it, he owes me one.

So get your asses out there on Sunday nights and check out all the cool weird backroom shit this town has to offer. It's hard when it's chilly and you're already on your couch, but who knows? You might get a free spooning.

The Best Thing To Do When It Rains In LA

Go find yourself a friend with a hot tub and sit in it and drink wine. Hell, yeah.

It went like this: I made dinner for my friend G.U.S. at his beautiful house last week. I figured I'd make pumpkin risotto, cause I had all this pumpkin fo' free from The Real Janelle's leftover Thanksgiving table-scaping. This was actually the second time I made it this week, the first being for a slightly drunken super-fun girlie dinner, cause it was so damn good. (Big note to selves: Don't throw away a centerpiece if you can eat it.)

So Gus and I chomped, and then watched an episode of an old British sitcom, and then hung out and drank wine in the aforementioned hot tub. It's so rare that it rains in LA, and so rare that I get to chillax in a hot tub, and I was really happy to hang out with a good friend in both.

So think about who you know, and then line that schzit up for our next big rainstorm!

And PS - if you're thinking it's been all about food lately, it has.

What Up, Cupcake?

Guess who gets Coco cupcakes fo' free this week? Striking writers, that's who!

Support the WGA workers by bringing them some sugary snax, like these pomegranate cupcakes that C-Love made the other day. Cause high morale is one of the biggest assets we got. And the fact that we're totally right.

With Apologies to SMAL

Sometimes one forgets what life was like before the internets gave us uTube videos fo' free. Here are two incredible variations on one much-loved theme. Seriously. Watch them. Now.

uTube Is: Amazing
uTube Is: Terrifying

The Beautiful People

Now I know where all the beautiful people hang out. The really beautiful people, not what passes for beauty in ersatz plastic LA. They were at Honor Fraser's gallery opening on Saturday night. And the best part (besides those free tacos) was that we were all there because Honor is Al-x's new dealer. It's fun to go to any event where there are pretty people and free Dos Equis and the best tacos I've ever had, but it's even more fun when you're there cause it's one of your own.

And then it was on to the Mandrake, my new favorite bar, with the whole crew. The real beautiful people.

Honor Fraser Gallery

Dirt Gone Wrong

So Miss T and went to see this DJ, Dust Galaxy, at the Knitting Factory last night, and he sucked b**ls, but you know what? It didn't matter, cause the tix were fo' free.

I'm really not to blame - LA Weekly said he was good, and he was sponsored by KCRW. I didn't want to pay $25 bux for a DJ I didn't know, but I read the Knitting Factory newsletter, and it said at the bottom that if you emailed them back you could win tix. So I did, and I did.

So we went, and as you now know, it sucked. Now, this could have been a Complete Failure of Dirt, but it wasn't. You know why? Cause it was so fun to hang out with Miss T, and when we bailed we went on to La Poo and had tea and big glasses of wine and chatted with the lovely David. A great, great night.

But that's what sometimes happens when you get out there and check out new shit - some of it is bound to szuck. So what it all comes down to is having good company for your urban explorations. Cause it's just really you and the people you're with that make fun.

KFactory - They Have Other Good Shows

Spinning Gold From Cloth

So I worked on this crappy reality show and I got a couple bags of very expensive very ugly free schwag. Since it was nice of the designer to give me stuff, I shall not name names. I promptly turned that shit around: I gave a very grateful Japanese man a baseball hat for his birthday (we sat next to each other at a restaurant the night I got the stuff), I traded my friend a hoodie for a couple damn good bottles of wine, and I sold a tank top and a sweatshirt on eBay for $175. That's right, $175. It was Dirt Alert Heaven.

So here it is: Even when you get ugly shit, keep it and trade it for something you want. Like wine, cash, and gratitude. That's what I call good schwag.

Make You Some Money

Babies in Bars

My first night in SF we all went down to the pub and saw Miguel play Irish music. The great thing was that he could bring his kid, Li'l G, and that meant that Conch could come, too. Then DKSF came down with Sy, who was kickin' it asleep-style in his little carrier thingy. We were joined by about 10 other friends who just happened to be around, including our Aussie guest star - he definitely won the who-came-the-farthest competition. Super cozy and super fun.

