In case you missed it the last time around, this was spotted lurking outside my neighborhood Walgreens in October:
I'd been hoping to see it again, maybe steal more flyers out of the display case (Yes, there was a display case attached to the car) but it seemed to have vanished into the ether, like some sort of plumbing fairy. So imagine my delight when I saw, whilst driving home....
CRAZY SHOWER 2.0!
They've upgraded!
"Toilet paper leaves you dirty, No?" -Gandhi
They care about the environment! Eliminating all that toilet paper waste will relieve the strain on the natural environment of that most endangered of animals, the....
Possum?
Out of all the animals your clip art program had to offer--pandas, lions, elephants, herons, even bunnies! Fucking bunnies!--you went with a North Hollywood Dog-Rat? This guy?
The only disappointment in being reunited with my favorite toilet-alternative vehicle is the lack of an exterior display case. I would have taken every single one of those flyers. I know way too many people who still need a bidet made of cobbled-together supplies from Home Depot.
Unwinona is going even Interwebbier! But with a real person-type face! Of me! So much more awesomeness to follow! I promise fun videos, robots, unicorns, Gary Oldman surprise cameo appearances, vacations to Hogwarts, and muffins made of world peace and a form of wheat people allergic to gluten can eat!*
Also, check out the new Save the Princess Films site which is almost sort of finished in time for the arrival of our new short film "The Greatest Adventure Yet" which is itself ALMOST SORT OF FINISHED!
Happy Murdered Tourkeys, everyone! I celebrated by sitting on a plane next to Grant Wilson from Ghost Hunters and hyperventilating like a geek at Comic Con!
This is what he really looked like.
This is what I felt like.
I didn't bother him. He was with his wife and kids. I just stared at the back of his wonderful hair. Once, just once, he leaned into the aisle to look for the flight attendant. My heart stopped for so long I think I was technically dead.
Dear World At This, Being ChristmasTimes, the Holidays, and Whatnot:
I would like to remind you of one thing that remains as unchanging as my love of any holiday shapes made of chocolate, and filled with some sort of marshmallow or peanut butter filling. This is a simple point, a direct request, and something of a Grinch-worthy threat:
SHUT THE FUCK UP WITH YOUR PRECIOUS HARDBACK COPY OF POLAR EXPRESS.
You know who you are. You know what you do. You look forward to it every year, with the joy of a kid begging to rip into the box he already knows contains that remote control thing from Radio Shack he's only gonna play with once before breaking. That special day rolls around and you're ready to get everyone into the Christmas spirit. You're gonna get your bag of tricks together and trot on over to church or school or your local library or anarchist bunker in the forests of Montana--Not my business--and get to work.
You're gonna warm some hearts.
How? You've got your secret weapon. You let everyone get all cozy on the floor, maybe some pillows, dim the lights, and unveil that sacred tome, the real reason for the season.
THE. POLAR. EXPRESS.
The rest of the experience is as precise as something created in a top-secret government lab. Little boy believes. A magical vehicle--the titular Polar Express-- appears and a seemingly friendly man offers sweets and adventures. Much like this person:
Or better yet, this one:
All the children on the train sip their hot chocolate, and all the people listening to the story sip on styrofoam cups full of powdered Swiss Miss. We're playing along! It's like Smell-O-Vision! They make it to the North Pole and we see Santa! How's that for an M. Night Shamalan plot twist! Santa's here! He can go to every house in all the world and drop toys to everybody! So it's gonna be a piece of cake to have his Elves line up with t-shirt guns and shoot dolls and wooden trains to the children like awesome Santa confetti! Toys for everyone!
Nope, one kid. It's like some kind of ritualistic lottery system. Or that claw machine that cheats everyone except one lucky kid who walks around all day at Chuck E. Cheese with a stuffed animal and everyone else just glares. Santa points at random, selects our protagonist, and the little boy who could ask for anything in the world only.
Wants.
A.
