For some folks, summer can mean little more than warmer day
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#DreamBig
Can't make it to Comic-Con? Don't be sad! JennyPop's got you covered! All the dorky fun rages July 19 - July 23, 2017. For full posts, detailed accounts and, possibly, her Souvenir Book article, bookmark @JennyPopCom Twitter and Insta for all the in-depth, geeky, good times.
To quote Larry Daivd, "It's enough already." Sure, it seems fun: these slow, warm, lazy, final days of summer in the sand and surf. Mid-April of the year, I could barely wait to toss off the Hugh Hefner smoking jacket and J. Crew plaid flares. Now, deep into September (standard SoCal heat wave season) I've donned neither real shoes nor actual clothing in months: the de rigueur uniform for April-September around here is a bikini and a Tahitian bark-cloth sarong. As a rule, unless absolutely necessary, like Kevin Dillon's Entourage character Johnny Drama, I do not venture inland April-October; if I really must, I hydrate well. (Legend has it today was 108 in the Inland Empire. No thank you.)
It's too hot to eat anything and my hair has reverted to its natural, Polynesian-frizz state. I blame Dad's Hawaiian genes. Despite copious amounts of Aveda anti-humectant pomade and Kiehl's "deeply restorative" saffron hair oil, all I can bear to do is whip up my wet blanket of locks into a neat, tight, ballerina bun. In the midst of our current, heinous heat wave, I've given up trying to style myself on any level, leaving me fashioned more like a cross between Rebecca De Mornay in Lords of Dogtown and a wet seal. My preferred, vintage mode of Dita Von Teese-meets-American Hustle shall have to wait. I will concede, however, that nighttime around here smells glorious in the summer, despite being too hot to actually sleep: the evening air conflates with the aroma of bonfires, salt air and suntan oil. It smells like a delivery truck of Hawaiian Tropic SPF2 crashed and spilled all over a Yosemite campground.
Sweet smells of coconut or no, I am done. Done with summer. If you follow my blogs, books and bewildering Tweets regularly (Thank you, BTW!), you know well of my linen-thin tolerance for picture-perfect, postcard weather. To be sure, I can do the bikini & martini thing when the situation calls for it; I can do summer with the best of them! It's just not my altogether gig. Oh sure, to quote Alec Baldwin (commenting on Jerry Seinfeld's charmed life, but apropos here), my life does seem to be "one unbroken boulevard of green lights". 'Tis a grand life, no doubt ... but I need some rain, snow and viable change-of-seasons once in a while. I crave a good old-fashioned, Seattle-style, clam chowder-and-Guinness, incessant kind of rain. Besides, sunscreen is bonkers expensive; my sundry fund needs a break.
Colour me whiny, but this is my traditional, late-summer rant. I imagine fellow Spooky Girls, Kat Kinsman (CNN's Eatocracy writer,) and Rebecca Lane (pretty half-Brit, vintage gal and L.A. actress à la Old Hollywood) understand fully. Right now, in their funky noggins they're scheming Hallowe'en costumes, dusting off Bettie Page cap-toe shoes and shaking out vintage, velvet opera capes, just waiting patiently for the right day to wear it all. (Lucky for Ms. Kinsman, she lives in Brooklyn. She should have cool weather very soon.) Thankfully for us California Spooky Girls, October, and Halloweentime at Disneyland, are only a tad further nigh.
When I can, I will dash to the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland, to assuage my Gothic and autumnal needs. Film and TV like Sleepy Hollow, Midnight in Paris, It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown, Hocus Pocus, Northern Exposure, The X-Files and Charmed keep my psyche in Gomez Addams-style, Burberry velvet blazers, patent leather boots and vintage homburgs. There's also a score of literature and art to keep Moi excited about an East Coast autumn: Nathaniel Hawthorne, Phaedra Weldon, Anne Rice, Edgar Allan Poe, Tonya Hurley, Katherine Howe and, of course, old, Charles Addams comic books.
In case you're feeling a tad sun-stroked yourself, please enjoy my slideshow above: a smattering of delightfully gloomy and wintry imagery for the sunny/Gothic soul. Snaps of rain, dark skies, puppies in sweaters, Vikings in scarves, cozy autumn mode, Jack-o-lanterns, ravens, ghost pirate-ships, drippy candleabra, black-lace parasols and Johnny Depp ... Spooky Girls always like Johnny Depp.
