Dear Blob,
This weekend was beyond stimulating. I journeyed to more neighborhoods in the past 2 days than I have in the past 6 months. Friday was an adventure with UkuMom & Director Di from Venice to Los Feliz to Lincoln Height's St. Vincent De Paul Thrift Store, the largest in LA, to surprisingly outstanding fish tacos in Highland Park, to Studio City where, like the fish tacos, we were surprised to see an outstanding play.
Throw in a yoga class with my teacher in town from Bali, which, with a tiny foot adjustment, resulted in my first pain-free yoga practice in 18 months. Director Di, in her fabulous British accent, wove stories of being mugged at 3am on Christmas Eve, after deciding to go grocery shopping and being freelancers-broke at 61, without enough money one morning to take the bus and then a residual check for 27,000 pounds arriving in the evening. A transformative and road-weary day.
Saturday we journeyed into a time-machine vortex in my mom’s childhood neighborhood and my current hood, of Mar Vista with my mom's brother, Uncle John, who drove us up and down the streets of their youth from 1946 - 1951. Memories of slug-collecting, a still-damaged pinky-finger slammed in the gate of Mar Vista Elementary, my uncle's paper route, my mom being refused a paper-route because of gender, a nursery called Flowerland, their father's soda-fountain in the now-Whole-Foods, celery fields, scooter-riding down hills; in between the memories we stopped at garage sales, where UkuMom scored 2 valuable works of art for $5 and $20, potentially worth $500 - 1500. Interesting universe-energy that she garage-sale-scores in her childhood neighborhood….
We rang the doorbell of their childhood house and the surprised current resident, a recently discharged-Marine, graciously gave us a tour of her family’s home, which her father had lived in for 40 years. Minds blown, UkuMom and Uncle John wandered around their old house, a giant Spanish style with sweeping arches. My mom tripped and fell against the closet where she remembered being beaten with a rod and she pointed out her upstairs patio, where she'd watch the clouds roll by. Serious vortex of mind-magic.
Exhausted from garage sales and memories, we lunched at Casablanca and then were privileged enough to get a tour of the extraordinary folk-art extravaganza, the Mosaic Tile House. We were beyond withered, but remembering the Donner Party, we napped and somehow, doughnuts in hand, made it to a fabulous gayman party in Larchmont, complete with BBQ/Southern-cooking catering and so many Hott people, I felt the urge clutch my pouch and shout at the ridiculously-hot 'n' slim party-goers:
"This is a Pouch! It's a naturally-occurring body-part in 99% of the Women of Planet Earth!"
Then I decided we were all hot and if we competed in a Who Is The Hottest Party Pageant, our party would win. Then I created a reality television show around the concept and pitched it to my EP friend.
It was a weekend-orgy of extraordinary experiences. Most weeks the most exciting thing I do is make friends with the clerk at Trader Joes'.
The scoop is, Blob 'n' Readers, Sunday still hadn't happened yet.
Sunday: a workday, booked to entertain at the 12th annual Elvisfest. I woke up at 7am, dressed up as Honey Butters, Elvis's pretend manager, beehived, heavily-makeupped, be-mumu-ed and wearing a giant TCB foam necklace, and I got on the road at 8am to Orange County. 3 minutes on the 405 South, one of the busiest freeways on planet earth, I got a flat tire. In my Elvisfest outfit. I thought of the Donner Party.
An hour late to work at Elvisfest from the flat tire, Honey Butters was a hit with the ancient Elvis superfans, who were ridiculously enthusiastic, almost manic, during the Elvis Impersonator sets. Elvisfest is at the OC Marketplace, a swap-meet where you can purchase anything, from socks to produce to a pre-fab house. 5000 people, at least 50 Elvi and hundreds of fans who were acting like
1. Teenagers
2. Elvis is not dead and every Elvis impersonator is actually Elvis.
I shepherded a very popular Elvis around the fest, handed out Elvis stickers to screaming Old-People-Teenagers and made it home for teatime with Ukumom's friend from the early '60;s, character actor, Larry Hankin, and Evil Sandwich, Jessica, resident genius of all things.
We ate plums from Hummingbird Hall, jicama & Japanese rice crackers, discussing the denial of the wealthy, human greed and the decline of human evolution. Good Times!
Love The Ukulady
ps: The past 3 days was like going to a Buffet, but I didn't feel sick at the end and it was fabulous, not sickly.
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