I’m pretty religious about celebrating one’s birthday all day from the strike of midnight through the next 24. Years that I haven’t observed this rule I’ve been miserable. If I’m stuck working I don’t concentrate on the work anyway, too resentful that I didn’t stick to what I had laid down. This year, my festivities are taking place a week late at my favorite place on earth, The Madonna Inn in San Luis Obispo, with the little group I spend each and every birthday with, some of whom joined me on my big night last Thursday at Bar Marmont.

That was just the little hamburger teaser so the day itself, November 10, would not go un-celebrated. But Bar Marmont didn’t happen until 9 PM. so there were many hours to fill with birthday escapedom building up to it. So I spent the day tooling through East LA and beyond photographing my favorite vintage and kitsch spots, eating tacos and picking up treasures at every 98, 99 and dollar store I could find. On my way, I passed many signs like this:

I love handpainted beauty salon signs. Especially because of the portraits, featuring ‘Familiar’ hairstyles of decades gone by, evidently still sculpted inside, and very macho looking men.

I love how massive the male’s head is on this next sign compared to the diminutive female’s that’s sporting the illegitimate hairstyle child of Jane Fonda circa 1967 and me for the last 2 1/2 decades:

Even more than bad art on beauty salon signs I love when a nice Grecian pillar holds up nothing:

Especially if the windows around it lead to nothing but brick.

Windows aren’t the only thing I like painted on walls:

A nice ghoulish girl in the middle of a desert dressed in trashy lingerie sucking on a can of beer is nice too. And I always love a nice family painted on windows. This one kills me because look how perfectly the actual table outside fits in with the grill that silicon-injected mama is cooking on for her family in the mural:

I think you need a closer look at silicon-injected mama. Of course, her upper torso hogs all the attention but can we discuss the size of her thighs and how, if her entire body were painted, she would be 14 feet tall?

It’s always a nice touch when something that should be one word is split up into two. Especially if one of the syllables is ‘high’ and it’s painted to preserve symmetry so that one enters the mar-ket.

I love when letters are missing from signs:

One doesn’t have to look far to discover the mystery here. What’s missing from church is a ‘u’.

One of my favorite genres of signs are these 1950’s style ones on a stylus that contain many different signs to make up one master one.

 

This one is very faded but I love motels so much that I always like when each letter earns its own space:

In its heyday, this one must’ve been a killer:

And I always love when these sectioned signs end up in a 1960 cascade of lights at the top:

I agree that softserve ice cream is important enough to cap off this honey:

Of course, when a sign is carved into the shape of what it is that they’re selling inside it always gets extra points:

But perhaps no sign has had a more pervasive effect on the American culture and landscape than this:

The very first McDonald’s in the world, built in 1953 and featuring Speedee the Chef, is still standing and serving today in Downey, CA.

I don’t know what this structure is hidden behind the fence right next to it but I’m hoping it was some kind of gas station where burger-chompers could fill up their tanks and ingest fumes from the gorgeous 1950’s chariots they were being served in.

Now here’s something I would love to get my hands on. I’m sure Norms was no competition for the almighty McDonald’s just a block away, but this little Dutch-gone-Atomic structure with the big saltshaker tower in the middle was probably what I would have steered toward if given the option back in the day:

I passed a ton of stunning and thankfully still standing architecture on my drive, like this old movie theater very close to the ch rch a few photos back.

The new slapped-on colors are oh so wrong and it’s a shame that a construction company inhabits this instead of a projector and an incredible candy counter, but at least all the details have been preserved

I’m incredibly partial to Deco architecture because I live in such a structure. That these two buildings are still standing on Soto Street is a wonder of anti-wrecking ball nature:

Just as impressive as gorgeous architecture is gorgeous foliage, especially when carved into the shape of  what the architecture holds inside.

I’m not sure if the Del Rio Lanes in Downey is new or old. Although the architecture screams 1950s, the paint looks brand spanking new, refurbished in a way that a Marge’s or Ruby’s diner looks old but is inescapably and cheesily retro new.

The sign looks like the real thing but then there’s something again about the way it’s painted that makes me think otherwise:

None of that really matters to me because they have the good sense to keep the bushes appropriately trimmed:

When it comes to appropriate landscaping. There’s nothing I like better than a nice burger, fries and a coke up on the roof:

 

I’m not sure why the hot dogs escaped sculptural interpretation…

…but they make an excellent roofline nonetheless:

Last but certainly not least, I love a company that sells one thing but moves into a building that represents an entirely different thing in the same genre. This is where I’d want to go if I was interested in cement blocks as a fence, not chain-link.

Even better, what does the elephant have to do with anything??

Perhaps it’s there to remind me that elephants have extraordinary memories, and that I should always remember what a blessed life I have in that I understand that all these things that have crossed my eyeballs through all these years are gifts to make me smile and remember that one thing I love about life so much is that people get to express themselves in all different ways. And most of them make me happy. Which is a nice thing to experience every day but especially on your birthday.

