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I drove up to Monterey on Friday from LA. Most people would get excited about going to the Aquarium or Cannery Row but I get excited about the cheesy names of the roads on a shortcut we take from the 5 to the 101 off an exit called Lerdo Higway that connects you to Highway 46 where James Dean met his maker. Once you exit the 5, the first “main street” you hit is Main Drain.

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I don’t know about you but other than myself I can’t think of many people who would be happy to live on a street so eloquently named. A couple of miles further comes a road I’ve also always loved the name of as I can’t figure out how anyone could have arrived at naming it such:

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Exactly which brown material I’m not sure of though the fact that there are a lot of cows in the area brings a certain brown something to mind. We were very excited as we approached the actual street sign, only 50′ away.

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But just as I was about to hop out and be photographed under the street sign I’d sworn I would capture myself under one day as I sped past it my last five trips to Monterey I realized something was wrong. We slowed down trying not to disrupt traffic, a couple of tractors and a van with a bucking bronco ridden by a pig painted on the side. To our horror, all that was left of the Brown Material Rd. signage was a lonely pole, a screw plate and one dangling rusty bolt. As many times as I’d thought about doing the same thing I can’t believe someone actually had the balls to do it. If you know anyone with a Brown Material street sign hanging anywhere please let me know.  But thankfully, Brown Material is apparently a U-shaped road as 100 feet ahead we came across this:

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Not as impressive as spelling out the full word but Brown Mat will do. It’s still such a silly name for a street. Maybe out here in the country Mat means what Place often does in the city. For example, there’s a 21st St. and a 21st Place right next to each other in Santa Monica. The Place is just as long as the Street but apparently something distinguishes the two and maybe that’s the relationship between Material and Mat. Either way, I’m happy just to have gotten this shot. The tractors and bronco pig van were already too annoyed with us with slowing, almost pulling over and then not so although I was able to get this street sign shot there is no evidence of me standing under it.

Three minutes later we hit the last place James Dean stopped before climbing into his Spyder 550 and smashing head on into a 1950 Ford that entered his lane, entering Immortality.

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The original Blackwell’s Corner used to be a small vintage structure but was modernized recently into this faceless hulking industrial shed.

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But the inside is still wonderful where they sell hundreds of different kinds of home harvested nuts displayed alongside excellent kitsch-heavy merchandise. Note the East of Eden Fudge Factor sign behind the elegant plastic ice buckets with foil stuffed inside to show off the “crystals”:

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I always get some chocolate covered pistachios for the road and then shoot a few photos of the giant James Dean head out in front, one of many heads that pepper the highways in these parts although all the others are men in overalls harvesting broccoli or a grandma enjoying a nice head of lettuce.

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Now that I’m here in Monterey the streets have normal coasty kinds of names and there are no giant heads of Doris Day, Clint Eastwood or any of the other notables who live here. I always have a nice time when I’m here but if left to my own devices I’d be exploring the sights – or lack of them – on Brown Material Road.

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My trip was postponed for a month so the suitcases on are back in the closet and the percussion is resting nicely in its regular bed.

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Pomplamoose tunes are so hot and I hate to dial it back to simmer but all will be boiling in June when we get together and pick up where we left off in December.

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Today I spent all day watching tv because no one knew I was home.

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I’m supposed to be traveling today but won’t know if I’m going until a couple hours before the flight due to complications on my collaborator’s side. I’m not the world’s most eager traveler to begin with but having a suitcase that makes me smile every time I look at it sure helps if one is of the nature that their traveling psyche can be affected by aesthetics.

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In three weeks I’m throwing a party/AIDS Project of LA fundraiser to introduce the Kitsch Pop art of John Lloyd Young, to whom the musical I co-wrote, The Color Purple, lost the Tony to the musical in which he starred and won a Tony for, Jersey Boys.

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None of which is relevant at all to the Disco suitcases or Pomplamoose, who I’m supposed to be recording with should I actually get on the plane today, other than the chances of me leaving town before the party if I don’t leave this week are grim. But I love working with Pomplamoose and keeping my Disco suitcases packed will keep the flame burning under the pieces of six songs we wrote and recorded together back in December and have been trying to finish ever since.

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I first saw Pomplamoose on YouTube when they did my song, “September”.

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I’ve seen trillions of versions of “September” and no one gets within a continent of Earth Wind & Fire (where my percussion obsession began and what gave me a permanent seat in the vortex of Disco). But Pomplamoose dissected that thing like a frog and reconstructed something inventive and fun so I did what I never do, I tracked them down and asked if they wanted to make records together.

I’m a percussion freak and the rhythmic places Pomplamoose goes is very exciting when one thinks about all the pockets a percussion crazy person like me can drop sonic seasoning into. So here’s what my Disco suitcases are packed with for my trip:

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I loved and still love Disco, not at all a Pomplamoose thing but very much an Allee influence when when thinking about making great Pop records. An incredibly amped and happy state of mind fueled by music that melodically and rhythmically is the equivalent of 48 sets of little feet attached to your heart and racing you over the finish line of Pop Soul.

Disco, and my suitcases as representatives of it, still make me feel good even if I don’t feel good about not knowing whether I’m traveling or not today. We shall arrive whenever the time is right and pick up on the exact bass note we left off on. Of that you can be sure!

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I’m very attached to my home state of Michigan and collect anything from the 1940s to 1970s that honors it. I particularly love when architecture is involved as in those decades Michigan exemplified the Atomic Age with its number one industry, automobiles, and much of the architecture in the state was inspired by the cash cow’s huge tail fins and modern color palettes.

