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I am so absolutely not a cook so the fact this 1950’s kitchen tool de-veins and peels a shrimp in one fell swoop isn’t what I cherish most about it but, rather, the gorgeous aesthetics that grace the box. From the pre-psychedelic background pattern on the lid…

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… to the gorgeous color palette inside, the bizarre lower arm graphic with little devils popping out of it as they rise in steam from the non-boiling-over pot below, the meaning of which completely escapes me,…

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… to the shiny ribbon and Shrimpmaster tag laden layer of brittle plastic that still ripples over the pristine utensil – all of this is mastery in 1950’s package design.

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I bring up the Shrimpmaster today because I dined at Street last night with three as artfully designed friends, two of which were vegans and one who was vegetarian. So as not to send them screaming from the table when my usual steaming platters of Tatsutage Fried Chicken and Lamb Kakta Meatballs arrived, I ordered Andouille Sausage And Shrimp Gumbo. Yeah, it was pumped full of delicious smoked hot link sausage but all evidence of that was hidden under the okra, corn and red beans and rice while massive shrimp played lookout on top.

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The monster Crustaceans were beautiful and clean, as if someone in the kitchen took to them with a Shrimpmaster, though I know the chefs are skilled enough to accomplish this without the handy vintage tool.

My dinner companions were Tiffany Daniels, Mito Aviles and ChadMichael Morrisette.

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Tiffany played Squeak in the first National Tour of my musical, The Color Purple. Squeak’s crowing scene in the show occurs in a bar brawl with the much beefier Sofia. Compared to Sofia, Squeak is a SHRIMP.

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Just last week, Mito and Chadmichael led an ‘art attack’ on the West Hollywood City Council and not so long ago hung a Sarah Palin mannequin in efigy from their roof, an act that was plastered throughout the press. These boys are certainly NOT SHRIMPS when it comes to self expression.

As far as the SHRIMP-worthiness of our meal, there were no such critters in the vegan dishes like Indonesian Peanut Noodles:

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And none in the Stir Fried Chinese Brocolli:

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The Toasted Amaranth with slivered almonds, cuzco corn and roasted yam in almond milk was a no shrimp zone as well:

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Crossing into vegetarian territory there was positively no shrimp in the Ono Sashimi.  Our waiter pointed out that this particular serving resembled an actual fish.

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The rest of the meal was filled in with Burmese Lettuce Wraps, Fried Plantains, some kind of specially made vegan desert with too much fruit for this candy worshipper to want to try and a big ball of smooth chocolate something sprinkled with powdered sugar. No shrimp were harmed in the making of any of these dishes. But had there been a need, I know the Shrimpmaster was primed and ready for service.

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As Kitschmeister General I love, love, love the San Fernando Valley, just inches from the center of Hollywood and pumped full of Kitsch like a buffet line at Trader Vics. This is the first in a series of short films I’m making glorifying the Kitsch monuments that abound around me for bigisgood.tv. Part 1 features everything from Roman architecture and giant submarine sandwiches to clowns, frog families, volcanoes, giant fish, horses, shoe cars and very happy houses.

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For the full glorious and kitschyfied tour:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iRxzFdByMQs

And check out bigisgood.tv.

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Margaret Keane is the High Priestess of Pop Art, painting those huge waif eyed paintings that stared out at everyone throughout the 60’s and 70’s and are still copied and emulated to this day.

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Last Thursday night I got to see not only so many of the original historic paintings but new works by Keane as well who hasn’t lost a gnat’s hair of technique.

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This happened inside one of the greatest places in LA, the Phyllis Morris Showroom. Although Phyllis herself, creator of the original poodle lamp and unquestionably one of the greatest designers who ever lived at the high and artful end of Kitsch, isn’t still with us her creations very much are. Being in the actual presence of Keane and surrounded by both women’s work which not only dominated the eras they came from but still impact Pop Culture today was about as uplifting and exciting an art moment as this Pop artist could have. (I guess I’d have to throw in the time I walked past LA Eyeworks and through the window saw Andy Warhol staring at a motorized piece of art of mine for over five minutes. Him calling me a genius when I walked in was a watershed moment.)

There’s a movie in the works about Margaret Keane with Kate Hudson signed on to play Margaret. Her story is fantastic. Her husband, Walter, was a crafty businessmen and convinced his wife to basically paint and shut up. It was his name that was on all of her paintings and it was he who made multiple appearances on Johnny Carson, did all the interviews and got all the glory. Margaret is still very soft-spoken but came to her senses in an infamous 1965 court case during their divorce when she rightfully and finally claimed that the paintings that made Keane a household word were actually hers. When her husband called her a liar the judge set two easels up and asked them both to paint. Margaret got up and knocked out one of her famous big sad eyed paintings while Walter complained of a sore shoulder and sat there like a lump. Feminism was at its height and Margaret instantly became an Olympian sized champ.

