If you’re just jumping aboard The Wienermobile, please exit through the rear and check out Part 1 of my adventure with Susan Olsen,a.k.a. Cindy Brady, and Charles Phoenix, without which Part 2 lacks context. Wagging the tail without the (hot) dog as it were.

Now, assuming you’ve fully digested part 1, join us aboard the Wienermobile as we head east from the Brady Bunch house…

…to another iconic wiener in  the neighborhood, Larry’s.

The Wienermobile ate up quite a lot of real estate in this four- table parking lot eatery.

So we turned the vehicular wiener towards another vintage hot dog-related gem a few blocks away:

Isn’t this where you would go if you were a hot dog?

We knew Chili John’s has very early hours but we jumped out anyway, praying the chili palace still might be open:

If you haven’t been to this place, spit out your food and head there now. It’s as authentic as the day it was born in 1941:

The counter is (perfectly and beautifully) makes up the entire restaurant.

You can see the handpainted mural that runs the length of the restaurant better in this shot with Charles:

Up close it’s apparent that the artist, Mr. Chili John himself, captured each and every crevice of the exploding Vesuvius terrain as possible. Perhaps this was to illustrate the constant lava-like flow of chili that runs through his namesake establishment daily.

While we were there, there was an incredible photo opp for The Wienermobile:

With hot dogs and chili under our belts, it was time to move on to burgers. Very few food symbols are as iconic as The Wienermobile, but surely the Big Boy at Bob’s a few blocks away on Riverside has an equal place on the mountaintop.

The sheer magnitude of these two sculptural icons together was overwhelming for kitsch lovers such as ourselves.

So we took lots of photos:

But, alas, the sun was starting to set and there was one place we knew we had to hit while The Wienermobile was still under our control:

The Circus Liquor neon clown, on Burbank Blvd. just west of Chili John’s, has been in countless movies and tv shows, not to mention I’ve dropped coin in there every time I need a bottle of anything, just so I can visit the clown.

The height of the Wienermobile was an INSANELY perfect fit. If only the clown were permanently mounted on top of it.

With the evening approaching fast we headed back to Willis Wonderland,…

…already upset that our Wienermobile afternoon would soon be but a memory, albeit one grilled into our braincells forever.

When we dislodged from The Wienermobile we got some parting gifts:

Some Wienermobile whistles, some of which were glow-in-the-dark, a plush toy Wienermobile, as well as this larger plastic one:

It was like we had all been dropped out of a time capsule. I’m someone who likes to have a good time but once I’m done with an activity I gotta clear the house and get back to work. But it was as if we all knew that when we separated we would somehow have to settle back into reality, hopefully just little bitty pieces at a time, that’s how strong the magnetic pull of the Wienermobile was for all of us. So was only natural we sat down to a hot dog dinner to extend the wiener coma we were all in.

The dogs were cooked, as I said in part 1, on my newly acquired 1958 golf ball barbecue:

It was comforting to have such statuary in the yard, softening the blow of the departed Wienermobile as it disappeared into the night.

Thank you, Hot Doggers Traci and Yoli. You drove the Wienermobile like it was a delicate little Smart Car and put up with three drooling adults for longer than anyone deserves to be in ecstasy.

And thank you, Mark Blackwell, for documenting the trip, and I mean Trip.

Susan, Charles and myself are forever grateful to have such a childhood and adult dream fulfilled, especially one that provided such insanely magnificent photo opps.

And we are grateful for the joy of celebrating a junk food that was a building block of nutrition throughout most of our lifetimes. Truth be told, although it has killed me, the foolishness of subsisting exclusively on such foodstuffs is starting to be rectified in my old age. But even Martha Stewart enjoys munching on a good wiener every now and then.

The Wienermobile experience was pretty heavy.

But alas, all things must end.

