When I grew up in Detroit I went to the zoo on 10 Mile and Woodward at least a couple times a year. Although I got this particular chapeau on Ebay, I’m certain I had one exactly like it as I never went there without something separating me from the sun. I was quite fond of theme hats as a kid.

I’m not sure exactly what animal is on my zoo hat.

I suppose that’s a bear. Though it looks inbred with a beaver and Golden Retriever. It never made any sense to me that with a baseball team named the Tigers and a football team named the Lions that one of those didn’t get top billing in felt.

At least a tiger made the supporting cast. As did another animal that actually looks more like a bear than the beaver/Golden Retriever or maybe otter mystery animal in the starring role. I’m not going to worry about that though as there’s so much else beautiful that came out of Detroit. Like cars, Vernor’s ginger ale and Sanders hot fudge, the latter two of which remain staples in my refrigerator to this day.

I’m sure I was consuming both the last time I walked around the zoo, which was at least four decades ago.

The Detroit Zoological Park wasn’t the only thing I loved about Detroit. You can read all about my love affair with the city here.

Someone else who was born and grew up in Detroit still feels the love too.

Lily Tomlin and I have been friends since 1984 when we were introduced by Paul Reubens a.k.a.Pee Wee Herman. Lily even used my head to insert her own into for her character, Kate, in her Tony Award Winning Broadway show, Search For Signs Of intelligent Life In The Universe.

Both of us still love Detroit and are looking for something to do together there on a permanent basis.  We don’t know what that is yet but it will most certainly revolve around the arts as coming from the big D had such an enormous impact on what we both do. It also made my once alter-ego, Bubbles the artist, the artist she was, whipping out copy paintings of Lily’s character, Ernestine, like they were on the Ford assembly line, which the star would then autograph so a few more dollars rolled into my coffers.

Now we want a few more dollars rolling into Detroit, where I’ll be heading in April, perhaps with Lily in tow, to figure out what we can do there together. My specific mission is delivering the closing keynote speech at the three day Rust Belt To Arts Belt conference, exploring ways and mental states to turn decaying American cities like Detroit into cities of the future, which I’ve long held my home town can be if it rises from the ashes with both heart and conscience. I’m also going there to conduct my high school marching band playing a medley of my greatest hits in the lobby of the Fox Theatre before a performance of my musical, The Color Purple.

Despite the fact that I can’t read a note of music, including my own, I became obsessed with conducting last October after I was asked to conduct the 350 piece marching band at my college alma mater, the University of Wisconsin, when they played my songs at the Homecoming football game.

You can see the details of the excellent Priority Mail envelope hat I wore then here. Conducting the Mumford band with The Color Purple cast singing along will also give me a chance to wear another excellent hat:

Although I now collect marching band hats –  I’m up to over 30 different color combos though still missing the maroon and blue of the Mumford Mustangs –  my little hat from the Detroit zoo remains one of my favorites. I may not know what kind of animal sits on my head but I know a great city when I see one!

In the lexicon of kitsch, ‘cheese’ and ‘cheesy’ are words often used to describe objects that grace the highest echelon of kitsch itself. As if there wasn’t enough cheese to go around on Super Bowl Sunday between the dedicated–to–the-point–of-Camembert headgear and face paint that loyal fans wear to the game, the obscene price of tickets, the even more obscene money dumped into commercials, the melted cheese on the pizza and hot dogs… it’s a veritable wheel of Brie when throngs gather around the TV screen or freeze in the stadium to watch people ram into each other insuring that life after 50 will be spent in the maximum amount of pain possible.

Although I happen to own the pert little 1950’s looseleaf pictured above, that purchase had much more to do with celebrating teenage years in an innocent age than celebrating February’s favorite sport. So I thought I’d take a tour of eBay today and see what football kitsch was available to anyone in a shopping mood who might want to sprinkle a little more cheese on their Super Bowl Sundae. Here are my Top 20 Cheddar picks:

Without question, this simple, homemade and very brown tribute to football lamp ranks high:

Although if I had my choice of only one thing it might be this stuffed Houston Oilers cheerleader:

I wonder if her sport skills include this?