Then, on my last night in SF, we kicked it in a bicycles-beers-and-brats bar on 16th, again with Sy and Gaby's little Chiquita Lucia, which turned it into a bikes-beers-brats-and-babies bar. The cute hipster barman even turned down the music cause he thought it was disturbing the little ones - how freakin' nice is that? And with no cover charge, you know it was fo' free.

You gotta love the SF crew, kicking it with babies in bars, representing, doing it right. Between that and catching up on all the dirt - who has a new boyfriend, who got an emergency appendectomy, and who recently discovered her surprise Jewish roots - I had a great time. Big shouts out to all of you.

Nickie's, Baby
And Gestalt Haus!

Well Trained

Dudes, I finally figured out how to get from The Lake House to San Fran when I fly up instead of driving. For 27 bux the Amtrak takes you from Auburn to Oakland in just 3 hours and 10 minutes, and then you BART across the Bay. Cheeeper and just as fast, and on the Sunday after Thanksgiving, much faster. I read a book and had my breakfast while the Sierras rushed by, and I arrived in SF all happy and safe and sound, and feeling slightly superior, if the truth must be told.

And le train's just as good down south. I've taken the Amtrak to San Diego and saved an hour and a whole headful of frustration, and once to Santa Barbara, where we went right along the ocean and my pissy mood turned all relaxed and blissful.

Trains = Dope. You may want to remember this for next year's LOP Birthday Extravaganza.

Amtrak

Guest Dirt: Artist At Work

From the lovely Miss Grant, I give you the Return of the Guest Dirt:

"So, here's the back story. I've been shopping at Bristol Farms for over 6 years, almost every day. Over time I've gotten to know many of the people who work there. They know me as the customer who doesn't want a plastic bag and prefers to stick my groceries inside my purse.

This summer I went to buy a few copies of C Magazine, where there was a picture of me in my studio. Richard, a very sweet check-out attendant, asked me if I knew someone in the magazine. I said yes, in fact, it was me. We flipped through the magazine until we found the portrait. Wow, said Richard, you're an artist. The San Marino matron in line behind me said, you do clean up well. (I don't dress up to go to Bristol Farms, so I'm normally covered in paint or wearing sweat pants.)

Since that day, Richard always talks to me about art. How was your day at the studio, Miss Grant?

Yesterday I went to buy ingredients for lunch. Richard came and found me with a plastic bag in hand. I bought this for you at an estate sale, he said. And he handed me a tote bag that read: 'Artist at work.'

Amazing.

And fo' free.

And check the link to see a fly picture of Melinda, the store manager:
Bristol Farms, An Extraordinary Store

Happy Thanksgiving!

Big or small, broken or fixed, sticky or slippery, family is fo' free. Hope you're having a great time with yours, with appropriate amounts of alcohol to ease the process. (Note to Aussies: Hope your Thursday's going well.)

(Note #2: This is not a picture of our turkey. Dick would be mortified if you thought that.)

Turkeyphobe.com

Stitch and Bitch

It started with champagne, as it usually does. And ended with it, if truth be told. But in between, Dawn-A and I helped The Real Janelle sew some curtains and bust out a cover for Guster The Wonder Dog's butt-ugly crate. I brought the machine, Dawn-A brought the skills, Janelle brought the cloth and champagne and blackberries.

Before you die with boredom at the domesticity of this post, I have to say: Get over yourself. It was fun to hang out with my two girlies all afternoon and do crafty stuff while we drank and yapped. And, as we all know, making shit is FUN. And Dawn is really frickin' good at it, which was a relief, because while I'm a huge fan of straight lines, I'm not really good at creating them.

So the next time you have a boring domesticy project, get a couple of your friends to come over and help you, and all of a sudden, it's a lovely afternoon of drinking wine and talking shit, which is what we're all looking for anyway. And at the end you have something cool. Fo' like, 200 bux cheeper.

Stitch & Bitch University

She Kicks Balls

I know it's a week late (So much dirt, so little time etc.), but:

Happy Birthday Hilary!

Her team won the kickball game at her birthday party in Elysian Park. Which brings me to my point: Dudes, get your asses out there tout de suite and play some kickball. You have completely forgotten how much fun it is. And, of course, it's fo' free.

Adult Kickball Association

A New Ride For Rockitgirl

Rockets aren't street legal, but a girl can have a Jett.

Meet my new ride.
My space ship.
A Jetta For Coletta.
A Jette for Coquette.

And one last look at the truck, going into the very capable hands of Oscar Senior.


And Dudes, Buy Your Next Car From Oscar Junior!