I only own some Keane prints from back in the day. I would have loved to have bought one of her paintings last Thursday but as opposed to the few dollars they cost in the 60’s they now average between $75,000 and $225,000.

As far as Phyllis goes, I hope to go back to the showroom to shoot a video with Jamie Adler, Phyllis’ daughter who runs it now and is a fantastic designer in her own right.  Her mom set the bar for merging Art and Kitsch, magnificently over-the-top Baroque creations that remained totally tasteful and full of importance and humor.  Throughout the four decades she was designing, Phyllis’ oversized beds, chairs, wall units and accessories filled the homes of folks unafraid to embrace their own uniqueness and style like Liberace and Elvis Presley. Here’s Phyllis and her dyed pink poodles in 1953 with some of the first poodle lamps that rolled off the assembly line:

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Now back to the showroom Thursday night:

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Thank you, Margaret and Phyllis, for the never-ending inspiration, talent and fun!

Main Photo: Katy Winn

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To any of you having company over today I’d like to suggest this insane little dip with a sloshed, poorly cut cucumber complete with little olive ring burp bubbles lying in a vat of fruity stuff. I have no idea what this actually tastes like but the arts and crafts aspects of it are spectacular and dips in general tower high on the Kitsch Top 10 of conversation sparking party foods.

Thank you, aKitschionado Nessa, for submitting this gem to the Allee Willis Museum Of Kitsch at awmok.com! According to Nessa, “This was on the buffet at a church dinner my mom talked me into going to with her. There were little nuns in full habits spreading this stuff on toast.”  Nuns presenting a dip featuring anything drunk is excellence in Kitsch no matter how you dole it out.

I love food art anyway but there are several outstanding features that make me love Drunken Cucumber Man more than anything:
• Of course, the fact that he’s drunk and is served at a church smorgasbord.
• The fact that the arms aren’t attached to the shoulders and the way the shoulders are attached to the torso is so much larger than the little skinny arms that should be attached to that.
• The fact that the dip is “some sort of fruity stuff”.
• LOVE the bottle but couldn’t they have attached it to his hand?
• LOVE the pimento tongue.
• Skinny Legs and All
• Love the inside of the cucumber as a hat texture.

If the nun who cooked this lived in LA I’d invite her to come to my next pot luck party. In the meantime, I’m pretty sure Drunken Cucumber Man dip will be present one way or the other.

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Last night was the closing of The First National Tour of my musical, The Color Purple.  I had never written a musical before, hardly ever went to see them.  I’m an all-the-way Pop Culture gal and for me this was a medium from ancient times with way too histrionic sounding songs and singers frozen in time.  I was the least likely person in the world to write a musical but write one I did, with Brenda Russell, Stephen Bray and Marsha Norman. We were nominated for 11 Tony’s.  How we even won one, the brilliant LaChanze for Best Actress, was a miracle in the climate on Broadway. (Don’t get me started on that one…). Beyond being eternally proud of the work, especially the uplifting and joyous effect it had on audiences night after night, the most stunning part of the journey was the family of friends I made through the Broadway run and the ensuing national tour.  Right from the beginning when we started writing Purple in 2001 I always heard that  there’s constant bickering among everyone but we were all really friends.  And I mean everyone, from Alice Walker, the Pulitzer prize winning author of the novel, down through us authors, the cast, director, producers, hair, makeup, wigs, production managers, everyone.  I was always being told by other friends who had written for Broadway that by the end no one would ever talk to each other and that so many writers of so many shows, because the experience takes years and is so intense, never end up  speaking unless they write another show and then it’s just about work. Our case always was and remains different. This is a family that will be together forever, bound by an experience where the piece itself was bigger than any one part. Everyone felt chosen and blessed to be a part of The Color Purple. Fantasia WAS Celie.  Watching that journey of her finding herself through this character was a joy and a privilege. Every cast member, starting with the staggering Felicia P. Fields, Tony nominated for Sofia and the first actor we ever cast in 2003, was not only a triple threat – brilliant singers, actors AND dancers, a rare enough find in one person let alone an entire cast – they were a gift for any artist to have interpret their work.

One of the key lines of the show is when Shug Avery says to Celie, “I think it piss God off if anyone walk past the color purple in a field and not notice it. He say look what I made for you!”   Life is all around us. The blessed ones among us understand that the real gift is fantastic friends, a glorious sky over our heads, birds singin and the fact that we’re here at all. I thank every single person in this photo for a fantastic five years. I look forward to more in another space and time. We all know we’re together always.