#SpookyGirls #autumnwatch
Some are born Geek, some achieve Geekness and others have Geekness thrust upon them. For those of us whom are verily Geek-at-Heart, we shall not be shedding the title as quickly as a West Hollywood hipster sheds his iPad the moment Apple bids him so. Whilst many will claim the title of Geek, as to be Nerd/Dork/Geek/Wonk is très chic, it is a dangerous, double-edged lightsaber ... wait, they're columnar in shape. Anyhoo, we may live blissfully in our own, little biospheres; yet we are easy targets, like a wounded dolphin, or the only kid dressed up like a pilgrim the Wednesday before school lets out for Thanksgiving Weekend.
From sea to nerdy Cameron-submersible sea, forest to dorky Bigfoot forest, Skywalker Ranch and beyond the solar flares, this proudly pale populace has some serious ideas about what is fun and what is not. Summer is here and it can be a tough time for us, what with the sun, the outdoors and the prospect of a proper, dress-up holiday still months away. Never mind all that; we know what makes for real summer fun and with all due respect to the rest of you, to quote The Big Bang Theory's Dr. Sheldon Cooper, "You're having fun wrong."
As a bonus, I must toss in The Hotel del Coronado. Though not a geek-oriented destination in and of itself, unless you’re bonkers for Victorian architectural detail, it is home to our favourite geek ghost, Miss Hannah Hart, ghostdame of The Hotel del Coronado. What?! You don’t know Miss Hannah Hart? Zowie!, as she would decry! Best get yourself over to GoodToBeAGeek.com and introduce yourself to this sassy and brassy, 1930s, Old Hollywood dame whom finds your casual wardrobe and slack-jawed vernacular a disgrace. Boyz-o! Does she have some opinions about you!
Clearly, because we are Geek, I rest assured many of you will disagree with my list, if only to dispute its hierarchy. Moreover, I expect others will rant and rail over omissions and inclusions. Please, do share @JennyPopCom or @GoodToBeAGeek. Like learning a Hotel Del ghostie girl is as bonkers for Carl Barks comic books as I am, it's always a thrill to learn where more of my own kind roam at will, without threat or fear of a good swirly.
By way of introduction, I present to you the chanteuse and lyricist, Miss Jannie Funster, Yellow Rose of Texas. Jannie's tagline? Writing songs and singing for donuts and beer! How do you not like a gal like that?! Songbird Jannie brings to mind, in an instant, the bistro stylings of France's Femme Premiere, Mrs. Carla Bruni-Sarkozy, with a little Disney princess tossed in to flavour. Miss Jannie and I became aware of each other one fateful, cyberday when her blog and mine rattled sabers on the subject of Mrs. Cindy McCain. In fact, the clash was sorely mistaken; for it came to be known we both shared an opinion of Miss Cindy and it was a favorable one: It's her beer money ... don't Cindy-hate!
Serendipitously, Miss Jannie and I found each other to be weird and unorthodox free spirits and though we have differing views on music (she-Rolling Stones/Bob Dylan; me-Weezer/Marilyn Manson) and SPAM (she-likes it; me-puke) we both agree having a wine drinking-tree is a fine idea and that pets and husbands make the best friends ever. We also agree yoga and Guinness are equally good for you, museums and book stores are an excellent way to spend a day and that a random row of yellow Mini Coopers is worth stopping to take a snap.
In the last five years, Miss Jannie and I have traded blog comments and, even better, the odd, traditional correspondence via actual U.S. Snail Mail: a carefully wrapped package of beach glass from CA to TX, Christmas cards and the occasional, simple Ciao! on a hand-pressed floral note card. Amidst these, Jannie proffers poetry, songs, stories and mondo pictures at her website. Hoffenlich, I proffer the same, minus the songs, to keep her and others as amused and bemused as she does her readers and Moi-meme.
So, Miss Jannie, in your latest musical offering, you ask Where are the girls on banana seat bicycles, who used to fly down the street? The song is an evocation of pretty childhoods and summer romances, of sparkly blue seats, matching handlebar streamers and magical flights. If you're not careful, the song will bring a wee tear to your eye ... menfolk, too.
Well, it seems to me the girls are everywhere fun and free spirit is to be found, wherever a life is free of concern, but full of care. They are in Austin, San Diego and Napa: NorCal home to Miss Bonney's girl, the one with the banana seat soul whom gifted me Miss Sadie Schwinn. Though they don't allow bicycles through the hallowed gates of Disneyland, when one is there the banana seat souls cycle down every sparkling inch of Magic Kingdom paths. If you have a banana seat bicycle soul, I urge you to join the odd and fantastical Janniverse. If your soul is not of the banana seat ilk, maybe Jannie and I can help you!
#summertime #songs #SPAM