Dear Blob -
The Tropics are like Munchkinland, brighter than elsewhere, as well as ridiculously moist and lush. No wonder the Latins are renown for their passion; the colors are so dramatic, romantic & vibrant. My skin is super moist here, unlike LA, where the desert is like a baby, enthusiastically sucking, but moisture, not nippleish objects.
Evil Sandwich & Master Crafter (maker of the Unicorndog), Jessica, has arrived! Her first time in Mexico! She got hives the first night from the Mexican-detergent-washed sheets. On our banana-grove-filled drive from the airport with Heroic-Burbank Larry, she asked, "If we were a celebrity couple, would we be Jessaly or Thessica?" From here on, Blob, I will use one of our celebrity-couple monikers instead of typing 2 names.
She brought her omnichord, a little-known instrument, best described as an electronic autoharp. It was a hit with the Bar Reymomo patrons; New Orleans Barbara being ready to buy one, writing down it's name and asking Jessica to find one on ebay, send it to her and ensuring reimbursement.
LA/Marin Ian, a professional drummer, became an Evil Sandwich last night, accompanying songs of cupcakes, robots & tornadoes! It was a Magical Show. I've taken to geographically naming the expats. Except for Buster, who remains my BFF. I'm already bummed I won't be able to email him later, as he leads an internet-free life.
Jessaly dined at Mexico Lindo, a local raved-about-eatery, with a charming tropical-plant-laden patio. Prices are the same as Echo Park taco trucks.
We have a horrible stray cat Jessica has named OC. I said, "For the OC?", likening the awfulness of the Orange County, to the cat.
"Orange Cat.". She said.
OC has the most distressingly horrible yowl; similar to a Peacock, but with a gaggy-throw-upish inflection. Conchita is the Gato of Casa Azul and hates me because I won't let her Inside. She is the reason I locked myself out a few blogs ago. Conchita's number one goal is to get Inside. When the Casa Azul Owners were here with their awesome dogs, Conchita couldn't have cared less about Inside. She enjoyed lazing in the Magic Garden. These days she skulks around the front door, scheming entry, occasionally darting in like a Cat on Speed. She responds to my threatening Velvetina Evilwich voice, Cat-on-Speeding it outside.
The rain has brought the temperature down 10 degrees, an inward-celebration of epic proportions. I was actually chilly last night and had to turn 1 of the 2 fans, off and briefly use the very thin blanket! I don't feel as sausagey.
Speaking of sausage, we enjoyed late-night tacos in our neighborhood at Taqueria Ramos, which was packed at midnight with local young parents and babies. The tacos are 5-star Yelp, with tender handmade corn-tortillas. The most interesting and best part is the huge multi-compartment circular tray which accompanies the tacos. Similar to the enormous fresh-herb tray you get in Vietnam with your Pho, authentic tacos in Mexico come with more! At least 6 or 7 accoutrements to dress up the simple corn meat-flap: beans, 4 salsas, pickled produce and more. A short walk from the Casa, we hope to be regulars.
Love The Ukulady
ps: Sadly, the Frog died. Jessica bravely picked it up, as it finally moved to an accessible location. However, it was an Ex-Frog. I mourned briefly, but as Ukulad said, "It's own damn fault for stupidly getting in the house."
pps: How did it get in in the first place? Must have pulled a Conchita.
ppps: Thessica has been invited to a Birthday Party/4th of July Celebration in Melaque, the town across the bay, tomorrow. Stay tuned!
Showing posts with label Frogs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Frogs. Show all posts
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Saturday, July 2, 2011
UkuAdventures in Mexico: Rain, Frog &Cockroach!
Dear Blob -
It's been an exclamation-point filled time! Brand new challenges, specific to the tropics continue to say Meep!
Last night I played an extensive Ukulady set at Rey Momo, the bar run my by new BFF, Buster, a ridiculously brilliant punk-rocker/former-AP-genetics-teacher, from LA, who writes hilarious-angry punk songs about cooters & pain.