“Perspiration motion is carried out intensively and working out of the upper half of the body!!” Well, you can say that again!

I’m not quite sure why perspiration promotion deserves two ‘!!’s. Although I can attest to the fact that perspiration happens the second this smothering sheet of black is pulled over the upper half.

The last time I checked, perspiration could also transpire on the lower parts of the body. Though I’m not sure I would want “rubber processing” occurring anywhere:

Lest there be any confusion as to which part of the body a JACKET goes on, there’s this:

Despite this fashion being clearly marked as a “veste du sauna” I don’t think I need any article of clothing making me boil anymore in du sauna:

Notice that height is measured in inches. That usually stops after you’re a few years old.

It’s very nice that the Sauna Jacket comes with a ‘hood cover”, though I’m used to that phrase referring to something that goes over a stove or grill of a car:

I’m not so sure about wearing ‘clothing of absorbency’ if there’s a chance that my clothes will poison me:

Speaking of poisoning, I always look forward to reading the warnings on such imported products:

I would never wear my sauna jacket WITH a washing machine or dryer, the latter of which is spelled with a ‘y’ and not an ‘i’, fyI Daiso industries. And should I ever have to dry my sauna jacket, I’m not sure where to go for ‘shade of ventilation’. I would never bring it ‘close to a fire side’. I hope that any medical treatment I receive will never be ‘sick’. And I must say it really concerns me that the usage of any item of clothing be determined by what mood I’m in: ‘Do not use at the time of a bad condition or at the time of fatigue’. And I’m not sure what else I would use this jacket for but I will attempt to heed the advice of ‘Do not use in addition to an original use’.

The warning I’m most concerned about, however, is the one that I can’t understand no matter how much I attempt to interpret it: “There is individual difference in an effect”. Huh?? Perhaps there’s just too much responsibility in wearing the sauna jacket.

And so it’s now safely folded up and slipped back into it’s wrapper. Hopefully no one will stick the package fire side or in the shade of ventilation.

One of my favorite genres of kitsch is products from China with translations that have run hideously amuck. It’s not even that the products are bad – though in this case I may have hit the jackpot – so much as the language and packaging used to promote them is so confused as to be nonsensical. In this case, the Bath Thing is a “New century Sanitarian thing”.

The only definition I could find of Sanitarian is “environmental health specialists, (who) enforce government regulations and advise and educate clients.” I’m pretty sure that one of those people are not living inside this package. But so confident is the manufacturer of the Bath Thing that their messaging is clear, the back of the label, the only other place where anything about the product is written, is exactly the same as the front, with scant information about the product inside.

Another exceptional thing about the Bath Thing is that ‘Thing’ is clearly singular yet there are two thingS inside the package. First there’s this little netted Thing that I can’t imagine would be anything other than annoying when dragged over your skin:

Then there’s this  rubber thong looking Thing:

The weave on the flip side seems a little far apart to have loofah effectiveness:

So sure was the manufacturer that the product would sell itself that neither one of the Things are pictured on the label. Unless the almost- transparent mound of soapsuds this gal’s right hand is poking into is the thong Thing and the clearly airbrushed soapy mess around her left hand is the netted Thing.

It’s unbelievable to me that a manufacturer who was so confident about their product would identify themselves nowhere on the product. Then again, it’s/they’re the Bath Thing/s and once it’s/they’re on the shelves at a 99¢ store, all the better if you’re a Kitsch lover like me!

In the spirit of poodles this week, I may as well throw in this fantastically 50’s mother of pearl, sparkle bumped, handpainted poodle compact. I’ve never had powder packed in it but I tote around a variety of small items in the mirror lined case.

Those are original Brown Derby portraits reflected in the top half.

They won’t fit inside the case as it’s a petite 3″ x 4″.  Maybe that’s why the little 3-dimensional glitter tufts of poodle fur look and feel so good, making up in beauty and depth what they lack in stature.

This poodle is happy about her look, painted much more distinctively than most poodles of her decade. I like that her bottom lip looks like a clock hand.

If ever there was an animal created to look at its reflection in a mirror it’s this most distinctive of canines.

I’m actually thinking a lot about distinctive animals today as I’m writing a fairly  twisted kids song with Bleu McCauley and Jasmine Ash for a tv idea we have. We play a porcupine, skunk and platypus. Not that any of them are as attractive as poodles but our animals are very proud that they don’t blend into the kingdom as just another animal.  Just like us.

Although some poodles don’t just “blend in”:

Here’s to people, animals and artifacts that hover above the crowd, embracing their uniqueness, with no desire to head towards the over-trodden intersection of Boring and Blending In.