The End Of An Era

I'm trying not to kick and wail and scream and gnash my teeth and throw myself on the ground and pitch a pretty little fit, but I can't help it. I know it's old and clunky and outdated and unsafe, but I love it. It's hard to grow up and move on.

I love my truck. I love the things we do together, the places we go, the futons and TVs and couches and even those two car engines we sometimes haul around. I even love the taped-in radio. I know, I know - I can't play a CD in it or even get radio stations to tune in all the time. And it has no air conditioning, which has given me heatstroke twice. And the plastic dashboard parts came off a year ago. And it doesn't lock. And there's no place to plug in a phone or an iPod. And I have to put all my groceries on the passenger seat if I go to more than one store. And god knows I can't take anyone anyplace in anysort of comfort.

But we've gone up and down the I-5 more times than I can count. I know exactly how she'll rattle if I skip over fourth gear. She's gotten me through so many productions - on MythBusters she even had a small recurring role. And over the course of her lifetime, she's made me back the $2800 I spent on her by getting in accidents that have left her a little dinged up and me perfectly unharmed. Best of all, she gave me a messy tomboy identity in overly pretty LA.

But in the end, the symbol of all that is cheeep and zippy and free in LA is no longer safe, and not even barely legal. So I'm giving my truck to a guy named Oscar Senior. He's going to ship it down to Guatemala, where words like "smog check" and "brake light inspection" mean a little less and "genuine Toyota engine" mean a little bit more. It seems fitting. I like to think of the Little Truck That Could down in Central America, happily living out her last days in a place where she's loved and appreciated.

Bye-bye.

Steven Spielberg Crossed My Picket Line

So Darcy and I got up early and walked the picket line at Universal in support of the WGA, and check it, we met a woman named GloZell and she put us on her blog, even before all the famous people. Rockit, GloZell! (That's not GloZell in the photo to the right; I just love this picture.)

GloZell's Blog

Striking was fun. The WGA folks were psyched that we came out to support them; we were psyched that they were protecting our future wages. Darcy and this guy, Ed, and I decided that somebody needed to compile a Best Of list, kind of like a guide to where you should strike, depending on what you wanted: Best Free Food, Best Place to Pick Up Chicks (We hear it's the Sunset-Gower Studios), Best Place to Spot Celebrities, Best Place to Network for Your Next Gig.

And, as we were debating the categories, Steven Spielberg crossed our picket line. He was sealed up hermetically tight in his SUV, talking on the phone. And I say: Pathetic. If anyone can afford to support the strike, it's him.

Lots of people crossed the line yesterday. For me, the most egregious was the pathetic, confused soul who beeped feebly in "support" while practically running me over to get where he wanted to go. And I say: Weak. I was glad he crossed the line, cause who wants someone like that on your team?

Video of the Media Giants Talking About How Much Money They're Going To Make Off the Internet

Car Shopping, The American Way

First, you eat a chili cheese dog with an American flag stuck in it. That's the first thing you do.

Gentle reader, we all know that I love my truck. But while she's still got The Little Engine That Could, the rest of her is literally crumpling around me. She hasn't proven too cheeep to fix and register after her last little accident (in which she made me 2000 bux, thank you very much), so I'm having to look for a new car. Which is right up there with elective dental surgery on the list of Things I'd Like To Do With My Day.

So the only way to make this fun has been to look at it as a chance to go to neighborhoods I would never go to, meet a random assortment of people, and check out weird food places. There was the stand-up comedian (who told me he started doing comedy after he hurt his leg and needed something to do while practicing stand up - not a joke) and the adjacent Russian restaurant in a strip mall. Then there was the deaf guy and the Michigan Coney Island hot dog stand. I myself am pretty familiar with the Great Lake State, but I did not know that there was a Coney Island there; all I can say is, their chili dogs are very good.

And finally, there was Oscar and his dad, way out on Western Ave., past The Snooty Fox Motel. Oscar's dad endeared himself to me forever by wanting to include my truck as part of the deal. He's gonna ship it down to Tijuana, where words like "registration" and "smog check" carry a little less weight when it comes to loving and appreciating a good thing when you drive it.

And noodles in Japantown afterward. Spicy level #6. Yum.