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With Gary Griffin, our director, Fantasia and the Celie doll with cornrows and real wardrobe that Hair and Makeup made me after my Sound Of Soul party last week.

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With my co-composers and lyricists, Stephen Bray, Brenda Russell, and Wayne Linsey, who played keyboards on all our original demos for The Color Purple.

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Fantasia as Celie. Fantastic cast, many from the original Broadway production. Five years of my life into the making of this baby. I’m very proud of it. If you’re in LA come to the Pantages.

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A more appropriate title for this ultimate kitsch rendition of The Carpenters legendary “Rainy Days And Mondays” is “Raining Or Not, I Can’t Find the Key”. The problem with the stupefyingly scale-jumping Leo isn’t his voice so much as his ears. He slips over and under keys faster than a greased cat, consistent in his own musical universe thousands of miles beneath the melody only to rise like a phoenix into an entirely different melodic universe drenched in its own never-before-heard key. To be fair, there are actually two bars where Leo sings in the right key. Unfortunately they don’t follow each other.

I love when Leo gazes into the camera at 2:08 and then closes his eyes and FEELS the song even more. I love how his mouth gapes open at 2:07 and remains in a state of quivering preparedness waiting for the lyric to appear until 2:11 when he finally switches to spectacular nose wipe choreography during the instrumental. I love that all of this is performed in a “Jesus Loves You” t-shirt. Perhaps so, Leo, but I wish he loved you enough to include a check for vocal lessons.

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Right, the first thing that hits your lips when you think of Maya Angelou is that she’s “Miss Calypso”. But in her early days the prophet poetess was a chanteuse in a slinky red dress back-bending under the limbo bar. This Liberty LP was recorded at The Keyboard club in Hollywood in 1956. Angelou’s Afro-Cuban-with-a-pinch- of -Blues-and-Jazz standards include “Scandal In the Family”, “Mambo In Africa”, “Donkey City” and “Stone Cold Dead In The Market”, the first two of which she wrote.

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Donny Osmond may have won Dancing With The Stars and a whole lotta money for his favorite charity but a whole lotta money was the last thing that was spent on manufacturing this toy microphone and song sheets set at the height of the Donny & Marie Show frenzy in 1976. Despite the claim on the package that you too can “CREATE YOUR OWN SONGS • MAKE YOUE OWN MUSIC” the non-working plastic mic attaches to nothing and won’t get you much farther than singing into a candle or a shoe or anything else remotely microphone shaped.

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The “song sheets” are literally blank sheets of paper that you write the notes to your own song on should you have enough songwriting chops to pull one out of the blue and be blessed with the knowledge of how to notate music, the latter of which I don’t even know how to do.

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To make matters worse and even lower-rent, the song sheets are stapled together at the top and the bottom and it’s next to impossible without surgical instruments to remove the staples without ripping the one-ply-thick-thinner-than-toilet-paper paper it’s printed on.

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Made in Hong Kong during the heyday of the bro/sis acts’ ABC variety show by the family’s own Osbro Productions and distributed by Gordy International (how did Motown get into the act?) it also appears that Donnie got the shaft on the shaft of the microphone as Marie’s name got bumped up to all caps and Donny’s remains crushed into diminutive lower case letters.

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All around, this belongs in an express elevator up to the Penthouse of Kitsch because it is sooooo totally and completely cheaply made, meant to be dumped into bargain bins at all of the dollar discount stores that were just starting to get a smelly toehold on the American merchandising scene.

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Rising like several healthy squirts of whipped cream on an otherwise dull sundae, the Sanctuary spa/resort/fantasy masterpiece of plaster workmanship on Palm Dr. in Desert Hot Springs, California almost caused me to have a car wreck when I first drove past it. Absolutely incongruous with anything else in the area, it still gets my vote as hot spot in town.

Despite the fact that the plaster is slathered on so thick that the mashed potato/sour cream/whipped cream exterior already shows cracks, I’ve long known that this ‘heaped on’ technique is an excellent way to cover up otherwise dowdy exteriors. Cottage cheese or fan brushed plaster or concrete do not count here. That’s merely for people who have no taste. The cascading and mounding effect seen here at The Sanctuary is, rather, a fully realized artistic vision that scales to the peak of Mt. Kitschrest and never comes down for a landing.

I found these comments online: “… staff , restaurant, rooms and pool area is perfect” … “Rollaway bed mattress ($10 extra charge) was so old and uncomfortable” … “Everywhere we went the staff took time to wish us a good day” … “What a dirty, stinkin, filthy dive!” … “Best $70.00 ever spent…”… “on the first day we have no shampoo and when we ask the answer was “we are not received yet from supplier ” ( who cares-i pay for room ).”

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