I think the designer of this tee-shirt, listed on Ebay as “vtg-80s-RaBBiT-FooTBALL-BoW-BuNNY-CuTE-SWEATSHIRT-S_M” might definitely have such a skill:

I doubt that’s what  Mickey had in mind though…

…or this dork who I never want to see in a football jersey or anything else again:

Same with this guy:

When it comes to plush, I’ll stick to balls.

The one on top of this 1970’s Avon bottle isn’t bad:

I never thought of a football as ergonomically shaped, so this phone can’t be too comfortable to hold in your hand:

Whoever hand-beaded this tiny little football charm was very comfortable with a glue gun in their hand:

I wish it had been a football phone or glue gun that were in this juiced up football player’s hand instead of what we all know was in it in 1994:

How completely ugly is this Treasured Times football frame?

And how completely inappropriate is a football in the hands of this little 1961 porcelain Christmas angel?

And how completely dumb is it to permanently mount a glass on top of a football helmet, albeit a miniature one?

How completely ugly, inappropriate and dumb are fanny packs under any circumstance, any time and any place?

But how completely perfect is this football positioned as a towering head in order to sell this vintage protective device?

Also at the head is the football on this 1950s Dazey  butter churner:

While you’re churning your butter perhaps you’d like some beer.

But don’t drink too much or you may end up with hips like this player:

Throw a little whiskey into the brew and  it could be an early Valentine’s Day:

May you be enjoying all the cheese possible this Superbowl Sunday!

This short film of my bff Charles and I baking his acclaimed Cherpumple, three pies stuffed inside of three cakes, is as much about a great friendship as it is about a brilliant and inventive edible. A frequent guest of Martha Stewart as well as a vintage slide show impresario, Charles is a kitschmeister of the highest order. We go on weekend drives a lot together, often in search of kitschifyingly wonderful foodstuffs. But recently we had an incredible kulinary adventure right here at Willis Wonderland baking the aforementioned Cherpumple.

Known for holiday delights that slide out of his test kitchen like the Astro-Weenie Christmas Tree and the Thanksgiving Tiki-Turkey Dinner, Charles created an all-year-round monster with the Cherpumple when it landed him and it on the front-page-of-The-Wall-St.-Journal a couple of months ago.

This particular Cherpumple was my birthday cake this year:

As a lover of food that would send a vegan to the funny farm, I decided it was time I learn how to make the ‘I-don’t-care-how-fancy-your-cakes-are-this-one-is-better’ cake, so Charles headed over with 3 boxes of Betty Crocker, three Sara Lee pies, 6 cans of frosting and a vintage Sunbeam Mixmaster.  I set the oven to 350.

I learned many valuable things during the fabrication of the Cherpumple. For instance, I never knew that a hole in the middle of a pie meant that it was a cherry pie.

I also learned to check the dates of food that sits in your cupboard for years so it doesn’t spit out brown tree rot when you open it and ruin your clothes like one of our cans of frosting did.

I hope you’re inspired to bake a Cherpumple after you see this instructional film. It’s so pretty.

AND IT’S SO GOOD!! Won’t you bake one with us now, please?:

As many of you know, one of my favorite things in the world to do is to take rides with my BFF, Charles Phoenix, and go to places in and around LA that most people don’t know about unless they live in that part of the city. One of my absolute favorite things about LA is that there are so many different sections of the city. But the shame is that so few people who live here venture east of downtown. Charles and I, on the contrary, always venture east and, trust me, it never disappoints. If you’re heading south on the 101, make sure you drive farther than this building (and not just to get off to go the Music Center, Disney Hall, or MOCA).

In our particular case, our drive occurred in Charles’ brand new Dodge Challenger. New as in just hours old and now we were taking it on it’s virgin voyage. The new car smell added to the adventure.