The threat of tropical rain loomed, but we hauled Buster's PA & mics to the bar; Buster introduced me to the Expat Retirees, who socialize every Friday, known as White Night. A few White Nighters came to The Ukulady show and during songs of candy outfits, cake months & unicorndogs, a Tropical Rain, unlike anything I've ever experienced, started coming down. It is still pouring, as I write, enormous, violent sheets of water in varying stages of weight.
Show over, Buster drove me home in his persnickity stick-shift. Extremely Withered from the humidity, 2 hour show, yoga-class I did & constant-vague dehydration akin to Burning Man, I entered Casa Azul and discovered the entire dining room soaked in rain. The carpet squelched. Then the power went out.
I found the flashlight! I moved all the furniture in the dark! I gathered every towel in the house and mopped up, perhaps 1/6th of the water pooling in the carpet. Dumping the beyond-soaking-wet towels in the kitchen sink, I discovered an adorable frog, about the size of my hand, perched on a spatula. Breaking from the flood crisis, I cooed at it's silken cuteness and snapped it's superfrogmodel picture. Then I briefly fretted about how to get it out of the house before, exhausted, I collapsed into bed.
This morning heroic Burbank-Larry arrived and together we lugged the giant, soggy, dog-hair-covered rug outside onto the covered patio, in the process becoming soggy & dog-hair-covered, but not giant.
There was a break in the rain; inwardly-praising my pioneer-diligence, I rung out the flood-towels in the kitchen sink and hung them outside on the clothesline, which is Not under a covering.
Then it started pouring again.
Then I saw an enormous Cockroach on the kitchen ceiling, discovered the Frog, now covered in dog-hair, hiding behind glass window, in front of the screen, trapped and un-movable, even by stick-prodding.
The Frog and Cockroach are still in their respective areas, unreachable by my T-Rex arms. The rain continues to gush and the stray cats yowl. I think of the Donner Party.
Love The Ukulady
ps: Amidst the soggy-dog-carpet-lugging, Expat, David, brought by a bike for us to use!
pps: Buster called my show a mix of Pee Wee Herman & Cyndi Lauper! Beyond a compliment.
It's been an exclamation-point filled time! Brand new challenges, specific to the tropics continue to say Meep!
Last night I played an extensive Ukulady set at Rey Momo, the bar run my by new BFF, Buster, a ridiculously brilliant punk-rocker/former-AP-genetics-teacher, from LA, who writes hilarious-angry punk songs about cooters & pain.
The threat of tropical rain loomed, but we hauled Buster's PA & mics to the bar; Buster introduced me to the Expat Retirees, who socialize every Friday, known as White Night. A few White Nighters came to The Ukulady show and during songs of candy outfits, cake months & unicorndogs, a Tropical Rain, unlike anything I've ever experienced, started coming down. It is still pouring, as I write, enormous, violent sheets of water in varying stages of weight.
Show over, Buster drove me home in his persnickity stick-shift. Extremely Withered from the humidity, 2 hour show, yoga-class I did & constant-vague dehydration akin to Burning Man, I entered Casa Azul and discovered the entire dining room soaked in rain. The carpet squelched. Then the power went out.
I found the flashlight! I moved all the furniture in the dark! I gathered every towel in the house and mopped up, perhaps 1/6th of the water pooling in the carpet. Dumping the beyond-soaking-wet towels in the kitchen sink, I discovered an adorable frog, about the size of my hand, perched on a spatula. Breaking from the flood crisis, I cooed at it's silken cuteness and snapped it's superfrogmodel picture. Then I briefly fretted about how to get it out of the house before, exhausted, I collapsed into bed.
This morning heroic Burbank-Larry arrived and together we lugged the giant, soggy, dog-hair-covered rug outside onto the covered patio, in the process becoming soggy & dog-hair-covered, but not giant.
There was a break in the rain; inwardly-praising my pioneer-diligence, I rung out the flood-towels in the kitchen sink and hung them outside on the clothesline, which is Not under a covering.
Then it started pouring again.
Then I saw an enormous Cockroach on the kitchen ceiling, discovered the Frog, now covered in dog-hair, hiding behind glass window, in front of the screen, trapped and un-movable, even by stick-prodding.
The Frog and Cockroach are still in their respective areas, unreachable by my T-Rex arms. The rain continues to gush and the stray cats yowl. I think of the Donner Party.
