UkuAdventures in LA: Cuddle Therapy, Soba Noodles & Pioneers!

Dear Blob,
Since detoxing in Mexico from the American Media, particularly The News, I find myself much more relaxed and less angry. I'm a Naturally Happy person, often startled to realize I've been whistling unconsciously in line at Trader Joes or giggling in yoga class during Hanuman, also known as The Spilts. However, nothing makes me not whistle like Hypocrisy in Religion and Politics.

It's certainly important to be aware of what our government is spending the non-rich's money on, but at this juncture it's pointless to listen to NPR's political updates. Washington politics is like Junior High; Politicians are the puppets of the Corporations, like JV Cheerleaders are Varsity's puppets; the American public is the helpless student body and I'm in the nerdy theater-debate AV club. I'm over it.

The only good thing about the News are tidbit gems like this one: Cuddle Therapy for Gay Men by "Formerly-Gay" Men. Ha - Gay men being cuddled to Straight by Closeted-Gay Men. It costs a shocking $650! As the article says, toddle on down to your nearest bathhouse, in the UkuHousehold, that's 1/2 block away at Roman Holiday, and enjoy Cuddle Therapy for much cheaper.

I yearn for a world where people mind their own business and celebrate fellow humans for just being alive and surviving the constant challenges of life. Humans today are so concerned with celebrity cooters, how much sex and what kind of sex other people are having; if half of that energy went towards saying Hi on the street or growing a kitchen-garden everyone would feel a lot better. It would affect the pharmaceutical companies and the religious empires, as their coffers would no doubt, dwindle, as human's natural joy increased. It seems like a no-brainer. It's obvious, yet humans can't seem to do it. No wonder Aliens have no interest in our planet. We are boringly unevolved.

In other news, I cooked a tasty Soba noodle dish tonight with Ahi tuna and Kale! I felt very mature and artisan. The Ukulad has a condition which disallows him to eat garlic, onion, tomato & peppers. It used to be challenging to cook onion/garlic-free, but his meepy adorability is worth giving up chocolate for. Shocking, but true. The Pioneers didn't even have chocolate! Or the Ukulad! (He has Chocolate, but the Pioneers didn't have him). This evening's Soba dish wore a moisture-outfit of lemon 'n' lime juice, accessible from our yard-trees, soy sauce, fresh ginger, sesame oil & the secret magic ingredient, sugar. It was delicious!

Love The Ukulady

ps: I will be bi-weekly blogging about the LA Neighborhoods of Echo Park 'n' Silverlake, focusing on snacks, stairwalks 'n' succulents. Tune in here!

pps: I am totally a celebrity-cooter-news-reader. Everytime I go to the drugstore I head right for trashy magazineland. It's important to know if Lindsey Lohan has been arrested this week or if Brittney is knocked up again yet.

ppps: In audition-waiting-rooms, though, I like to smugly pull out a Harpers or New Yorker.

Catherine Keener is Not my English Teacher

Dear Blob,
One of the many interesting things about living in LA is the frequent celebrity run-ins & sightings us peasants are exposed too. While it takes someone very special, like a Amy Sedaris or Jennifer Saunders, to nauseate me with excitement & celebrity-worship, I am still affected by everyday contact with the famous; whether its the surrealism of the moment, eating licorice whips with Alice Cooper or the simple puzzling distraction whether Catherine Keener was my teacher in high school.

That was yesterday at Whole Foods. Perusing the cold-prepared case for a snack, I glanced at the tall, bookish lady I'd sidled up to. Reaching for olive tapanade, I instantly recognized her as a Marin Academy Instructor & then realized she taught Steve Carrell how to Do It, not High School English.

I am always struck with indecision at the Whole Foods prepared-snack cases, debating the value of chard-salad vs. grape leaves. As I stood beside Catherine Keener, considering olive tapanade, concern I was lingering too long struck me; She was lingering too and, stricken with self-consciousness, I worried she thought I was lingering because she was lingering.

Impulsively, I decided to serve Olive Tapanade appetizers at my upcoming Asian-themed dinner party and skittered towards the bread, simultaneously judging my future Italian-Asian fusian dinner party I was hosting for a professional Entertainer-Stylist I'd, not only never met, but was hoping would bestow me with a Ukulady Crafts-For-Kids TV Show, and fretting that Catherine Keener thought I was following her, as I came face to face with her over the baguette-bin. I also worried about the length of the future-sentence describing this moment.

She was dressed down, in fleece, makeup-free & reminded me of a weary Marin MILF. I admire Catherine Keener; her career choices, performances, etc.... While I was not breathless, as Coach Wolf from Strangers With Candy, had made me at Coffee Bean nor dazed & confused as Lindsey Lohan stepping-out-of-an-elevator-as-I-stepped-in, made me, I was struck with a feeling further word-research-is-needed, to describe. Weirdness, awkwardness...

I rushed away from the bread, hopefully settling Catherine's worry that I was a obsessive fan following her around Whole Foods; In my rush to get away from Catherine I reconsidered the Italian-Asian fusion dinner, deposited the tapanade & baguette on top of over-priced artisan chocolate, hastily grabbed an expensive juice & checked out.