One of the great things about having a friend who you share such keen interests with, coupled with the fact you’re both considered authorities of sorts on the topic – incredible vintage and/or kitsch architecture, signage, cars and the like – is that you can be fascinated almost anywhere you go. Charles and I only had a couple of hours so we headed for a quickie run down Whittier Blvd. Seriously, unless you’re blind, elitist or have absolutely zero kitschEsthetic genes in your body, Whittier Blvd. is breathtaking. So here’s our ride in the order it occurred…

We overshot our exit on the 101 so got off at Seventh St. and wormed our way back to Whittier Blvd. Which was fine as we wouldn’t wanted to have missed this spectacular hot dog roof:

Always special is this dinosaur and soda cup diorama, neither object of which has anything to do with the business underneath.

We always take First St. to get to Whittier Blvd. as one of our favorite houses in the city is there. But I’m dismayed to report that the vines have been plucked on the formerly eye-boggling ‘grapes house’ which used to look like this…

… but sadly now looks like this:

Don’t start me…

Thank God, further down the street some old movie theaters with original neon still survive.

It took all our strength not to stop and see what the Valentine’s Day decorations looked like inside Unique Dollar but we had limited time so kept driving.

I absolutely love store names like this:

Here we are at Whittier Boulevard. As soon as you turn onto the street you know you’re in for an excellent time warp experience.

Perhaps you should have the great 60’s guitar anthem, “Whittier Blvd.” by Thee Midnighters, on as a soundtrack while you tour the street with us. Press the following if so:

Charles and I were starving before we even left the house. We almost stopped here at the ‘they-don’t-resemble-Shaq-and-Kobe-other-than-they’re-big’ Bionicos food truck:

But luckily, Charles knew a “great Mexican restaurant full of pigs” just down the street.

The photorealistic food on all the windows was beautiful but all the rest of my window shots had too much glare to post.

Porky’s was definitely filled with pigs.

The menu was thrilling and pig filled too…

… though neither one of us ordered any of that particular animal.

I was especially impressed that the salad Porky’s served Charles consisted solely of radishes and lemons. I say save time in the kitschen and leave it at that.

When we left we would’ve stopped at the dress shop next door…

…but we were too excited to get across the street and go here:

There’s lots of excellent merchandise like this inside Whittier Crafts:

There’s also an abundance of carefully crafted and spelled signage:

Speaking of signage, there’s vintage overload in this part of LA:

There’s also incredible architectural detail like this 1950’s cement block facade…

… and this excellent 1960’s tile motif which I wish you could see closer than this photo I took. It’s like an explosion of vintage flooring but on a building.

Whittier Blvd. is definitely known for the automobiles that cruise it.

These were all within a two block radius of each other:

I wonder where the people who rented this limo were going?

I’m going to guess A. Torres Tuxedos as starting at :34 that’s where all the action took place when this classic car parade was shot.

Just a few blocks from A. Torres is this 1930s tamale shaped building. It used to be a Mexican restaurant.

You can see how the tamale ends twist at the sides of the building:

Whittier Boulevard has quite a few incredible old Deco buildings like this:

At the other architectural end, I love when business facades don’t quite live up to their names.

But even more, I like when a business is named one thing on one sign and something else on the other.

And even more than that I like when a store’s displays have nothing to do with what their awning says they sell.

Although this isn’t on Whittier Blvd. we passed it when we headed back to the freeway. In a city where spectacularly detailed murals abound, this is the one that makes our kitsch hearts sing:

Maybe you can appreciate it more if you see it closer:

Although we usually like to stay out past dark to catch all the neon, both Charles and I had places to go Saturday night so we headed back  early. Although I wish I could end with the penultimate kitsch shot, there’s absolutely nothing kitschy about this one other than the brains of the occupants.