Love The Ukulady
ps: Amidst the soggy-dog-carpet-lugging, Expat, David, brought by a bike for us to use!
pps: Buster called my show a mix of Pee Wee Herman & Cyndi Lauper! Beyond a compliment.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Disneyland Magic!
Dear Blog!
Today was a Special Occasion! In honor of Don Black's 30th birthday last September, I took him to Disneyland! Along for the Special O, were two delightful galpalsies FolkFlower & Saturn Girl. Literally. Folkflower is my Indigo Girls friend and Saturn Girl is my voiceover friend. We were Team Great Day and it was.
Here are the observations from the Gay Boy Capital of Southern California, aka, The Happiest Place on Earth (untrue):
1. Jean Shorts are unattractive on Everyone. Even The Slim should not wear Jean Shorts. I mean the jean shorts that are hemmed and made as shorts, not jean pants which have been haphazardly cut in the heat of summer, to provide relief from a sweltering sun and teen angst. Jean cutoffs, depending on length and the form-fittingness, are on the edge of ok. I believe jeans are meant to be a long-panted garment and are fairly hideous on everyone, as a short. Particularly the plump are fashion-no's, in jean shorts. Not that I am a fashion maven, but I feel strongly about the jean short.
2. Shorts are a tricky item. Many shorts are poorly cut or thoughtlessly designed. It seems the majority of shorts cause it's wearer to look fat, dowdy and ultimately touristy.
3. Shorts that do not fit into the above catagory include Dickies brand, and any baggy-ish cutoffy-Non-Pleated (extremely important) and shorts that go Below the Knee. For some reason, above-the-knee shorts are unflattering on almost everyone; women have a far more difficult task, looking good in shorts, than men. Some woman are luckily, blessed with cellulite-free genes. Not me. Happily, as I found out today, at Disneyland, not most women. Even the slimmest of the slim, generally have cellulite.
4. Almost all the youthful collegiate ride-assistants at Disneyland are totally my peeps, gay boys. Cute musical theatery fellows. It's an interesting juxtoposition, as Walt Disney was a nazi supporter and sheltered several nazi scientists after the Holocaust. These pals of Walt, were the first Imagineers. So it's odd that so many gay men love Disneyland. I love it too. I think it's the kitsch.
5. The best part of Disneyland is the landscaping. Great plants.
6. Gluttony is in the air at Disneyland. What is it about Main Street USA, which feeds me with the impulse to buy ice cream, taffy apples and grandma's fudge? Something about the Good Old Fashioned Fun...leads to Old Fashioned All-American Gluttony. Team Great Day resisted the sugar everywhere and ended our Special Occasion Day in LA's Chinatown. My fortune said I deserve respect and would soon get it. Bring it, Hollywood.
7. I was surprised at the under-abundance of obesity at Disneyland. Certainly I saw my fair share of overly-large "guests", as they call us, but it was nothing compared to the horrifying LA County Fair (see www.TheUkulady.com songpage song: LA County Fair)
8. Small World has a sign right before you embark into the line which says "On This Ride You Will Be Serenaded by Costumed Children From Around The World". Hilarious. Costumed cardboard cut-outs.
9. In Echo Park, before we left for the OC, one galpal told us that her bikini-waxer said,"A girl must 'Scrub The Muffin'". Reminded me of Best Chicago Gay Friend, who's African American officemate told her grandchildren to, "Clean Out Your Pocketbooks Real Good".
10. Speaking of hoohas, the UkuLady was preceded last night at Canter's Kibitz, by the worst singer/songwriter I've ever heard. He actually, earnestly, sang a song which repeatedly included the lyrics, "I wanna kiss her vagina". Makes me feel dirty just writing it. He was sadly beyond awful. Made me feel really good about myself, in that I knew that audience would love me because I certainly would not be singing earnestly about kissing any unmentionables.
Love The UkLady
PS: I love cowboys, pirates, pioneers, cartoon vegetables, ghosts, tropical knick-knackery and mermaids. Ultimately, that's what Disneyland is. And spaceships, ice cream socials, frogs, teacups, butterflies, eyelashed woodland creatures and indiana jones.