Sleigh.
Bell.
He's the zen master of children. Unlike the rest of us who would rack our brains for the most expensive thing in the Toys-R-Us catalog and/or a pony/new bike. This brilliant little boy asks for someone no one else would. Boom. Bell aquired. On the way home, tragedy strikes! He loses the bell! It's gone! At this point the rapt audience lets out a sad awwwww noise. Someone spills their now-cold Swiss Miss. Maybe on their lap, maybe on the carpet. It's staining something tonight. That's what cups of hot chocolate do.
Said child is dumped at his doorstep and he takes his sad-sack self off to bed. In the morning, there's a teeny tiny present under the tree and when he opens it, he finds the bell. When the boy rings the bell, both he and his sister marvel at the beautiful sound. We can assume it sounds like some sort of...oh, bell? Maybe it as a chorus of something by Journey. Or The Forgotten Carols. Who's to say?
He and his sister are entranced by the ding/Journey/Forgotten Carols lyrics. His parents, however, are unable to hear the bell and remark that it must be broken. Like they do.Ruining everything good in your life.
At this point whoever is reading the book gets a little teary. Everyone gets all warmed up and fuzzied inside. With a pause and a crisp turn of the page, they positively sigh the words:
At one time, most of my friends could hear the bell, but as years passed, it fell silent for all of them. Even Sarah found one Christmas that she could no longer hear its sweet sound. Though I've grown old, the bell still rings for me, as it does for all who truly believe.
Then someone turns up the lights a bit, opens up a plastic bag full of 35-cent bells on string from a craft store and everyone sits around making noise with them until they all gain control of their emotions, dab their eyes, and promise never ever to forget the meaning of Christmas.
For me, the only profound part of this as a child was the question to myself, why are we doing this at CHURCH again?
All I can tell you is this...The only magical trains I want you reading to me about better be headed to Hogwarts.
I've been around the world and back again, darling wittys! (Translation: Long Beach, Pasadena, Valencia.) But now I'm back, and here's the what on where I been!
1. Burning the spooky-ass midnight oil with The Scream Team!
4. Dressing up like the fearsome and totally scientifically plausable Sharktopus! Look out, bungee jumpers/speedboats/Eric Roberts!
5. Started rehearsals for a new show!
So that's it for now...stay tuned for information on my new play, and the Youtube channel, which will have REAL LIVE VIDEOS on it as soon as I learn how to not buy editing software that is total shit!
Well folks, it's hotter than bull mess out there in Hollyweird this week. All over California, really. There's no reason to be outside a second longer than you have to, lest you melt into a sweaty little as-naked-as-possible-without-getting-arrested puddle. Only an idiot would be outside in this sort of nonsense.
SO PILLAR AND I WENT TO THE ANTELOPE VALLEY FAIR!!!
We ate corndogs! Went on the Zipper! We ate ice cream soda floats! Went down the crazy plastic slide on a piece of burlap sack! We saw this cute baby pig!
We ate fried Twinkies! We let a ten-year-old girl give us the weirdest lesson on bees ever! We ate fried Oreos!
And we saw this! Also known as The Gunniest Booth in Guntown!
So if you're in Lancaster, and the zombies breach the fences, you know which booth to turn to for help. You're welcome.
Thought I'd pass along some good-watchin-stories to tide you over on this random Thursday from the archives of the brilliance that is The Twilight Zone. I'll call it Twilight Twursday. Enjoy!
"Number 12 Looks Just Like You"
Anyone who considers this science fiction should take a walk around Beverly Hills sometime. I'm not sure how half of the middle-aged, mid-life-crisis chumps in their forties can even tell their wives apart after a few surgeries.
"The Hunt"
I can't make any comments. I'm too busy choking up. If I had to sum up my concept of the Heaven in one pop culture terms, I'd say it goes something like this:
going from a vision of happy to a vision of hell...it's...