Coney Detroit

A Beer In The Hand Is Worth $2 In The Hole

Dudes, get ready, cause there's a lot of dirt coming at you from this weekend. (Sometimes it's hard to pace myself.)
Definitely one of the most fun things I did was go to Machine Project's Underground Cinema with ZTrip and Nancypants and Sister Suzanne. You walked into this little art space, and there's all these people crouched face-down on the floor, like they're performing some weird prayer ritual, and you realize that this is literally underground cinema. There were screens below the floor in the basement projecting cool little shorts, and you peeked through little holes to see them. Dope, right? My favorite was one of the full moon progressing across a cloudy night sky.

But wait, it gets even better. There was one hole in the corner with a buzzer beside it on the wall, and this is what happened there:
1. You pushed the buzzer.
2. A hand came up out of the hole.
3. You put $2 in the hand.
4. The hand disappeared.
5. The hand reappeared with a cold beer.
6. Different kinds. You didn't get to pick.

Dudes, this was genius. Not just the beer, but the whole fact that you had to get down on the floor like a little kid to look at a movie. It shook you enough out of your usual-ness that it made everybody open up and actually smile at each other. At an art opening. Nice.

Project Machine

Spinning Gold From Cloth

So I worked on this crappy reality show and I got a couple bags of very expensive very ugly free schwag. Since it was nice of the designer to give me stuff, I shall not name names. I promptly turned that shit around: I gave a very grateful Japanese man a baseball hat for his birthday (we sat next to each other at a restaurant the night I got the stuff), I traded my friend a hoodie for a couple damn good bottles of wine, and I sold a tank top and a sweatshirt on eBay for $175. That's right, $175. It was Dirt Alert Heaven.

So here it is: Even when you get ugly shit, keep it and trade it for something you want. Like wine, cash, and gratitude. That's what I call good schwag.

Make You Some Money

Persimmons and Avocados

If you've ever eaten at my house or had me make you dinner, you know that there's a certain amount of experimentation involved. And when that's the case, failure is always an option. Sometimes it comes out really, really well, (sweet potato skewers with cumin and chipotle guacamole) but sometimes it tastes like shit (chicken marinated for three days in tandoori-spiced yogurt).

Well, yesterday I made meatloaf for the first time, cause it's now officially fall in LA, and let me tell you, it was bad. The onions and peppers weren't chopped fine enough, I didn't mix all the stuff together well enough, and it just didn't work. Even the bacon wrapped around it didn't really help. And it took quite a while.

But luckily Christine and Hilary had given me avocados from their tree, and Rebecca had given me persimmons from hers, and I had a grapefruit I'd found on the sidewalk on Beachwood Avenue that had fallen from a nearby branch. So I made a quick salad out of red leaf lettuce, persimmons and avocados, and tossed it all together in a citrus vinaigrette.

It was the best salad I ever tasted. I pretty much made it up, and it took no time at all. And most importantly, all the good stuff in it was fo' free. So I guess the point is...check out what your friends have in their garden and score some. Word.

If You Must Follow A Recipe

PS - Janelle, I took some rosemary out of your front yard on the way home. Thanks!

You Can Have Jesse Jackson Or You Can Have Cookies

So The Real Janelle and Christine went to take fresh, homemade chocolate chip cookies to G-Reg On Strike, but Jesse Jackson was there with a million people, and he kinda overshadowed the whole thing. So they went down to Raleigh Studios, where they came upon a much smaller group of strikers, forlornly trying to start a new chant. They saw Janelle coming, and a suspicious hush fell over the crowd. So she timidly thrusts two brown paper bags of cookies into the air (one with nuts, one without), and says "Homemade cookies?"

Silence. Then cacaphony as the strikers let out an enormous cheer!

Louder maybe than they did for Jesse.

So go support the strikers. Jesse and Hillary and Obama do. And bring them stuff fo' free. Janelle and Christine did.

And from unitedhollywood.com, a blog supporting and explaining the striking writers:

"The Office" has shut down for good...This is thanks to a complete staff picket from 4:15 am to 3:00 Monday (when they called the day) and 6:45 am Tuesday until they shut it down. Additionally, Steve Carell informed NBC he is unable to report to work because he is suffering from “enlarged balls.”

United Hollywood!

And a really great video that clearly explains the strike

Writers On Strike!

