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!