"He's Alive"
Rod Sterling's most head a-sploding commentary on the poison of anti-Semitism, and the reality in his time (and, sadly, our own) that Hitler's ideals still live on in people and organizations all over the world. In his own words:
Where will he go next, this phantom from another time, this resurrected ghost of a previous nightmare - Chicago; Los Angeles; Miami, Florida; Vincennes, Indiana; Syracuse, New York? Anyplace, everyplace, where there's hate, where there's prejudice, where there's bigotry. He's alive. He's alive so long as these evils exist. Remember that when he comes to your town. Remember it when you hear his voice speaking out through others. Remember it when you hear a name called, a minority attacked, any blind, unreasoning assault on a people or any human being. He's alive because through these things we keep him alive.
Also, anyone doubting the genius of dearly departed Dennis Hopper need only watch his younger work to know he's always been awesome. We miss you, buddy.
And to end on a totally corny note, here's a choice piece of shmaltz from the 2002 re-boot of Twilight Zone that should have learned from the awfulness of the awful Outer Limits re-boot a decade-ish earlier. But hey, Amber Tamblyn? And the (possibly last)straight-faced use of the phrase gangster rap! Evergreen...is....PEOPLE! (Dun dun dunnn)
Sometimes I think the internet makes things just because they're perfect for The Unwinona. This is one of them from the sexy bitchlets at Regretsy. Regretsy, you always treat me so good...
Welcome to a small slice of hell. I mean, inspirational Mormon "pop" music. No, I meant hell.
I found this looking for obliviously hilarious Janice Kapp Perry cover art (is there any other kind?) to submit to Jesus of the Week and I swear to all that is holy and covered in floral shoulder pads, I can't tell if this is supposed to be funny or if she's totally legit weeping there at the end. I've seen enough tearful Sunday morning performances of this sugary pile of lyrics to really question myself on this particular video. For the moment I'm inclined to believe she's for real.
And I'm not in the slightest ashamed to admit that I've done my time as a soldier in the Janice Kapp Perry Army. Not ashamed because I wasn't a volunteer. I was FUCKING DRAFTED. The same sadistic female parent who dragged my sorry ass to piano lessons under screaming protest for years on end decided, one day out of the blue, to sign me up for a Wednesday night Young Womens choir. I'm still not clear what the purpose of these choir nights was. There was no recital or presentation planned as far as I know. To be honest I didn't pay too much attention. I didn't plan on staying that long. Honestly, I think some mom got it into her head that if she didn't provide the teenagers a wholesome supervised activity we'd all start shooting heroin and french-kissing each other.
If memory serves, I only went twice. Maybe three times. They blur together. I remember picking at my skirt (because of course Jesus didn't want us singing about the wonders of being women all tarted up like lesbians in blue jeans!)and mumbling as quietly as possible to avoid being picked for any sort of solo. Two excruciating hours later I got to go home. With schmaltzy little songs in my head, looping over, and over, and over. To this day, against my will, I remember all the damn words to "I Walk By Faith" and it makes me cry too, flower lady. Because I'm trying not to laugh.
Did I mention it's full of MOONBEAM UNICORN JUICE POWER??
Seriously, who's buying this shit?! I bet whoever it is keeps the healing crystal and moonshine cure-all (the secret ingredient is alcohol!)industries in business too.
Don't buy this stupid bracelet. Do your gullible ass a favor and buy this instead. Lest history repeat itself messily all over another American pocketbook.
So I'm sure you've all been a-tingle here in Cyberland with anticipation to see some Undead Unwinona all up on this blog..and why not? Zombies are where it's at, unless you're some sort of joyless celibate Twilight vampire, in which case you can FUCK RIGHT OFF. I said it. They wouldn't, a Mormon writes those books. Ha ha! Take that you sparkly bastards! I may not live forever, but at least I can use SWEARS!
*ahem* Anyway...
Zombies! Here! (If you fall in love with any of the looks in this ragtag ensemble army of ghouls, please to buy them here! Scream Team.com!)