I’m not a lover of dentists. Though I have one I do love now in LA, Dr. James Formaker, I’m still feeling repercussions from a butcher in Beverly Hills who not only put me through two unnecessary surgeries, one of which he didn’t even have conscience enough to check to see if the surgeon had preformed the correct one of – which he hadn’t – and all of which cost me over $25,000 and an even more severe price of walking around with a sore mouth for the last four years. His name is happily provided upon inquiry. But I had  a tooth adventure during my trip to Detroit a few weeks ago that completely restored my faith in these people who dutifully drill in your mouth in search of decay.

I had just finished giving my speech on the rejuvenation of Detroit at the Rust Belt to Arts Belt III conference. We were at the reception and as I chomped down on the softest of Vietnamese spring rolls I felt something lift up in my mouth.

No, this couldn’t be happening! I was in the midst of this intense trip, filming it is a documentary, doing a ton of press, with one more big performance to go. The last thing I needed, especially after hours, was trying to find a dentist in a town where I knew none.

First, Michael Poris, called someone he knew.

But that dentist sounded too too scary on the phone.

He was exceedingly pessimistic that most likely nothing could be done despite the fact that I felt all I needed was a little glue.

Then, as if the Tooth Fairy was looking down on me, someone I met only minutes before overheard the ruckus and called her dentist.

The difference of talking to Dr. Doom and the bright and sparkly personality of the woman on the end of Kathy Huber’s phone was night and day. So me and my entourage, Mark Blackwell, Laura Grover and Denise Caruso, piled into our rented van and followed this angel of mercy to Grosse Pointe Woods…

…where Dr. Kathleen Gibney met us with her two kids and dog in tow. First of all, how great is a dentist who’s already home cooking dinner who comes in after hours for someone who they don’t even know?? This woman deserves sainthood.

Dr. Gibney not only let everyone stay in the room with me, which went miles in terms of quieting my panic down,…

…but also let us document every single inch of the procedure.

She didn’t care how close the camera came.

I’m fine in almost any traumatic situation as long as a video is rolling…

…and as long as friends are along to act as dental hygienists and stick their hands in my mouth when assistance is needed.

There wasn’t an inch of pain and Dr. Gibney preformed flawlessly.

Besides Dr. Gibney’s lively, atypical-for-a-dentist personality and excellent skills, this was the dentist office of my dreams. The colors were bright and the dental chairs were comfortable, actually a perfect match for my outfit.

The last place I’d expect to find kitsch exuberantly displayed is in a dentist office. But here it was, Photoshoped photos of stars with toothbrushes…

and bottles of mouthwash.

There were oodles of excellent dentally-correct album covers, like Lou Rawls with dental floss,…

…and these folks with toothbrushes and toothpaste:

I especially liked this title spelled out in dental floss:

There were LP covers everywhere you looked.

Even the light fixtures called my name.

As fate would have it, I had 25 pounds of candy in the back of the van that I bought for my big high school marching event coming up on Saturday. I know that a dentist’s kids are the last people in the world I should be offering an opening up of the portals of chocolate to but it seemed like the perfect capper to a most unexpected evening of fun.

So rather than being in tooth trauma, I was in absolute heaven. I’ve never had such a great time at a dentist office in my life.

Thank you Kathy Huber and Jeremy Martin, pictured here at my big event Saturday morning, for leading me and my molar to salvation that fateful night.

If anyone reading this is from Detroit or surrounding areas and you’re not completely and ecstatically in love with your dentist, I don’t care how far it is to drive, a trip to Dr. Gibney’s is just what Dr. Willis orders. I even think I’ll get my teeth cleaned in Detroit just to see her again.

Though she’s a little smudged, this early 70’s bottle of Avon Miss Lollypop Cologne Mist still smells as good as she did back in the day. Which wasn’t very good but very unmistakably Avon. Which, if you’re a collector, is very good.

Though she’s missing her little plastic spritzer thing, I did douse myself with Miss Lollypop once using the spritzer thing from a can of spray paint. Although I might have gotten a little Krylon Totally Tangerine in the mix, that was enough to let me know that the rest of Miss Lollypop will remain forever in the bottle as I don’t want to walk around attracting raccoons or smelling like a just sprayed piece of furniture.

I do love her her stylish hat…

… and pert little expression.

Avon used the same face for their Cherry Lip Pop.

FYI, I grabbed that last photo off Ebay so I’m not responsible for the grunge-that-should-go-where-no-lip-has-gone around the bottom of the tube.

Miss Lollypop might have originally come with a little rick rack choker judging from another photo of her I found online. Then again, some Avon smelling person may have loved her so much that they just made some jewelry for her.

Miss Lollypop is loaded with 3 Fl.oz of pink, pretty fun. If I knew I would feel as happy and confidant as she looks I would spray some on right now.