PPS: All the ladies of Team Great Day agreed we would totally get it on with Harrison Ford, even in his old-age.
Today was a Special Occasion! In honor of Don Black's 30th birthday last September, I took him to Disneyland! Along for the Special O, were two delightful galpalsies FolkFlower & Saturn Girl. Literally. Folkflower is my Indigo Girls friend and Saturn Girl is my voiceover friend. We were Team Great Day and it was.
Here are the observations from the Gay Boy Capital of Southern California, aka, The Happiest Place on Earth (untrue):
1. Jean Shorts are unattractive on Everyone. Even The Slim should not wear Jean Shorts. I mean the jean shorts that are hemmed and made as shorts, not jean pants which have been haphazardly cut in the heat of summer, to provide relief from a sweltering sun and teen angst. Jean cutoffs, depending on length and the form-fittingness, are on the edge of ok. I believe jeans are meant to be a long-panted garment and are fairly hideous on everyone, as a short. Particularly the plump are fashion-no's, in jean shorts. Not that I am a fashion maven, but I feel strongly about the jean short.
2. Shorts are a tricky item. Many shorts are poorly cut or thoughtlessly designed. It seems the majority of shorts cause it's wearer to look fat, dowdy and ultimately touristy.
3. Shorts that do not fit into the above catagory include Dickies brand, and any baggy-ish cutoffy-Non-Pleated (extremely important) and shorts that go Below the Knee. For some reason, above-the-knee shorts are unflattering on almost everyone; women have a far more difficult task, looking good in shorts, than men. Some woman are luckily, blessed with cellulite-free genes. Not me. Happily, as I found out today, at Disneyland, not most women. Even the slimmest of the slim, generally have cellulite.
4. Almost all the youthful collegiate ride-assistants at Disneyland are totally my peeps, gay boys. Cute musical theatery fellows. It's an interesting juxtoposition, as Walt Disney was a nazi supporter and sheltered several nazi scientists after the Holocaust. These pals of Walt, were the first Imagineers. So it's odd that so many gay men love Disneyland. I love it too. I think it's the kitsch.
5. The best part of Disneyland is the landscaping. Great plants.
6. Gluttony is in the air at Disneyland. What is it about Main Street USA, which feeds me with the impulse to buy ice cream, taffy apples and grandma's fudge? Something about the Good Old Fashioned Fun...leads to Old Fashioned All-American Gluttony. Team Great Day resisted the sugar everywhere and ended our Special Occasion Day in LA's Chinatown. My fortune said I deserve respect and would soon get it. Bring it, Hollywood.
7. I was surprised at the under-abundance of obesity at Disneyland. Certainly I saw my fair share of overly-large "guests", as they call us, but it was nothing compared to the horrifying LA County Fair (see www.TheUkulady.com songpage song: LA County Fair)
8. Small World has a sign right before you embark into the line which says "On This Ride You Will Be Serenaded by Costumed Children From Around The World". Hilarious. Costumed cardboard cut-outs.
9. In Echo Park, before we left for the OC, one galpal told us that her bikini-waxer said,"A girl must 'Scrub The Muffin'". Reminded me of Best Chicago Gay Friend, who's African American officemate told her grandchildren to, "Clean Out Your Pocketbooks Real Good".
10. Speaking of hoohas, the UkuLady was preceded last night at Canter's Kibitz, by the worst singer/songwriter I've ever heard. He actually, earnestly, sang a song which repeatedly included the lyrics, "I wanna kiss her vagina". Makes me feel dirty just writing it. He was sadly beyond awful. Made me feel really good about myself, in that I knew that audience would love me because I certainly would not be singing earnestly about kissing any unmentionables.
Love The UkLady
PS: I love cowboys, pirates, pioneers, cartoon vegetables, ghosts, tropical knick-knackery and mermaids. Ultimately, that's what Disneyland is. And spaceships, ice cream socials, frogs, teacups, butterflies, eyelashed woodland creatures and indiana jones.
PPS: All the ladies of Team Great Day agreed we would totally get it on with Harrison Ford, even in his old-age.
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