It's awkward shopping alongside celebrities. They should have their own grocery stores, so's not to distract us peasants from shopping duties. In a sense, they do. The Santa Monica Whole Foods is primarily for the upper-class. Plastic-surgeried old ladies, foreheads smooth, eyes unnaturally stretched backwards, clutch their withered-at-the-neck husbands, who are clad in inappropriate-for-their-age skin-tight v-neck black tee-shirts.

Maybe today I'll go to yoga with ladies from CSI again.
Love The Ukulady
ps: The impulse-purchase of expensive juice is a whole other issue.

Facelifts 'n' Fake Lips

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I Do Not Know Jorja Fox

Dear Blob,
It was quite the celebrity day in Hollywood today. I just barely saved myself from looking like a total jackass to CSI star, Jorja Fox. Here's the scoop: Being "on deck" at my voiceover agency to audition, means lingering my the desks of the assistants, who are awesome. I enjoy chit chat with the Tallest-Assistant-In-The-World, Jeff, who is almost 7 feet and hilarious. On Jeff's desk last week, was a notice for a show at the LBGT Center, produced by Jorja Fox. I have a comedy pal who's name is also spelled Jorja and in the fever of the moment, failed to realize that Jorja Fox, the adorably gap-toothed star of CSI, is not my comedy friend seeking a voiceover agent, Jorja. Jeff informed met that Jorja had recently signed with my agency and he was going to go see her show. Thrilled that my agent-seeking friend, Jorja, had seemingly signed with my agent, I suggested to Jeff that we see her show together, as I knew her too! Last week we set the date for this upcoming Friday, and today at the agency, Jeff and I touched base about the show. In the midst of this Touching Base convo, Jeff mentioned that Jorja was very rich. I expressed surprise, as I didn't think my comedy friend Jorja, was rich and Jeff was like, "Yeah, all those millions of CSI episodes..." and I suddenly realized what a total schmuck I was and Jorja Fox is not my personal Friend. I can't even remember my friend, Jorja's last name.

In other celebrity news, Bud Bundy of Married With Children, who's real name is David, has stopped doing drugs and drinking, owns a ukulele and wants to learn how to play. I suggested a tea-drinking, ukulele-teaching hang-out sesh and we'll see if he follows up. You never know who is going to be in the waiting room of my voicever agency; usually that faintly recognizable person is not someone I went to high school with, but formerly well-known actor trying to make a buck. Good Times.
Love The Ukulady
PS: What's the deal with the mayor in some Texas town, stealing her neighbor's dog, renaming it Panchito and lying about having stolen it. You'd think if you're going to steal a dog, you'd steal one from across town.

Celebraginas and more!

Dear Blog,
An amusing and awful name for a child would be Trilogy, as in, "OMG, Trilogy and Chad were totally making out behind the bleachers!"
Or, "OMG, Trilogy and Epilogue totally broke up after prom!"
Love The Ukulady
PS: US Magazine makes it seem like celebrities vaginas, celebraginas, are totally sterile, magical and fresh. The US Magazine I was forced by curiosity, to read today, mentioned Nicole Richie was "spotting". I am horrified to picture Nicole Richie dashing to the bathroom and discovering blood in her panties. And US Magazine, available at the supermarket checkout, where kids can readily browse through pictures of scantily-clad boob-jobbed starlets, painted this disturbing picture for me. Why is Nicole Richie's blood-stained thong news?
PPS: I love it and I hope she spots more.
PPPS: Trilogy would totally help Nicole Richie wash her dirty panties and then they'd totally make-out for the paparazzi.

Me & Alice Cooper

Dear Blog,
Having grown-up in celebrity rich Marin County, I'm fairly unphased by hang-out seshes with famous peeps, however it still is always surreal and bizzare to find myself, oh, say, accepting a strawberry licorice whip from Alice Cooper, in the snug waiting room of a voiceover studio. I was catching up on US mag, which I'm hoping Best Gay Friend subscribes me too for my bday so I will always be flush with the latest Brittney, Paris and Sienna situations, waiting for a vo sesh, chitchatting with the delightful owners of the studio, when tromping (pretty accurate adjective) in the front door comes Alice, as Lindsey (fab studio-owner) calls him. I'm not too familiar with his genre of music, favoring more melodious and youthful bands, such as my new favorites, Of Montreal and Architecture in Helsinki, however,
I now know who Alice Cooper is, sort of. He's a very nice leathery-ish man with 3 kids, acid-reflex and a penchant for licorice and diet coke. He also likes dogs, wears black and red cowboy boots and agrees with me, that the strawberry licorice whips are indeed the same color as drunken Brittney's couture lingerie outfit in the US mag. We made small talk for a bit, dogs, kids, and japanese advertising tendencies. Then I worked, drove home on the 134, which thankfully, Nicole Richie was not driving on, and wrote a tiny toy piano song called Licorice.
Love The UkuLady
PS: The strawberry licorice whips were not those dark red, satisfyingly-chewy ones that I can't recall the name of right now, but the same brand that you get in the movie theater. They weren't as good as the dark red oddly-satisfyingly chewy ones. But they were soaked in fame!