We love you, Wienermobile. Until we meet again…

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After six, count them six, Christmas parties/dinners, I combed through my collection to find this patch in case I needed to iron it on over any rips in clothing that might have occurred from ingesting the aforementioned full turkey meals. Somehow the sting of weight gain is outweighed by fashion statements such as these for me.

Introduced as the Alka Seltzer slogan in 1972, “I can’t believe I ate the whole thing” became one of the most popular colloquialisms of its day. Glorified here as an iron-on embroidered fake fur patch, including a rip-off Rolling Stones tongue, this proclamation appeared everywhere from t-shirts to comedy sketches throughout the early 70’s. The slogan roared back briefly in 2005 when Alka Seltzer trotted out Peter Boyle in his “Everyone Loves Raymond” Frank Barone character to moan and groan about post food fest inhalations.

Made by Rayberg Supply Co. of San Carlos, CA., the ‘Pik a Pocket’ fashion accessory didn’t go near any of my jeans back in the day as, just like today, I always knew I ate the whole thing and allowed for it in the size of my clothes.

cant-believe...whole-thing-patch_9900

 

I’ve only waited a lifetime for a ride in the famed Oscar Mayer Wienermobile and last Wednesday, December 14, my dream came true!! Susan Olsen, a.k.a. Cindy Brady, the youngest of the B. Bunch, Charles Phoenix, Mark Blackwell and I hopped aboard and rode the wiener to some of our favorite kitsch spots in the San Fernando Valley. When one is onboard such a vehicle, photo opps are not to be missed!

It’s hard to look bad in a photo with The Wienermobile. So there’s going to be A LOT of them in this post, probably enough to serialize the adventure so check back later in the week or beginning of next for more. With that in mind I’ll start slowly, like how we all color-coordinated to look as fabulous against the backdrop of the transportational hot dog as possible. I threw my outfit together last minute but was happy with my choices, picking up all the essential colors of hot dogs, mustard, relish and mayo.

Here’s a closer look at my vintage Legionnaires shirt, made from that kind of expensive 1950’s satin that feels like you’re going down a cashmere slide:

I know there’s no Oscar Mayer at KFC but it was the closest thematically of any shoulder bag I had.  My T-shirt was much more on the nose…

… as were my shoes:

The first thing I did once I was dressed was to roast some wienies.  It gave me a perfect excuse to test out my recently acquired 1958 golfball barbecue:

I cooked up sixteen dogs so we could stuff ourselves throughout the day. Here’s the first  one, literally, on the grill:

First to arrive at Willis Wonderland for our big wiener ride was Mark, who documented us throughout the wiener day:

Next was Susan, appropriately dressed in wiener red:

And then Charles arrived, dressed in a dead-ringer Wienermobile matching suit and carrying a banner bearing our favorite brand’s namesake.

This also doubled as a fashionable cape.

It’s obvious we all passed the color test:

We took many such proof-of-concept photos:

There are so many obvious ways one wants to pose against such a stunning background:

When the Wienermobile first pulled up I wept with joy. I had forever envisioned it in my driveway.  Alas, the wiener was too plump to actually fit so it rested nicely in front until we boarded.

Before stepping into the vehicular hot dog we ran inside for a quick wiener ingestion:

They don’t actually serve food in the Wienermobile so we brought the leftovers with us. But we were so excited to finally board the hot dog we had all been dreaming about since we were born that we forgot and left them on top of my car:

Our Hotdoggers, college interns who serve a full year driving the wiener wondermobile, were Yoli Bologna and Tailgatin’ Traci:

You could literally hear an audible gasp from each of us as we entered the Wienermobile for the first time.

It’s got six seats, a mustard floor,…

… an appropriate floor mat…

… and a sky roof.

The seats were LITERALLY the most comfy car seat any of us had ever sat in. Plush yet solid, with armrests that made you feel like you were waiting in a highchair for a jar of hot dog baby food. We didn’t stop yapping about them the entire afternoon.

We especially loved the embroidered Wienermobile on the back of each seat.