I’m not sure what goes on in Dyersville, Iowa but I sure hope it’s not a factory that specializes in turning out coffee mugs as this is one of the most seriously ugly ones I’ve ever seen. And, trust me, as a purveyor of kitsch I’ve seen a lot of them. If this is truly “Where Dreams Come True”, I hope that at least one Dyersville citizen is dreaming about a new coffee mug design.

The trees are in relief so your fingers bump up and down as they rest on the cup. There’s a layer of nice green ones that are then mysteriously covered over by a layer of brown and dead looking ones. It actually looks like there was a more intricate design underneath but the bowel brown trees apparently appealed more to the artisan.

Okay, I just googled Dyersville and I think the mystery is solved! According to the Chamber of Commerce, Dyersville has a population of 4000 and is known as the Farm Toy Capital of the World.  I would suggest the next run of mugs should feature miniature tractors and the like but that will never happen because of this: “Dyersville is also the home of the Academy Award nominated film, Field of Dreams.” Which explains the over-forestation on the coffee mug. Though I believe that a field consists of a patch of cleared land. Next time I hope someone mows the mugs before they hit the shelves.

As a devoted kitschmeister supreme, I can think of no greater honor than to be captured as a foodstuff and enjoyed as a most scrumptious meal. So thank you, devoted aKitschionado Denny Mclain, for molding me as a meatloaf and cooking and eating me Sunday night for dinner!

Denny has excellent taste in kitsch and has submitted literally thousands of precious pop culture artifacts to the Allee Willis Museum Of Kitsch at AWMOK.com. We met for the first time last summer.

For anyone else who might want to enjoy me in ways other than through my music, art, videos, friends or other more normal avenues through which to experience an artist, here in Denny’s own words is his blow-by-blow recipe for engaging with me as a meatloaf.

“I decided to immortalize Allee Willis in the form of a meatloaf made with low fat ground turkey.”

“I started with a blueprint.”

“Low fat ground turkey is a meat we eat all the time in my house but this is the first time I ever tried treating cooking as an art form. Here we have some primary ingredients such as feta cheese (which gets mixed into the meat), Lipton Soup Mix (thrown in for a bit of flavor!!) the meat itself, some bread crumbs and pesto sauce. All of the ingredients here get mixed into the meat.”

“Musco Family Olives used for Allee’s glasses and eyes (for the pupils). Just take a handful and chop them up but not too fine!”

“The brussell sprouts are used for Allee’s eyes. Take two, cut in half and use the rounded halves for the eyes. The zucchini you see here is used for Allee’s hair. Take a veggie shaver and shave long strips to lay on top of the meatloaf to simulate the folicular goodness that is our Queen of Kitsch’s trademark do.”

“A bit of egg thrown in to help it stick together. The baby carrots were used for Allee’s lips. Take your veggie shaver and shave the carrots and in the meantime, try not to drop several on the floor in the process. Then when the meat is mixed together, gently shape and mold the meat into whatever person you want to eat…”

“…in this case , our Queen of Kitsch, Allee Willis!”

“Please note the chopped olives used for Allee’s glasses and pupils.”

“Stick Allee into the oven and cook her at 400 for about 40 minutes.”

“And voila! Presenting The Queen Of Kitsch, Allee Willis!”

“Serve on appropriate vintage Atomic 50’s dinnerware, in this case Royal Star Glow China.”

Thank you aKitschionado Denny! I am most honored to be preserved  and enjoyed as a meatloaf. I pride myself on always looking tasty and appealing but you have taken me to new heights and temperatures and for that I am ever grateful (and hungry).

I’m always amazed how all these pickled vegetables end up perfectly arranged in a bottle let alone in a glass high heel shoe. I never understood how ships were stuffed into bottles so I certainly don’t get how perfectly dissected relish foodstuffs end up stacked as precisely as Busby Berkeley dancers in glass enclosures. This high heel needs to be a segment on the Science Channel’s “How It’s Made”.

Weighing in at 4 lbs. this is no delicate little ladies foot!