G-Reg's been walking the picket line in support of the WGA strike, and I say thank you to him for protecting my future paycheck, cause fair wages, they ain't free. From his Strike Diary, Day 1:

"I got to Paramount around 1 pm, and the strikers had been out in force since 9am. We had over 100 at the main gates, with thousands of writers doing the same across the city at every major studio. Some SAG members as well as teamsters joined in to show solidarity. Courteney Cox drove by with support, as did William Baldwin, delivering coffee. He said he'd be back with more tomorrow."

That's right people. People thinking about and talking about labor issues in Hollywood. I love it. More from the Strike Diary:

"Other highlights: Around 2pm, one writer ran to Astro Burger and bought the entire crew chocolate shakes. Then around 3pm, a woman parked her car in the middle of the street, ran out and delivered us an amazing block of gourmet cheddar cheese the size of a shoe box."

Good, right? Wait. It just gets better:

"The key moment was when someone yelled after a particularly lackluster chant: "Let down your protective layer of irony, people!"

See? Even on the picket line, my people are bringing it. And that's what we should get fairly paid for. I myself am gonna go down and deliver some food or coffee or something and support my fellow writers. But even now, I'm asking myself, how does one top a block of gourmet cheddar?

We Got Issues, People
Lots of Issues

The Band's Still Asleep On My Floor

11 AM - The band's still asleep on my floor, all five of them.

Backstory: When Nyles said he was coming into town to play a show at Spaceland, of course I said I would go, and of course I said he could crash. Dudes, Sunday night at Spaceland is fo' free, and Nyles is one of my favorite musicians recording right now, friend or not.

So I went and threw back a few beers with the lovely Alex, who was the only friend out of all those who RSVP'd to actually rally and make it. And I say, too bad for the rest of you. First of all, the new album and the new band were terrific, with special props to Nyles' new backup vocalist, Laurie. Second of all, Sunday night at Spaceland is perfect, with the rocker boys in cha-cha heels and the tattoo'd lesbians playing pool and the kids in ironic tee shirts drinking Stella at the bar. (And someone's mom, oddly.) It's so mellow, like a hipster basement in the Midwest. And third of all, you've all told me in the past week or so that you need/want/should go hear more live music. And you should. I did. And it was dope.

And when Nyles asked if the whole band could crash on my floor, of course I said yes.

Buy Nyles' Record Bitssches!

TV & DVD, Fo' Free

I've been needing a new DVD player for yonks. My old (free, ghetto) one broke, and I didn't have the time/money to replace it 'til now. So last week I went out and bought the cheapest one I could find. (Circuit City, 36 bux if you tell the store that's what it's advertised for online; if not, in-store price: $48.)

Luckily for me, I procrastinated in taking it out of the box and setting it up. Because the ever-gallant Josh called me and asked if I wanted his old TV, which is newer and bigger and better than mine. And guess what? He had a DVD player that he'd throw in, fo' free.

Now a big new TV is nice. (As is my neighbor, who helped me carry the damn thing in. As is Josh, who carried it down 3 flights of steps on his end.) But what's even nicer is that I got to return my store-bought DVD player and get my 36 bux back, and the one I ended up with is recycled, and Josh and Pi demonstrated the very heart and soul of Dirt Alert in action. Thanks, guys!

Anyone need my old TV?

If Not, This Is Where It's Going

Lucha Va VOOM!

I went and saw Mexican wrestling last night at the Mayan. Lucha Va VOOM!
Oh. My. God. I can die happy now.











Lucha Va VOOM!

Hijack The Playlist, Punkin

So the other night I went to the best Halloween party I've ever been to. What made it so great is that the host showed a deep commitment to the booze and the guests showed an even deeper commitment to the costuming. There were about 150 people at this guy's house, and maybe 3 weren't dressed up.

Some highlights:
- A renegade BLT (with a machine gun).
- A woman in blue with blue Christmas balls hanging off her (Blue Balls).
- A couple dressed as a cat and scratching post (Andrew and Rachel).
- A gaggle of flight attendants with roll-aboards and 80's hair.
- A chick with a footprint on her chest and a halo of different sized balls (Carbon Footprint).
- A guy dressed as a rigged voting booth handing out unfair laws to vote on (AKA a dirty proposition).
- The requisite ape (who wrestled on the dance floor with a spotted cow).
- And the best of all: An 8-1/2 month pregnant woman dressed as Britney Spears. Now that's commitment.