The Harris Motor Inn in Kalamazoo couldn’t quite decide if it was traditional (lots of brick) or modern, though the excellent slate, floor to ceiling glass windows and suspended light fixtures suggest the latter influence was greater.

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I love when anything proclaims itself “the best”. In the case of the Harris it’s “Michigan’s Best for Food and Rest”. If this place is still standing I just might make it there one day to sample the food by Zeman, who was heavy enough to get his/their initial in a larger font size than the Harris itself.Ashtray-harris-motor-inn__2322

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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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The Aaron Spelling produced Vega$, the first TV series to be filmed entirely in Las Vegas, ran on ABC from 1978 to 1981. A kind of run-of-the-mill detective show, what I liked most was that its star, Robert Urich, aka private dick/ Vietnam vet Dan Tanna, a name spun off of a popular LA eatery, spun around town in a red 1957 T-Bird, gorgeous but no KITT and whose parking space was in Tanna’s living room.

Although I didn’t really watch the show – it seemed a little slick for what I was into at the time – I was excited when Robert Urich and his budding B-star wife, Heather Menzies, both longtime friends of my then boyfriend, invited us to stay at their new pad in Vegas when Bob first got the show, becoming the first TV star I ever met. I don’t remember so much about the visit because I was always so eager to get out of the pad and start photographing the vintage 1950s hotels and artifacts that still populated Las Vegas. I do remember they made great salads.

This is a 10″ x 14″ 150 piece jigsaw puzzle made in 1978 by Aaron Spelling Productions Inc. and distributed by H-G Toys of Long Beach, CA. I’ve never actually put the puzzle together as that kind of thing takes far more time and patience than I’m ever willing or able to allow. My favorite thing about it anyway is the box, with poses of Urich stuck into heart, club, spade and diamond shapes and printed with a cheap color process that allowed the ink to sink tight into the cardboard giving it a kind of porno-y look. All this topped off an all-too-blown-up and blurry cut-out of what looks to be a Urich look-alike sitting in the T-Bird. Mmm… if there’s even a prayer of the puzzle art being that kitschy I just might stay home tonight and put it together. Although there seems to be a preponderance of solid green pieces, perhaps a tribute to the salads.

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I don’t have to tell any self-respecting Kitsch lover about the Parthenon of Kitsch, the Madonna Inn, in San Luis Obispo, California. Appearing like a mirage off the 101, its customized-to-the-brink-of-insanity rooms, pink, pink, pink dining room, not to mention the cheeseburgers and sprinkle cookies in the coffee shop attract me like a magnet whenever I drive up north. Besides, the bathrooms are nutty and always add that extra dimension to a rest stop. The place has such magic powers that any smoke rising from this ashtray is probably pink.
I love my bedroom but there’s no doubt that using this ashtray in the Barrel Of Fun, Canary cottage, Cave Man, Daisy Mae, Edelweiss, Jungle Rock, Matterhorn, Oriental Fantasy, Time Of Your Life, Wilhelm Tell or any of the other 11o rooms enhances the desired Kitsch effect. To see all of them go here.

I don’t have to tell any self-respecting Kitsch lover about the Parthenon of Kitsch, the Madonna Inn, in San Luis Obispo, California. Appearing like a mirage off the 101, its customized-to-the-brink-of-insanity rooms, pink, pink, pink dining room, not to mention the cheeseburgers and sprinkle cookies in the coffee shop attract me like a magnet whenever I drive up north. Besides, the bathrooms are nutty and always add that extra dimension to a rest stop. The place has such magic powers that any smoke rising from this ashtray is probably pink.

I love my bedroom but there’s no doubt that using this ashtray in the Barrel Of Fun, Canary Cottage, Cave Man, Daisy Mae, Edelweiss, Jungle Rock, Matterhorn, Oriental Fantasy, Time Of Your Life, Wilhelm Tell or any of the other 110 rooms enhances the desired Kitsch effect. To see all of them go here.

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Originally 3 oz. of Avon perfume of undetermined name – Unforgettable, Topaze or OCCUR!, all of which came encased inside the Tower back in 1970. I used this once and couldn’t stand being around myself it reeked so bad so much of the contents remains. 
The bottles are fairly easy to find but usually sans perfume. I screwed off the cap for the first time in decades in order to write this and it still smells like vinegar and whiskey might have been some of the ingredients. Bottle is 8-1/2″ tall with a goldtone plastic cap. Not a nick in sight.

Originally 3 oz. of Avon perfume of undetermined name – Unforgettable, Topaze or OCCUR!, all of which came encased inside the Tower in 1970. I used this once and couldn’t stand being around myself it reeked so bad, so much of the contents remains. 

The bottles are fairly easy to find but usually sans perfume. I screwed off the cap for the first time in decades in order to write this and it still smells like vinegar and whiskey might have been some of the ingredients. Bottle is 8-1/2″ tall with a goldtone plastic cap. Not a nick in sight.

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There’s nothing more I like to do on Sundays than take rides. I stock the car like it’s a motel, all amenities neatly arranged within arms reach, and tool through LA and vicinity photographing and making strategic pit stops at my favorite soul food restaurants. I’ve always dreamed of having a tricked out camper to make my rendezvous even more comfortable and have a selection of front mirror danglers, mud flaps and chasing lights license plate frames already purchased should the happy day ever arrive. In the meantime, I content myself with camper memorabilia, of which this quaint porcelain plate is requisite.

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Dated Mother’s Day, 1951, this is a photo of the Smith family who lived in my house long before I bought it. My driveway never looked so good. Neither did mom, matching her family like a set of pristine bowling pins or Melmac plates.