Although the detail of the pearl ankle bracelet is quite the feminine touch:

In fact, all the details on this fashionable hors d’oeuvre stuffed foot are pretty fantastic. I love that they even allowed extra glass for the sole:

But why wasn’t this a pearl onion and caper stuffed heel?

Although that would’ve taken away from the perfect arch of the vegetables:

And how long did it take to hand stuff all those pimentos?

My whole life I’ve pretty much gone through phases of only wearing a certain type of shoe for a period of years and then flip to something completely different. From tiny tot through my teenage years my fascination was with penny loafers, white bucks and patent leather T-straps.

I know it’s hard to see that that’s a penny loafer but trust me, it was.  With a dime inserted into the penny slot, never a penny. Every now and then, saddle shoes would creep in.

But the big saddle shoe phase didn’t really hit me until I started writing songs in the 70s.

I believe “September” was written in those very shoes. They were red and white. I had every possible combo of saddle shoe – red and white, brown and white, blue and white, black and white, white on white, brown on beige, many in suede as well as leather, and all as vintage as possible. I still have big plastic boxes filled with at least 40 pairs of them that I wore exclusively from 1974 through ’79.

The only time I ever really wore high-heels was when I went to school dances. My feet were always as uncomfortable as I was, toting around the gallons of hair piled on my head.

For the last decade or so I’ve been obsessed with Nike Zoom Flights like these:

Only one of my shoe phases have ever included high heels, beautiful vintage 1950’s ones, but if forced to wear them again, a pair of these hearts of palm, carrot and pimento ones would be what I would wish for.

I’m happy to report that my own recently operated on left  knee is finally allowing my leg to return to its natural state such as modeled by this fantastic “First Leg ‘O Trip’ Washington souvenir pen. Although my own appendage is not as shapely and slim as this perfectly poised on-point gam, it’s just about at the point of where it looks more like an ‘I’ than a ‘V’ and is allowing me to hobble around rather than setting up permanent camp in bed.

I have no plans to go to Washington but, rather, to Detroit, the trip that I suspect sent my knee into hyper-gear and caused my meniscus to rip. Not known for my disciplined exercise regimen, in April I’m heading to the Motor City, my hometown, to conduct my high school band playing a medley of my greatest hits in the lobby of the historic Fox theater before a performance of the musical I co-wrote, The Color Purple. In efforts to bounce around as if I were four decades younger, I got a little overaggressive as I rehearsed, conducting every TV commercial that came on and threw my knee so out of whack it was a lesson blaring in neon signage that one can never let themselves turn so fully into a couch potato that they’re more likely to grow sprouts before being able to function as a fully exercised human being.

Why, you might ask, was I rehearsing to TV commercials when I’ve actually written the songs that are to be performed?  That would be because I never learned how to read, notate or play a stitch of music so even if the Mumford marching band arranger scanned his arrangements onto my skin I’d have a better chance of deciphering Chinese than the musical notes and rhythms before me.

So long ago I developed my own technique of being able to jump on a note and rhythm at the first milliseconds of its sound so that it might appear I know what I’m doing. I’m the same way with melodies. Nine times out of 10 I can sing along with something despite never having heard it before. It’s a weird skill I know but I can’t say it hasn’t come in handy:

But back to the leg at hand:

I love my little leg pen and, if I remembered where I put it after I shot these photos, I would have most definitely had it at bedside to psychologically aid in my recovery. That’s one of the beauties of being a collector. The objects around you aren’t just there because that’s what ought to be sitting on an end table or where there’s a chair there’s also an ottoman. The objects and you are one, all manifestations of energy in a world that’s largely up to you to create. Now it’s my job as a diligent patient, and one who has a marching band to conduct to boot, to manifest having a left leg as strong and shapely as my souvenir Washington leg pen and to stay on point forever.

Thank you all for taking this weeklong knee/leg journey with me. It actually made it feel like fun and that’s a lot to be said for surgery! This is, indeed, the ‘last leg’ of this journey.