None of us could figure out if the hot dogs on the dash had any purpose other than an as an exceptional decorative touch.

We thought we only had a half hour in the Wienermobile so we headed to Ventura Blvd., the street where we thought there’d be the most foot traffic so we could wave to the masses like beauty queens on a float. Charles mentioned that the real Brady Bunch house, the one used for the exterior shot that pops up in every episode, was probably only blocks away. Not only did I have no idea it was in the hood but Susan – an actual Brady – said she had never even seen it herself! How could this be??!  Cindy-I-mean-Susan explained that as a wee star she couldn’t compute that a house that was clearly two stories…

…was in reality only one.

So the Wienermobile, a deceptibly agile vehicle, whipped a U-ie and headed east toward Dillon St. As the top of the A-frame house poked into sight we started going nuts.

And we SO weren’t the only ones. There were already some sightseers there, dying that not only were they at the Brady house but now the Wienermobile had entered the picture AND a real Brady emerged out of it!  Only God could have put a blessed tourist here at this moment.

Needless to say, we took a lot of photos.

With Susan’s 35 year identity crisis rectified, our Hotdoggers, Yoli and Tracy, told us we could drive around for as long as we wanted.

Elated, we immediately discussed iconic snack food related establishments in the immediate area to best frame us and the Wienermobile. First we headed to a hot dog,:

followed by some chili,…

… a hamburger,…

…and a little something to wash it all down with.

But, alas… I have Christmas shopping to do, three song deadlines to hit, an outline overdue for my new live show, a contract to read, a cat scratcher turntable to assemble, a portrait commission to paint, a bunch of publishing crap to get together, not to mention that I’m supposed to be on vacation in sunny Monterey. So Part 2 of our Wienermobile adventures will appear in a few days.

Until then, eat lots of hot dogs as you kick off the holiday season!

Proceed to Part 2

I’ve had this thing so long I don’t even remember where I got it from. A petite 6″ x 9″ x 3.5″, d hard plastic goldleaf textured frame surrounds the fluffiest kitty on the planet. I especially love her little forlorn mouth and seafoam blue eyes.

The sad little floral bouquet burrowed in her fur also kills me.

The pussy’s frame almost looks like it’s made out of plaster,…

… but it’s this puffed up thin plastic that cracks like dry twigs in a forest if you even stare too hard at it.

Such a happy pussy!

 

Bright and early the weekend before Thanksgiving Prudence Fenton and I hopped in the mustache van and drove up the coast to San Luis Obispo.

If you’ve never been to The Madonna Inn there, drive, fly, walk, bike, whatever mode of transportation it takes, and go there NOW!

I don’t care where you’ve been to see your architectural kitsch, this is one stop shopping of infinitesimal magnitude. I’ve blogged about this place many a time before but one post, even a hundred, could never cover the staggering detail present on the 2200 acres that appear mirage-like on the side of the 101 freeway.

The whole place was designed by this guy

…. for this lady:

Alex Madonna, a construction magnate and entrepreneur who among other things built the section of the 101 the Inn sits next to, built this palace in 1958. These portraits of Alex and his wife Phyllis’ hang right outside the main dining room.

You need a closer look at that mother of all grape lamps in between them. Eight feet of barrel and the most magnificent assemblage of resin grape clusters anywhere:

This hangs right across the cave from this stairway, one of the subtler ones at The Madonna Inn:

Every time I drive up north taking the 101, I stop at The Madonna Inn to eat. Usually I’m in a hurry and just have time to hit the coffee shop. By the way, coffee always tastes better when the sugar is in one of these two forms, available only here:

The pink crystals and rock formations look especially good on the all copper counter and tabletops…

…which are surrounded by all copper decorative trim…

…which makes sense as this is the name of the coffee shop:

But if I’m not in a hurry to get where I’m going I try to park myself in the main dining room, The Gold Rush Steakhouse. I think you can see why:

Here’s another reason:

That’s one big ol’ slab o’ beef! As an animal lover I  don’t like to think about this but the beef is grown mere feet from the restaurant.  Here I am posing at midnight with the subject of my meal:

I always love a restaurant that starts you off with a relish plate:

Far from the usual celery and carrots and olives, this one has salami and a big brick of cheese thrown on top.  Also thrown in for my birthday festivities was Nancye Ferguson, who drove up to join us.

