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Sun, Sun, Go Away: I Wish For Rain In Which to Play

Tuesday, 16 September 2014 00:00 Jennifer Devore
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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, d ark 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

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Jennifer Susannah Devore

Jenny Pop is the acclaimed Author of the Savannah of Williamsburg series of books and The Darlings of Orange County. In addition, Jen is a prolific consumer of media and pop culture. Never leaving the house without her journal and fave Waterman pen, an old-fashioned, analog book (usually Hunter S. Thompson) and a fresh coat of lipstick, she is constantly on the hunt for fun, espresso, animation  and comics of any kind and always ready for an impromptu day at Disneyland. is a natural extension of  Jen's World; so, spend some time visiting. You'll have fun, she promises!

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The sexy, cashmere beaches of southern California aren't always what they seem. The dirty little secret here is what it takes to survive. Everyone has a trick up their silk sleeve. Liz Lemon meets Parker Posey, Veronica Darling is smart enough to know what it takes and is willing to soil her soul to bring Hollywood to the California Riviera. The Darlings of Orange County is a salacious, hilarious, harrowing romp chock full of eco-terrorism, horse-racing scandals, weed deals and the obligatory lipstick-lesbian affair that inevitably leads to murder. It all climaxes in a white-knuckled, glitzy, celebrity-stacked Laguna Beach Film Premiere that spells success for Veronica Darling and trouble for her friends and family.

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Savannah Prudence Squirrel

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Meet Miss Savannah of Colonial Williamsburg in Virginia. Equal parts Amelia Earhart, Lucy Honeychurch, Scarlett O'Hara and Miss Piggy, Savannah is a scholar, adventurer and a lady. Moreover, she is a pebble in the silver-buckled shoe of injustice and with her best pals she is not a squirrel to challenge. She carries  the Magna Carta in one paw and the latest Parisian silk bag in her other. Whether fighting to end slavery, arguing for freedom of the press or scheming to end a duel, Miss Savannah does so with wit and persistence. Read more to meet her best friends and accomplices: Ichabod Wolfgang and Dante Marcus Pritchen. Prepare to also meet pirates, a Venetian fox and an Irish gull, The Commodore!



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Hannah Hart, ghost dame of the Hotel del Coronado

Hannah Hart, ghost dame of the Hotel del Coronado

So, here's the low down, all you Joes and Janes ... I'm Hannah Hart, dead girl. Don't fret, it's actually a sweet dish being dead. Having perished in 1934 in a terrifically vicious accessories incident with actress Ida Lupino, I reside where I died: San Diego's gorgeous Hotel del Coronado. It ain't a bad gig at all, really! Great weather, swanky guests (not to mention a few fellow ghosties), amazing amenities, my own private turret overlooking the sea and all the java juice and giggle water I can handle; plus, these bartenders know how to make a Planter's Punch like nobody's business! See, I've been waiting for this Internet thing forever ... now, instead of slamming doors and moving lamps, I get to wag my tongue all I like at

Abyssinia, kids!