#BeatTheHeatIn4Words

The trending hashtag today on Twitter is #BeatTheHeatIn4Words. It is wrong that I instantly thought of Dairy Queen? My 4-word suggestion: Dairy Queen Turtle Sundae. This is part of DQ’s “hidden menu.” I think it used to be on their regular menu, but ever since this confusing Dairy Queen-Orange Julius merger, things have gotten a little weird. But whenever I think of caramel, whipped cream and hot fudge, I instantly think of the Sister Wives.

You see, the Sister Wives and I made a commitment to each other long ago. Our lifetime of depriving ourselves of hot fudge and caramel sundaes in the name of chasing junior-sized clothing will officially end once any one of us is on our deathbed. When we’re ready to take that final dirt nap, we’ve all committed to each other that at least three of us will be administering hot fudge, caramel and whipped cream in one final, delicious cornucopia of calories, gently poured down the throat of the dying Sister Wife in a flavorful fare-thee-well.

Death by dessert.

Proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.

 

It’s only fitting (since our clothes are fitting, due to extreme dessert deprivation). The only discrepancy will be Sister Wife Heather, who confounds me. You see, she doesn’t like whipping cream. (I’m saddened, just thinking of all the fun she must have missed in college…).

There used to be a really great series on Showtime called “HUFF,” starring Hank Azaria, Blythe Danner and Oliver Platt. Blythe played this salty, sassy, aging mother. One of her card-playing friends was on her death bed after a major stroke, so Blythe gathered up her remaining friends, went to the hospital and administered the final solution out of mercy for her friend. That touching scene, and that act of friendship, has haunted me since I first saw it. This was well before I ever knew the Sister Wives.

Call us morbid, but we discuss and refine this final chapter of our lives ad nauseam. We plot our final move to Oregon with the same level of care and detail that some folks put into planning their family vacations. The last time we were together, Heather sought my reassurance that I’d be okay with generic whipping cream. She was concerned that if mine was a sudden, imminent death, she might only have time to do rushed shopping in a gas station or 7-11 on her race to the hospital. I acquiesced. I might be so drugged up as to not be able to taste the difference at that point. I also agreed to Cool Whip, if things got really desperate. Hopefully, she remembers to pack a large spoon.

The Sister Wives’ annual “glamping” trip is coming up shortly. (Glamping involves air conditioned, fully furnished housing with cable TV in a campground setting.) I’ve drawn up the legal documents, and I’ve already identified the notary in Baraboo, Wisconsin. When it comes to these kinds of commitments, we Sister Wives are. dead. serious.

L.A., I am IN You…

As I write this, I’m staring out the 12th-story window of my hotel room on Highland Avenue at the “Hollywood” sign. There’s an energy to California that I always feel the moment my feet touch the ground. Maybe it’s the I’ve-been-deprived-for-6-months rays emanating from that orange, fiery ball in the sky (what is that sphere, anyway? A sun or something?). Maybe it’s an impending earthquake. It just feels like it heightens my already high energy. Maybe it’s the uber-creative friends I always hang with in Cali. I feel so happy here. The only thing that could top off this glorious feeling would be if I had my merry band of Kotex Mafia to share this with me–Marovich, the Sister Wives, the S.H.I.T. Club. God, we’d have a blast. In a perfect world…

We’re here in L.A. because Dave Dorman is a judge for the Writers & Illustrators of the Future Awards a prestigious award for the sci-fi and fantasy community. Last night, part of the fun was an art salon at Cliff Nielsen’s studio. He did a sci-fi retro theme for the live models (blasting 1960s James Bond soundtracks in the background as we sketched–I was in sensory heaven) so here’s my graphic-covered southpaw after a 10-minute sketch:

10-Minute Art Jam, Southpaw Style

10-Minute Art Jam, Southpaw Style

And here are the wonderful models:

Wonderful models from Cliff Nielsen's Art Salon

Wonderful models from Cliff Nielsen’s Art Salon

Today I join our X-Files actor friend Dean Haglund, who is HILARIOUS (if you’ve never seen him do stand-up comedy, do yourself a favor and be sure to find where he’s performing) for his downtown LA walking tour. It will be a total riot, I guarantee you. Between my penchant for attracting society’s oddballs and Dean’s out-of-left-field running commentary, this could get interesting…

Now, let’s talk briefly about how California fruit growers are holding out on us. I mean seriously, they do not share their highest quality level of produce with those of us outside of Cali (a California friend told me this long ago, and I didn’t believe him until I saw the berries from our $127 breakfast this a.m.–I think me adding smoked salmon to my egg white omelette was the costly tipping point.) Why, yes! That is a QUARTER next to my blueberry, black raspberry, and raspberry:

Look - these berries were radiated on Gilligan's Island!

Look – these berries were radiated on Gilligan’s Island!

And hotels–what’s with hiring Dracula as your guest rooms interior designer? The gray and silver aesthetic for our room is way too similar to the New Mexico cult compound from TV’s “The Dig,” an aesthetic co-creators Tim Kring and Gideon Raff discussed openly as making people feel cold and uncomfortable. Which it does.

Actress Lauren Ambrose amidst the cold, sterile interiors from the cult compound on USA Network's "THE DIG" TV series

Actress Lauren Ambrose amidst the cold, sterile interiors from the cult compound on USA Network’s “THE DIG” TV series

If you’re in the market for ugly curtains, er, window dressings, I know right where you can find some…

Someone Went Shopping at "Ugly Curtains R Us"...

Someone Went Shopping at “Ugly Curtains ‘R Us”…

As a final thought, my prayers go out to those who were hit by the twisters in Northern Illinois last night, way too close to our home. I was comforting our frantic-bordering-on-hysterical son on the phone from here as he was hiding in the basement during last night’s terrifying storm. (Unfortunately, I know first-hand how butt-puckeringly frightening it is to be hit by a tornado while you’re in your house after our Hurricane Ivan adventure in Florida.)

Stay tuned as my wildly fun and unpredictable weekend unfolds…