When it’s your birthday at the Madonna Inn your table is marked with a balloon:

Tables with balloons get free cake for dessert:

I had seen the 9″ high pink champagne cakes in the coffeeshop earlier…

So I got a big hunk of it:

Cake always tastes better when it matches the decor.

It’s even better when the decor is decorated for Christmas.

At this time of year, any place there’s room to stick a Christmas tree at The Madonna Inn there is one:

Angles guard over every table:

Some of the most famous rooms at the Madonna Inn are the bathrooms. The most famous is the men’s room. I finally got the balls to sneak in with Jim Burns, a.k.a. Sgt. Frank Woods in Call Of Duty-Black Ops, who also joined us.

Although the giant clam shell sinks are fantastic…

…the legendary waterfall urinal is the main attraction:

Though sans waterfall, the ladies room next door has its own unique charm:

In another bathroom off of the coffeeshop, little girls get their props.  You can’t tell the scale from this photo but the toilet is teeny tiny tot sized…

…and matches the mini little girl sink in the middle of the big gal facilities:

All of this pales next to the bathroom in The Madonna Suite, where I tended to the needs of my roast-beef-sugared-champagne-caked body.

Here’s a little closer look at the sink, though it’s hard to see detail amidst all the rock. Water trickles down all the troughs dug out of the rock.

A full tour of The Madonna Suite tomorrow…

As soon as I read about this alley in downtown San Luis Obispo I knew I had to hit it. Even with the possibility  of it being underwhelming and gross, an assemblage of decades of wadded-up gum had to be paid homage to by any self-respecting aKitschionado. I’m elated to report that Bubblegum Alley is 15 x 70 solid feet of sheer chewed brilliance!

I love that so many people would participate,…

… some of whom are more eager to be identified than others.

I love that so much ephemera accompanies the saliva sculpture.

Though at quick glance from a distance it could be mistaken for a condom wall.

Just a few blocks away there’s another tableau that looks like like it might have been influenced by the great wall of gum.

Though dexterious, these are thespians balanced on a play rather than wads of gum.

And here’s another textural experience in the neighborhood, a paper plate Christmas tree..

After such a massive consumption of kitsch I always get hungry. Though I could do without the pub part I tend to look for places with names like this…

…or murals like this:

Though it doesn’t seem like Ben Franklin should be be flying any kites near bubblegum walls as one gust of wind and there goes the discovery of electricity. Way too good of a chance of the kite getting stuck on a wad of Bubblicious.

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.

My friend, Jason Mecier, brilliant junque drawer portrait artist and whose edible art we stand in front of in the tableau above, did this portrait of me a couple of years ago when I first opened The Allee Willis Museum Of Kitsch at AWMOK.com:

It’s made out of junque I had lying around my house and storage garage, plus some of Jason’s own stash peppering the green background. I constantly collected tons of found objects because the art I did myself, mostly in the 1980’s and early 90’s, consisted of found objects incorporated into my paintings. This is by no means my favorite and looks all jumbled so small (actually 36″x48″) but it’s the only one I could put my hands on right away:

A couple of years ago I also used some of my junque when I collaborated with my alter-egoBubbles the artist, who I managed during her six-year career selling over 1000 paintings and ceramics. Although not as junque-covered as I would like to show here, this one’s hanging in my hallway which serves the purpose of easily sliding it into this post.

Since Jason’s portrait of me has hung in my house it’s become de rigueur to be included in any press photos I do, like this one from The Los Angeles Times a couple of weeks ago when I did my Soup to Nuts Party Mix live show.