I’ve been blessed this past week to have great friends grace my bedside and nurse me through knee surgery, dressing up as nurses themselves for my amusement. Nancye Ferguson was one such nurse in training as I took my first steps a couple of days ago:

As nice as Nancye’s medical uniform is – a shower cap from the 99¢ store and paint mask and gloves from Home Depot – it’s nowhere near as up to code as nurse Jean Craig’s:

But as up to code as nurse Jean Craig’s education may have been to earn a graduate degree, there’s actually very little mention of it or anything else medical in this book. In fact, most of the time at Gallop Memorial Hospital Jean’s eyes are focused more on romance than on a heart monitor:

In fact, one of the only prominent mentions of illness is on Page 1:

Some of Jean’s time in Elmhurst, Conn. was spent drawing:

I wish there were more drawings in this book but sadly, in 1950, the World Publishing Company of Cleveland and New York only sprung for graphics on the cover and one across from the title page:

Even the back of the book is vacant of Jean, though there is some medical specimen from the book’s previous owner present:

Luckily, no strange medical specimens have impeded my progress and I’m happy to report that I have been hobbling around sans crutches for most of the day yesterday and today. My knee is an almost open and shut case for speedy recovery!

With a mind to sanitary conditions, Nurse Jean and her fellow graduates wore nice, long uniforms that covered their knees.

Which means they never had to worry about having a knee that looked like mine this past week:

Thankfully, Nurse Jean and Nurse Nancye’s services are close to never being needed again as my left leg is looking forward to returning to its former lovely self within days!

I’ve laid in bed two days now nursing my just-operated-on knee back to health.  As someone who literally never sits still, I’ve been a fairly model citizen since the surgery to repair a torn meniscus on Tuesday. Portable electronics certainly help and my love of bad television has been an excellent babysitter. But, most of all, I have excellent friends who have come to visit me and partaken in some spectacular photo ops:

(L-R) Nurses Prudence Fenton and Charles Phoenix and patient Willis.

Nurse Maxine Lapiduss also came by and dropped off some excellent homemade Moraccan stew, unfortunately not featured in this photo but very much featured in my stomach last night:


Don’t ask me what’s going on under my blanket to give it such peculiar formation. Perhaps one of the cats was snoozing under there at the moment this was snapped. I certainly don’t want anyone to think I’ve expanded to the following from munching on Saltines, Ritz crackers and applesauce these last couple of days:

But, back to matters at hand – my beautiful 1960’s Ben Casey and Dr. Kildare daily diarys. Both this blog and the aforementioned portable electronics have dispensed with the need to keep track of my progress in an old school diary, as well as those innermost thoughts that come when one loses all the privileges of physical freedom. When I was 12 years old and had my first surgical procedure, the removal of an ingrown toenail by Dr. Smellsy (would you choose to be a foot doctor if that was your last name?!),  I wrote all about it in my Ben Casey diary.

Were this my actual diary from my youth I would show you what I wrote inside, probably wishing that the boy I had a crush on because he was one of the only people taller than me in school would come visit me in my toenailless state.  This diary, however, was purchased a couple years ago on eBay where I also found its perfect mate, a Dr. Kildare diary.

Dr. Kildare was on TV the same years as Ben Casey, 1961-66. There was a clear-cut division between Casey lovers and Kildare lovers, the former doctor being brooding, dark and handsome and the latter clean-cut, blonde and smooth. Although at the time I definitely preferred the Type A personality, brunette Dr. Casey – he looked more Jewish –  I’ve definitely rescinded my vote in recent years and hopped over to the Kildare side.

Let me tell you, Dr. Kildare, a.k.a. Richard Chaimberlain, is still rockin the smooth. So much so that I would’ve loved to take him into the operating room with me. It would’ve given me so much to write in my diary about!

But for now, I’m just excited that Dr. Stetson, my excellent knee surgeon, did such a good job. He may not have had his own television series and things like diaries, walletspencils and cufflinks made in his likeness, but ultimately I’d rather have a functioning knee than a functioning Thumpy any day!