This is the kind of product I love finding in dollar stores. So generically named it’s pathetic, a label that’s crooked and not quite centered and a product that looks more like mouthwash than after shave. Not that I have any use for MACHO Sports Scent but I feel an obligation as Minister of Kitsch to pick these things up when I see them.

I love the description on the back:

If I were the manufacturer I don’t think I’d be encouraging anyone to use this as “invigorating refreshment”. And, “Specially formulated with a classic masculine scent” could go either way… masculine after the gym, masculine after sex, masculine pre-sex… Exactly masculine when?

I did muster up the stuff take a whiff of MACHO. Thankfully, it doesn’t smell like sweat, which is what I was most expecting a “sport scent” to smell like. It does, however, smell like it’s been sitting around in a bathroom cabinet since the 1960s. Which is exactly what a kitsch lover wants from a brilliant dollar store toiletry product such as MACHO.


This Tootsie Palette is one of the first things I found in a thrift shop after moving to Hollywood in 1976. I was so excited I could finally have feet like the stars!

Well, at least toes like the stars if I ever got it together to slide my tootsies into this awkward little gadget with the adjustable toe dividers.

Thank you to the as-requested-unnamed foot model for this little demonstration:

As the package says, you can even romp around in your Tootsie Palettes while your little tootsies are drying.

But that means you have to slip into the “portable” Tootsie Palettes also included.

And that means only half of your foot is given support should you choose to change locations while your little piggies are drying. But not to worry as the instructions make it clear they won’t fall off your feet because the black velvet ties “Hold With a Single Turn…NO KNOTS Necessary.”

For anything to demand that many capital letters I would expect a revolutionary, newly patented fastening method. But as you can see from the rhinestones and their quite normal backings, if you don’t knot the straps not only will you get blisters on the bottom of your feet from the half-only palette but also risk skin burn when you rip the tape off your feet you’ll need to hold these things on.

But despite straps that are barely long enough to knot and a piece of hard plastic that causes arch pain if worn long enough, it’s hard not to get excited about a foot beauty product that’s this excited about itself:


Although I love the little Toosie Palette logo, the shape could have easily been adapted into both a palette and a foot. From this…

…to this:

But aside from whatever deficiencies it might have, I think the “Styled In Hollywood” Tootsie Palette is about as great a Hollywood inspired kitsch product as there is.  Why aspire to be great, to be gifted in the creative arts, to win an Oscar, to rise above all the obstacles in your path to achieve greatness when you can just have beautifully polished toes?

Although none of these little mini pens come in the signature Mac Morange ultra bright neon shimmer orange color that I slap on my lips almost every hour of the day, they’ve been a staple in my purse ever since I received three of them for Christmas. They’re the exact size of and dead ringers for a real tube of lipstick so, as someone who always carries multiple pens because I’m forever writing myself notes, size and beauty rank these high on my list of practical kitsch accoutrements.

I hate keeping things in my head. I don’t like my brain clogged with anything other than empty space for ideas to float around in and percolate. And, despite the fact that I have three iPhones because I can’t take the time to look for my phone when I inevitably misplace it, I’m still in the habit of scribbling notes on little pieces of paper.

And just as I am with iPhones (and pocket recorders and keys and anything else that’s small that I need to put my hands on at a moment’s notice), I’m incapable of only owning one lipstick pen.

I tried to live with just these three for a couple weeks but broke down today and went on the hunt for them online. I was going to get a conveniently priced set of 12 but was watching Extreme Couponing on TLC during my search so felt inspired to stockpile. In just a few days I’ll be the proud recipient of enough lipstick pens to keep one constantly in sight for a year. My one regret is that the pens don’t come in all these gorgeous 1970’s shades:

I still get a thrill when I uncork a new tube of lipstick for the first time and that perfectly shaped oval ski slope of slick, untouched color emerges. If you’re someone who loves lipstick, there’s nothing like that first virgin drag across your lips. I like lipstick so much that I have several other lipstick shaped  items.  For example, I have a lipstick camera,

… a lipstick umbrella

… and several lipstick lighters.

But most beautiful of all are my new lipstick pens!

More than anything, the one thing that accompanied me every single day of my four college years at the University of Wisconsin in the late 1960’s was a spritz of Ambush Spray Cologne. I should have bought stock in Dana,  the company that made it, for as many bottles of  it as I went through. The male equivalent was called Canoe. Sometimes girls wore that too but I was so attached to the scent and the shade of pink and hard rubbery shape and feel of the bottle I never made it past Ambush.

Here’s what I looked like when I first started wearing it at the tail end of high school:

For as laquered as my hair was it might appear that I may have coated that with Ambush too, but that was all about Aquanet. My Aquanet hairspray kept my hair helmet so firm I never had to worry about it getting crushed when the amount of Ambush I sprayed on myself put me in many situations like this back in college:

Thank you, Ambush, for making me smell good then and for that astounding pink bottle still lighting up my eyes today.