The lovely Kelly, Lex and Adam give you a ahem "taste" of photos to come from the fine fiends at The Scream Team! Shambling through Old Towne Pasadena yesterday was a lovely range of decaying friends bent on devouring every amused busboy and window-shopper...and every moment of our monsterhood was documented for your viewing pleasure! Seriously, kids, we're cooking up some amazing things for Halloween this year, and you can own some of the genius for your own spookytimes! How's that for a slice of fried gold?
So the ever-lovely Nina Storey, along with the gang from White Lights and Magnolia Memoir, and the ever-energetic Max Golberg descended upon House House tonight to record what is several hours of pure web-streaming delight. For those of you who weren't there to witness it firsthand, here's the re-run. And next time you'll know to be there for the real thing, ready to chat at us, won't you?
Sweet CrumbleCakes, did I use to love sitting down in front of my tv to watch an evening episode of Square One! What Schoolhouse Rock did for english and Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego? did for geography, Square One did for math...made it tolerable.
I enjoyed the adventures of the Mathnet Squad, the cameo appearances of the fast-talking Micro Machines guy doing rapid fire math problems, and the fact that beacause it was a math show, my mother wouldn't make me turn it off and do something "productive" with my time. I think she was hoping that unlike Mr Belvedere, Square One would make me want to grow up to be a brilliant mathmetician. As we all know, Mr Belvedere was a wise-cracking butler, and therefore a terible role model. Also, he lied and told the kids he invented Double Stuf Oreos that one time and is therefore a liar and a common servant. He probably stole the good silver too. Not the occupation a 10 year old girl should be aspiring to.
No, Square One was the better choice. Although I still somehow finished high school with the math comprehension of a second-grader in the "before" segment of a Sylvan Learning Center commercial, I nevertheless loved my time spent with the Square One gang. So I leave you with this simple question:
It's the Snuggie of ass-cheekery! The Bump-It of buttocks! Color me stupid, but I'm a bit hesitant to spend "only" $19.95 to make my butt look like I stuffed two Maxi-pads down the back of my granny panties.
Also: I'm pretty sure every woman in America who actually has junk in their collective trunks would happily punch you in the face for purchasing something they've been trying to get rid of for years.
Being a piece of human furniture (aka extra work) requires all kinds. While re-registering at Central Casting and hitting up a calling service open call, I've had the opportunity to meet all the old background stereotypes...all the bad comedians trying out new material, the bleach blonde who spends the entire time messing her hair up until it's even bigger than when she came in, the washed-up 40-something screenwriter. But my favorite by far is the Woman of the Late-Middle Age (sounds more historical than aged-badly, in my opinion.) who take "dress professionally" to mean dress like...well, a particular type of "professional."
From Central Casting in February:
From Calling Service:
(Note: wardrobe request for this one was "professional, basic black shirt" but this hot mama went one further..she wore a black bra to match! Now that's a go-getter!")
All that streetwalking experience will serve them well when they're shuffling around on the whorehouse set for an episode of CSI Miami.
You'll never want to leave! Bad stuff will happen and people will be like, "Why aren't you leaving?" But you won't, because....well, that's not really clear a lot of times!
I couldn't figure out at first what was bothering me so much about this sign at CVS. It isn't just the enthusiastic announcement shouting We might charge you this...or MORE! but I couldn't put my finger on what. After about five minutes, I figured it out (It was a very slow line at the ol' pharmacy today) and here it is:
Nothing, absolutely nothing on this display was $3.99. Everything was six bucks if not more.
So...the only part of the sign that actually referred to this display of goods was the And Up! part. Hey CVS? Epic fail.
I live in Hollywood. I act. I love all things Jane Austen. I live in the most beautiful and profound gutter in the world. It teaches me things about myself every day.
And I am mistaken for or compared to Winona Ryder at least once a week. I am not. I am the Unwinona.