The only thing wrong was that the music wasn't good. As the evening wore on, the booze looked like it might be getting low, nobody was dancing, and the party definitely needed to be taken up a notch. So me and K-Fed snuck into the bedroom where the computer was, highjacked the playlist, and totally created our own. Then we rolled back out to watch the magic happen. And soon it did: The dance floor was packed, Elvis was rockinit with Benazir Bhutto, the cow was doing the Running Man while swiggin' Freixenet from the bottle, the Jolly Green Giant was dirty dancing with an ear of corn, and the BLT was workin' it out with me (1950's housewife overdosed on Valium). And when that was done, Van Gogh (complete with bloody ear) busted out to his car to grab an iPod, showing total commitment to the dance.

Best damn Halloween party I've ever been to. I don't know what time I got home, but it would have been a lot earlier if we hadn't highjacked the playlist. Sometimes you just got to.

And PS - The picture is of the Halloween box my ma sent to me. Even though I'm old, my parents still call me punkin and send me candy. Rockit.

Man In Halloween Costume Mistaken For Corpse

Jury Duty In A Foreign City

I had to report to the courthouse in downtown LA for jury duty today, and it was like being a tourist in a foreign city. I never go to that part of town during the day, so I decided to look at it as an adventure rather than a dreary civic duty.

The old courthouse itself was kind of comforting, with wooden doors and that institutional linoleum that reminds me of elementary school. But after sitting around for four hours without being called, I was more than ready for our 1-1/2 hour lunch. So I went urban spelunking.

First, I had my lunch in the DWP cafeteria, because it's widely known among city and county employees as having the best food of all the municipal buildings, and when am I ever gonna eat Department of Water and Power food again? Then I walked through the Disney Concert Hall, which blinded me from the outside cause I had forgotten my sunglasses. Unfortunately the MOCA was closed, which is too bad cause you can get in fo' free with a juror's badge. Then I went to the Fountain Plaza for a coffee and watched all the people in suits and Banana Republic separates going to work in office buildings. Haven't seen that in a while...

Then it was back to the courtroom, which was rapidly losing its charm. Luckily, I didn't get called. So that leaves me free to enjoy my one day as a foreign tourist in downtown LA.

City's Best Clam Chowder?

Nicole & Page Trump Even The Sox!

So you'd think today's Dirt Alert would be completely full of my boys' sweeep victory over the Rockies in the World Series. Well, it would have been, if Nicole and Page hadn't had their wedding reception this Saturday.

These guys are smart: They wisely snuck off and got married in San Miguel (on my birthday, no less), and then came back here and had a party with all their friends. It was gorgeously small, it was at their friend Julie's beautiful house (one of the best venues I've ever seen for a reception), they projected flip-book-like photos of their wedding on the side of the house, and they served mac and cheese. What's not to love? Nothing.

Nic and Page, I love you even more than the Sox. Congratulations!

And To These Guys, Too

The Other Night I Hung Out With Midget Porn Stars

So Tula invited me to this art opening the other night at the Stephen Cohen Gallery, my fave art space in LA. Seems our friend Gennan had worked on this photography book, “Naked Ambition: An R-Rated Look at an X-Rated Industry”, and there was gonna be a little party.

So I called my friend Tue (who lives right next to Tula in my cell phone) and asked him to come with. He and I might not ever get around to hanging out on any other occasion, but we have been known to attend openings and drink free wine at this very gallery a few times in the past. So we suited up and went on down.

It was a great night: Tula and her posse were all there, celebrating Gennan (and Tula's birthday!), the hors d'oeuvres were not chintzy, the photographs were excellent, and many of the subjects were in attendance: Seven-foot-tall chicks in latex skirts and corsets (no, not me), midget sex workers in wheelchairs, and lots of heavily tattoo'd dudes skulking around the periphery, snapping pictures. Then Tue and I went to the bar next door and caught up over a couple of long-overdue cocktails.

Friends, free drinks and midget porn stars. An excellent night, Dirt Alert-style.


Michael Grecco - Naked Ambition

Nice Is Free

Yesterday I was walking back to my truck, which was parked on the street at Western and Hollywood, not the greatest neighborhood. As I approached it, I looked for my keys in my bag, and quickly realized that I couldn't find 'em. Then I saw a middle-aged guy lounging against the vehicle parked behind me. He saw me go for the truck and said, "Hey, you left your keys on the roof. I grabbed them and was just gonna wait here 'til you got back, so no one would steal your truck."

Nice is free.

People Are Nice Sometimes

Alright Already!

