West of Hollywood

AND NOW... THIS

As you can see above, I've been very busy lately.  Although I'm feeling great, staying in shape and learning lots about my body, I am sorry for neglecting my loyal WOH'ers and I promise to return bigger and better than ever very soon.  Hang in there.

Ok, now back to... well, whatever you call the above.    

 

AND NOW FOR SOMETHING TERRIFYING

The genius behind Whorange asked us to recall our most memorable holiday gift, given or received, and it brought to mind a childhood horror that I want to share with you now.  

The most anticipated and loved Christmas present I received was when I was five. Not a puppy (I had one of those) or a bb gun (had one of those also), it was an old-fashioned ventriloquist's dummy.  I begged and pleaded and circled the exact one I wanted in the Sears catalogue; a black one named Lester, just like Willie Tyler had on TV. 

Well I got that doll and I loved him and slept next to him every night for a year. That is, until my grandparents let me stay up late one Friday night to watch Magic with Anthony Hopkins and Ann-Margret.  Have you seen this movie?  Don't.  It will make you claw your eyes out in terror and how a six-year-old was allowed to watch it... well, I'll just put that in the same category as me being handed my own box of twinkies on Saturday mornings and offered a cup of coffee, then taken out for driving lessons with my grandad.  

Anyway, after seeing Magic, I became terrified that my dummy was plotting to kill me with a knife.  I buried it in the closet and blocked the door, too scared to throw him away because he knew where I lived and would come back for revenge.  And I kept him like that as we moved four times to three different states over twelve years.

He is still around, strapped to a child's rocking chair in my parents' rec room.  For you see, he must be kept, yet kept safely secured.  I give him stink eye each time I am home and check the little straps for safety. 

Be careful what you wish for, kids.

QUEEN FOR A DAY

I want to be her for one day.  Just one.  Any more might cause serious sequin rash.  

(via Fabulon)

BLAZING HOME

Last night after dinner I settled in with my grandmother to watch a documentary on vintage Bourbon Street burlesque, Evangeline the Oyster Girl & Other Tales of Burlesque, over a piece of blueberry icebox pie. Before heading back West of Hollywood I leave you with the greatest of them all...

Blaze Starr.

POSTCARDS FROM THE DEEP

I'm currently east of Hollywood, just north of New Orleans, and officially home. It wouldn't be the deep swampy south without the horribly bizarre. To remind me of that I arrived home to this:

Yesterday morning, my grandmother's neighbor raked leaves into a hole to burn them, somehow fell into the hole, and cremated himself right there. When they found him all that was left was his head.

My father got in late for gumbo dinner because his pastor's nephew was taking care of his dog's new litter of puppies, one was malformed and dying, so he went to get a gun to shoot it, tripped and shot himself dead.

And they announced on the news last night that New Orleans is the country's deadliest city. I can see why; leaf-raking terror, puppy-shooting suicide. There's never been a more appropriate time to call out this phrase...

Sweet baby Jesus!

Oh, and...

Happy Thanksgiving!

THE POWER OF OWLS

 

As a boy I would sit when bored and stare at a lifesize ceramic owl that my grandmother had artfully painted and glazed. It sat next to the old walnut-cased TV and the variegated brush strokes across the feathers and piercing yellow eyes fascinated me. So a couple weeks ago when World of Wonder opened their new show on owl art, What A Hoot: An Artful Discourse on Owls in Contemporary Society, I was definitely excited. The show was fab as WOW's shows always are, and the owls so fun and campy and generally iconic that I decided to use one in my banner when designing this new site. Owls on the brain. 

Then this Saturday two of my most treasured friends, who call each other hibou - french for owl - rang to tell me they had an early Christmas present in mind. They would like to sign over and ship to me from Europe their BMW Z4 roadster since they know I have been needing a new car. Now that is a Christmas present that only a fairy god-owl can deliver.  

Ah... the power of owls.  I am placing an owl shrine in the corner of my living room and lighting a candle daily.  Owls shall stay on my brain from now on, or at least until the Z4 needs replacing.  

Je t'aime les hiboux.

(artwork via the amazing Matte Stephens)

DANCE HALL DAYS

I am starting a new business as an importer. First items to be imported are these lovely ladies from Newark.

And no, they will not be for sale. They are to be part of the living nativity scene for the window on Melrose. They will be playing The Virgin Mary and her pre-Prop 8 husband, Josephine. And they're gonna kick the shit out of some donkeys.

Top that, Marc Jacobs.

(more window-dressing after the jump)