UPDATE: Free Cupcakes!

So on the day I post this thing about free cupcakes, Steve comes over and we go out to sushi before he continues on to a birthday party, and before he leaves for the party, he gives me a coco cupcake, fo' free.

BEHOLD THE POWER OF THE BLOG!

Free Cupcakes!

I got this email from Siouxsie Sue the other day:

Hey cupcake! I see the word "free" and think of you:

Eat: Free Cupcakes at Crumbs
Thursday at 216 N Larchmont Blvd, Hancock Park; 323.464.8400

To celebrate their latest opening, Crumbs is giving away free 'cakes to their first 1000 customers, from pistachio and carrot to childhood faves like Reese's Pieces and Oreo Cookie -- the perfect meta-dessert after a meal of hamburger-flavored ribs.

xoxo S.

See, that is what I am talking about. If The Dirt Alert has done nothing for me but make people think of Coco when they see free cupcakes, then I'm a happy woman.

Sadly, I could not partake, nor could I even post about them in time for you-all to go get a free cake. Right now work is very much getting in the way of being broke and having the best life. Ah, the trade-offs...

Thanks, Siouxsie Sue!

Janelle's Book Is Out Today!

It's called All We Ever Wanted Was Everything, and it is dope. And not just because I'm thanked in the acknowledgements. Or because she was reviewed in People (this week's issue with the bulldog on the cover). But don't trust me, trust Publisher's Weekly:

“A withering Silicon Valley satire . . . Brown's hip narrative reads like a sharp, contemporary twist on The Corrections.”

Her first novel! I am so proud. Now get thee to a bookstore or click on the link above, cause all you ever wanted was this badass summer read.

Magnificent Obsession

I've been doing this super-cool job lately where I've been researching the history of crime in Los Angeles from the late 1800s to present day, and I have to say, it's the most fascinating thing I've done in a long time and I can't believe I get paid to do it.

I've met all these super-smart geeky below-the-radar crimesters who know everything and a cast of genuine LA characters who were actually there when the shit went down. I've had so many amazing conversations and incredible experiences that I plan on dining out on them for the next year. The next time we hang out, I'll tell you some.

Yesterday I talked with this amazing woman, Joan, who collects cosmetics ephemera throughout the ages. She argues that old powder puffs, rouge jars, perfume bottles and compacts tell a social history of feminism, and I have to say I agree. Plus, her stuff is beautiful.

We talked about Bad Girls Throughout The Ages - where they hung out (opium dens and blind pigs), what they wore (makeup - gasp!), what they did (bad stuff), and of course, what they put on their faces (different from what good girls wore).

And, as she told me story after story about robber queens, husband killers, and what color powder the Black Dahlia wore, we talked about why it's so cool to get really passionate about something; because it's a lens through which the whole world opens up. And we agreed that it almost doesn't matter what your subject is - any obsession is magnificent.

Summer of Love Exhibit #2 - Tula and Steve

Proof that this is indeed the Summer of Love: Steve popped the question and Tula said si!

This is their extremely gothy selves at Bar Sinister the other night.

Hmmm...another addition to the Goth Roll Call?

Engaged Goths.

Mid-Air

Summer of Love Exhibit #1:

Yesterday my friend and I were strolling through Little Tokyo at dusk, having just chomped on some righteous noodles fo' cheep at this teeny little noodle house. Suddenly, right in front of our faces, a sparrow swooped in and plucked a big black bug out of the air, not more than six inches away. The bird took its prey down and started chomping, crunch crunch, fo' free. I've never seen anything like it.

If that's not love, I don't know what is.

Open Season

Dudes, the Summer of Love is ON.

So go get you some. Fo' free.

Goth Roll Call

Dudes, I did something Saturday night that I haven't done in about ten years: I went to a goth club. Miss T's friend Jill Tracy, this dark smartypants singer from SF, was performing, so we dug out some of our old goth remnants and swirl-danced on down to Bar Sinister.

The Queen of the Night, by far, was Gennan, who busted out coupons at the door for half off the cover charge. Using coupons to get into a goth club fo' cheep threw the evening onto a whole other plane, and I'm happy to say that it stayed there all night. We walked into an open-air courtyard replete with dripping candelabra, misty fountains, handmade jewelry and light bondage stations, and, unlike SF, LA is goth lite, so the music was actually good. But it was the costuming that was not to be believed.

Goth Roll Call:

- Paparazzi Goth: 6'4" Mohawk'd skinny dude in 9-inch heels.
- J. Geils Goth: Striped shirt, tweaking.
- Hugh Hefner Goth: Jacquard robe, swirly-danced with a golf-club shaped silver-tipped cane.
- Go-Go Goths: Hot girls in goth lingerie dancing on platforms.
- German Army Goth: Military jacket, floor length man-skirt.
- Gothlings: Boylets who followed Jill around.
- Get Smart Goths: Couple in a beret and chic 60s outfits.
- Rennaissance Goth: Long-haired boys standing alone by pillars.
- Gas Mask Goth: Some weird dude who kept putting on and taking off a gas mask.
- Corset Goth: Ginormous breasts served up on a platter.
- Mr. Sister Goth: Large-and-in-charge tranny goodness.

Friends, we could not stop laughing the entire night (very un-goth, I know), BUT, contrary to the dude at the bar who goth-served me for our commentary, it was actually all said with a deep, deep affection and respect for these lovely children of darkness. (And a hint for you guys out there: Forget what you've heard about insulting a girl as a great way to pick her up.)

Back in my little home, I wiped the last smear of dark eyeliner off my face and thought about all that I love about goths - I love that they dress up, I love that they Stevie-Nicks dance, and, as usual, I love that this whole other macabre-lite world exists just a mere five-minute walk from my house.

Monster Park

This is where we ate dumplings on the "Blood and Dumplings" tour. It's called Monster Park because its populated by concrete sea monsters, like this lovely pink whale here.

The sculptures were made by this Mexican sculptor, Benjamin Dominguez, in the 60s. Families used to drive for miles to bring their kids here to slide down the sea dragon and swing from the squid.

But in 2006, some mean city officials decided that they wanted to raze the whole menagerie, so a group of concerned citizens (and former playgrounders) got together and saved it. And I would like to say: Thank you, Friends of La Laguna, for saving this weird whimsical place so that new generations of LA kids can play on some world class sculpture fo' free.

My Burning Man Financial Plan

Would you take financial advice from this guy?

I did.

I met my buddy Yoni (yes he knows) when we drove to Burning Man together. Eight hours in the car with a stranger coulda been bad. It wasn't.

So last week Yoni gave my name to his friend Ben, who's a genius at helping folks set up a financial plan for that time in the future when we will hopefully no longer be broke but will still want to have the best lives.

In our very short meeting, Ben endeared himself to me by a) helping me develop short-term and long-term $plan$ that totally made sense, FO' FREE, and b) telling me that even if I ignored everything he said, I could still call him at any moment for the rest of my life and he would give me even more financial advice which I could then ignore, FO' FREE.

So basically, he's gonna help me get money for nothin'. Who knew I could get my shit more-than-together for so cheep?

In the playa-approved spirit of passing on the good stuff: benjamin.brin@nmfn.com. And, thanks, Yon.

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!)