As Jason took found object assemblage to a whole other place I gladly bestowed some of my most precious junque upon him for the portrait.

Now Jason has incorporated an entirely new medium into his portraiture, one of my favorite substances on earth and a staple here at Willis Wonderland, Red Vines. In his show at Iam8bit last Friday night, “Licorice Flix, Edible Movie Mosaics”, he interpreted the movies thusly:

Here’s me and my date for the night, Storm Lee, singer extraordinaire, with Jason:

And here we are with another good friend of mine as she arrives at the opening, Angelyne:

Lots of good friends in attendance, observing brilliant art and munching on the Red Vine “paint”. From L-R, Storm, me, Jason, Adam Ansel and Daniel Franzese.

I first met Selene Luna, co-star of Margaret Cho’s The Cho Show, through Jason and Adam:

I usually get bored at art openings, but between the art, the place – yay iam8bit -, the featured gourmet treat and medium, Red Vines, I was a happy gal Friday night.  I now leave you with Jason’s Nomi slobbering up a stripper pole in the kitsch klassic, Showgirls:

 

I meant to start posting my thoughts about my Soup To Nuts Party Mix show, my first live performance in 37 years at the El Portal Theater last Tuesday night, the day after the show but I could barely pick up a stylus to write let alone move my mouth in any detectible syllabic pattern because I was so tired and overwhelmed. I’m racing to get photos up, a fun yet gruesome task as there are literally thousands of them to go through. Hopefully by tomorrow I’ll have them organized enough to post. In the meantime, let me tell you about this cruise on the Love Boat that mutated into the Titanic yet somehow still ended up at Fantasy Island…

Stormy seas and all, Soup To Nuts Party Mix was about the most incredible experience that I’ve ever had. Not because it went so well, but because literally 95% of the technology it was dependent on failed. It was apparent from the second I walked on stage that I was going to have to throw out the script and effects I had worked on so furiously for four months and literally ad lib my way through the evening. All I can tell you is that despite riding a sinking technological ship, I kept people in stitches, and I mean tears rolling down their faces, screaming laughter stitches, including standing ovations in the middle of the show for things I was forced to come up with on the spot.

So despite being an utter failure as far as the show I planned, it was an unbelievably cathartic moment as a performer. Like five years worth of working the act out within the space of two hours, some time of which I spent sitting down watching brilliant and charitable friends of mine takeover and help me out.

One of  them was the stupendous comedienne Luenell, who has stepped it up at other parties of mine as well and Tuesday night helped a sista out during one of the 6,437,293 technical glitches that befell the stage.

But just as Luenell got to her punchline, something FINALLY popped up on the screen and I had to cut her off.

One of the best moments of the show, although perhaps not for Luenell, was when she then took a seat and the chair started rolling out from under her…

…until she plopped down flat as a log on the floor. When I asked if she needed a first aid kit she yelled “NO, what I need is a lawyer!”

I need the same lawyer for the guy at the controls. But from the jump four months ago I approached this whole thing as a party thrower, not a playwright, and a good party thrower is ready to field anything that goes wrong, even if of a catastrophic nature such as the tech sinkhole happening on stage left. I’m sure a phrase that will stick with my shows forever was born: “Get the foamcore!” as I sent my assistant, Dina Duarte, and set-collaborator, Mark Tomorsky, both on stage with me for the whole show, racing for a ratty piece of paper covered foam to hold over the main monitor every time the wrong photo, lyric for a sing-along or even worse, the tech guy’s desktop, appeared. Here they are hoisting it over what was supposed to be the lyrics to “Boogie Wonderland”, while my collaborator on that song, Jon Lind, kills time with his story about Maurice White, chocolate danishes and other things that happened the day we wrote it.

I doubt that Larry Dunn, founding member of Earth Wind & Fire who played keyboards on the records of “September” and “Boogie Wonderland” and accompanied me on those songs in the show, ever got cut off early before. But I had to yank him short as without lyrics sing-alongs can only be so effective.

