Mother’s Day has always provided supreme opportunities for kitsch. Be it flower arrangements, stuffed animal displays in front of gas stations for last minute pick-ups, or greeting cards – store bought and handmade equally qualifying –  Mother’s Day is a kitsch karousel that never ceases to go round.

Almost everything I owned growing up was thrown out when my mom passed away suddenly when I was 16 and my father remarried. Aside from a rubber doll I got for my first birthday whose head was tied on with a string and a Ben Casey bobble head with a hole in his heart, the result of me shoving a pencil through it after an unrequited love incident at 12, I had almost nothing to remind me of the sweeter life that preceded all of this. (Which is why it meant so much to me to get back into the house I grew up in a few weeks ago.)

About 20 years ago, after years of thinking these two medically deficient dolls were the only artifacts of Little Allee that remained, my brother shipped me my old steamer trunk that had been hogging a corner of his garage since I graduated college. I had always assumed it was empty but inside was a small cigar box that contained letters, post cards, hamburger recipes, and this Mother’s Day card I had made for my mom when I was God knows how old. I hope it wasn’t too old as my interpretation of the world was slightly naïve.

I have no idea what country Mekoila is right above the S. Pole and I’m happy to see that I thought California was important enough to hog the entire West side of the United States. I have no idea if I actually thought that Michigan, where I drew my happy little self in, was really the east-most state or if I forgot to leave room for it when I drew this map that looks more like a cross-section of a cow with different meat cuts in it. I hope you can see the little thumb I gave Michigan for accuracy right above my left hand. And I’m happy that I took the time to draw myself in my favorite type of pleated dress in grades 2-6:

I’m the tall one. And if memory serves, that’s actually a giant Mother’s Day rose tucked into my belt that I made out of  a toilet paper roll and tissue paper to give to my mom a couple of years after I made this card. My mother’s name was Rose so that flower had a lot of significance in our family.

I definitely misspelled ‘You’re’ but I’m happy to see that I gave the rose much petal definition and that the  leaves look like jubilant uplifted arms. It was a very happy rose and a very happy Rose that celebrated Mother’s Day that year. I did, however, completely cheese out on the poetry I included inside. I have no idea where I copied this from but I’m happy to see that I knew enough as a budding designer to carry over the rose logo.

Thankfully in my later years I progressed to the point where I didn’t need someone else’s words to express how I was feeling.

Never one to leave space empty for long, I ended the card with a picture of a present. Of course, my mom’s only present from me was this card but as a first grade teacher she  always appreciated the effort I put into art.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms out there.  And happy Mother’s Day, Rose, wherever you may be.

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These are without question the mangiest chicks ever, that is if these feathery creatures are, in fact, “chicks”. Hard to tell in this little display diorama, whose elegant mirrored-inside swoop made the original owner kitschingly ecstatic when they bought this, most likely in the 1970′s or 80′s. Except people who buy things like this have no idea that something is so tragically off. They view it, instead, as a thing of beauty. The “chicks’” owner probably didn’t even wait for Easter to display them but, rather, kept them out all year, they were THAT beautiful to them.

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I never really got into The Smurfs. That shade of blue was definitely not my favorite color and I didn’t have the patience to learn the Smurf language. I also didn’t have the patience to study Hebrew for the couple of years I attended Hebrew school at Beth Aaron, right across the street from Mumford High in Detroit, so have no idea what this Smurf is saying.

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This is a product worthy of an Oscar for Best Kitsch, a fake wood cardboard stand-up “plaque” that looks suspiciously like the piece of cardboard that comes with any cheap picture frame, stapled on, staples askew, emblazoned with a cheap gold embossed sticker with three imprints, none of which have anything to do with the Academy Awards other than a trophy featuring a nude female athlete that kinda sorta is in that Oscar trophy pose. All of this is encased in a really cheap brittle plastic enclosure that’s tinted gold to make it look more “fancy”.

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This 1980′s plaster salute to love was a hot ticket item in Mexican swap meets in Southern California throughout the 80′s and 90′s. Although back then they were too cheesy for my just-out-of-the-gate budding love of kitsch which, although quite robust, still hadn’t crossed the line to full blown Camembert such as the love interpreted here. Thank God, I had the presence of mind to buy these Siamese lovers as lamps, plain sculptures, towels and any other material their love could be possibly be moulded or stamped upon.

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When I, along with Hidden Los Angeles, put out the call a few weeks ago that for Valentine’s Day we wanted to bring as many V-Day cards as possible to Milly Del Rubio, the last surviving Del Rubio Triplet, I was hoping that at least a few of you would put pen to card and help amass a stash. I’m happy to report that hundreds of cards have been rolling in!

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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.

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I have a lot of friends. I love my friends. I even wrote the theme song. As I usually work as far as the hands on the clock stretch, I mostly see my friends at parties, which is where most of them see each other too.  The seven-day stretch between Christmas and New Year’s is always fun as it’s chocked full of some of the best of them. And for the last umpteen years, the same two friends throw a New Years Eve and New Years Day party respectively, taking the pressure out of the holidays as along with sugar cookies and cheese balls I know what and, most importantly, who to expect:

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We are blessed here at The Allee Willis Museum Of Kitsch at AWMOK.com to have an actual Brady in our Bunch and, as such, “Fake Jan Day” is now one of our National Kitsch Holidays! If you don’t know what “Fake Jan Day” is, Cindy Brady will explain it to you here.

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May you have a happy, healthy, fun filled, creatively inspired, friend packed, romantically infused, work of your dreams, service to others, heaped with gratitude  New Year!

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