Alright alright alright, I get it. You love me. You want me. You need me. You can't get enough of me. And frankly, I don't blame you.

From the moment I stopped reporting on my comings and goings as a woman of little means but lots of consequence in magical LA, the hue and cry from both sides of the international date line reached levels of cacaphony. Frankly, some of you are just stalkers, but the rest of you are bona fide cheapasses like myself, and such a worthy sentiment requires a response. And to tell the truth, I miss sharing. So there. Kisses. Mwah.

Now, get your asses downtown to the LA Public Library's ALOUD Lecture Series. It only costs $1. For parking. If you have a library card. Which you should. Cause guess who I heard last night? OLIVER SACKS. That's right, the neurologist who wrote the book 'Awakenings' and is one of the foremost explorers of the human mind. He talked all about his patients and the freaky stuff our brain can dish out, and was charming and funny and nerdy and bright. Art and science, people - Coco's favorite things together. And it was in the beautiful downtown library, which is one of the great unsung buildings in LA. It was a completely non-Hollywood experience - a bunch of lefty intellectual nerds - what a frickin' joy and relief. And it was a dollar.

Then we went to dinner at CIUDAD, because we had a coupon. (20 dollas off, yo.) And the food and the view was great. And we were downtown. Which is fun.

Library card - fo' free.
Lectures by badasses - $1.
Ciudad - coupon, fo' cheeep.

Word.

Welcome back, kittens.

ALOUD Lecture Series for Smart People

(You) Wish You Were Here!

1. Lake jumping
2. Fish catching
3. Deer hunting (with camera and golf cart - electric powered vehicle, suckas!)
4. Cupcake making (with 7 kids on kitchen floor)
5. Sandball playing (with cheating nephew who steals home all the time)
6. Booze cruising (with pontoon, AKA co-po'ing if you're Dav)
7. Paddle boating
8. Outside sleeping (with full moon)
9. Grillaxing
10. Fo' free

Can't wait to do it with y'all in three weeks.

And special kudos to ADS, who flew in from Auckland and had lunch with me in LAX before we both caught our respective flights. Normally that'd be a Dirt Alert in itself. GO YOU GOOD THING! And further props to the 70-year-old British astrophysicist I met in the LAX bar - never know who you might be sitting next to. And now I know all about gamma rays. Gotta go catch me some.

Talk to the Person Next to You at the Airport

I Flew To SF For One Night To Party Like A Rock Star

That's right, suckas. We flew in Saturday afternoon with just our sunglasses and our toothbrushes to bring a little LA sass and attitude to the lovely Ilya's housewarming party. It had to be done - tix were cheeep, and Ilya had laid in a lot of liquor.

Between that and the smoke machine and the DJ and the quick run to the hospital and the sausage sandwiches and the Dyke March and the Zeitgeist and the scary post-party club and the subsequent much better club and the queries about whether or not there were any normal people anywhere in LA (answer: hells no) and the dancin' dancin' dancin', I would say we did our job. And the next morning there were scones and toddlers and tea and a live cello performance accompanying a deep house track as we lolled around on the couch, pasty and exhausted from our efforts.

In fact, we were such good rock stars we missed our flight home.

But, as it must happen for those who are wild and free and show up at a moment's notice to support their friends in a new city and have learned along the way to be kind to airline employees, we got a seat on the next bird out of town and were back in golden LA before the sunset.

That's right people, spontaneous rockstar travel. We all have it in us. And kudos to Z-Trip for gettin' the party started.

Must. Sleep.Now.

$39 Plane Tix

Seven Dancing Bridesmaids

So I went to Adam and Stacey's rock 'n roll engagement party the other night at Tangier, and I still can't get the sight of Stacey's bridesmaids performing a synchronized dance out of my head. It was fantastic, as was the surprise appearance of Adam's mom and sis. There was so much love in the room that it almost didn't feel like Hollywood. But it was Hollywood - lots of the guests had worked on Top Model, and the bands were actually great, especially the one comprised of cute look-alike brothers.

And that's the genius of Adam - he gets Hollywood folks to let down their hair and act like the normal Midwest/Southern geeks we all are when we return to our ancestral homes. And when I say Adam, I of course mean Adam and Stacey.

SO CONGRATULATIONS ADAM AND STACEY! I say - more synchronized dancing at parties! It's so fun, and it's fo' free. And you must check out the web site below.

UglyDress.com