Danny Sembello also came onstage for two songs he co-wrote with me, “Neutron Dance” and “Stir it Up”, neither of which were consistently accompanied by correct lyrics.

Chris Price played “I’ll Be There for You”, the theme from Friends and “What Have I Done To Deserve This?”, both of which I was forced to race through without their accompanying stories as by the time we reached them it was already the time I had planned to end the show, 10:15, and we were barely at the halfway point because of the malfunctions. Dina and Mark had the foamcore ready but thankfully the Friends theme is so short and has been hammered into the heads of every audience member a hundred times a day since 1994 so my tech guy could only wreak so much havoc.

And then we were supposed to play Bingo. How do you mess up Bingo??!  But if you’re spelling K-I-T-S-C-H and not B-I-N-G-O and there are no visuals to go along with “K- Dust Mop Slippers” or “T-Flowbee”, “S- Farrah Fawcett Shampoo & Conditioner” or “H – Beatles Pantyhose”, who’s going to know what you’re talking about without visual accompaniment? As soon as it was apparent that that too tanked I just turned to the audience and yelled “Fuck Bingo! The first 20 people up on stage get all the prizes!”. You would’ve thought the Gold Rush hit California again from the way this audience stampeded the stage.

Jelly room deodorizers, soccer balls that turn into magic towels when they get wet, vintage Afro picks, matzo ball kitchen timers donated by Davida (who also contributed the packs of Kosher Kurls in the gift bags), Handerpants – underpants with finger holes so graciously displayed by Daniel Franzese in a shot below and donated, as much of the gifts were, by Archie McPhee… this was one of my favorite moments of the show. To me it’s all about interaction between performer and audience and there they all were on stage like bit players and incredible friends. It truly felt like a party in my yard, which is what I had built the set to look like anyway.

Then I threw in a montage from my musical, The Color Purple, though we skipped the sing-along.

And finally, a veritable tour de force, Pigmy Will doing “The Hustle” played us out.

Just like I never learned to read, notate or write music yet have sold 50,000,000 records, or that I didn’t know you mix paint to get different colors until ten years into my art career, I’m probably the only person in theater history who ever booked the theater before they wrote the show and then performed the show before they had a rehearsal. I am, if nothing else, consistent! It’s the spontaneous event and what happens between performer, audience, and stage, whether it’s in a theater or on my porch, that’s the art form to me. Yes, a stage manager and lighting and sound director would have been nice, as would have been a theater whose usual fare wasn’t Christmas specials and geriatric musicals. But thankfully much of the audience was peppered with people who understand the pitfalls the stage can hold. For example:

My sentiments exactly! All I kept thinking as the world collapsed around me was a) what the f&#k is going on and what the hell am I going to do next??, while simultaneously being conscious that b) this will be my most legendary performance ever because I don’t know anyone else who wouldn’t have walked off stage after 20 minutes. Through it all I just kept going and got funnier and funnier and funnier. So the tech mishaps in their own bizarre way worked in my favor. In the end, I got far more out of it than I had intended. My soul soared, and although I was nearly suicidal by the end of the show it was probably the most artistically satisfying thing I’ve ever done. At once everything was shattering around me in the worst conceivable way that anything can happen on stage, yet it was a totally triumphant evening.

Six cameras were shooting. I realize that a brilliant Waiting For Guffman times 1063 could be made out of it. That’s music to the ears of a kitsch lover such as myself, especially one who’s obsessed with learning how to make lemonade out of extremely rotten lemons. So it’s a kind of Self-Help Waiting for Guffman, or in this case, The Tech Guy. I also realize it gives me an incredible starting point for the next version of the show, which should happen by the end of January.

I will never again be afraid of adversity. I will only look at it as an annoying friend that I have to make the best of, and in the making of that a beautiful flower can bloom.

Tons of photos here!