Monday, January 12, 2009
That's my imaginary daughter Amy, 6, and her now unemployed parolee mother Carolyn with her boyfriend Fahd as they departed Gardena City Hall, where Carolyn's driver's license was reinstated. Yes, I know she's big for 6. Amy's current fashion obsession of mixing plaids is nearly as slimming as Carolyn's festive new tunic. Fahd, as you can see, dressed for court. The photo was taken by Auntie Jean, who drove them in her VW Beetle, because Fahd's Kia died at an Amway distributorship in Pomona. Jean's car is now in the shop.
Having learned from Carolyn's "pick-me-up" Orange Jell-O shots (as seen in the above photo from my archives showing Carolyn with a week's supply), Amy has begun her own attempts at making the horrid blob work (the Jell-O). I have always despised the flavored mass made from the former collagen of cow and pig bones, hooves and connective tissue, which has always seemed to me like something that should not be eaten, but somehow used in machinery.
Carolyn and her mother Big Carolyn have an almost devotional relationship with the wriggling horror, crafting it into layered masses containing suspended food slices of every ilk, at which they ooh and aah at the miracle of its inertness.
But my Amy wanted to recreate a layered rainbow Jell-O mold Uncle Charlie made for his and Brian's BBQ in West Hollywood last June. I bought her all the necessary supplies and she worked on it at Carolyn's this weekend, saving a large piece of her "Rainbow Pineapple Surprise" for me, which did, in fact, look like Jell-O with mold. "It came out a little green, but it's still good," said Amy as she proudly handed me a jiggling mass of nearly phosphorescent aquamarine goo and a fork.
I don't believe the phrase "This is absolutely delicious, sweetheart" had ever before been uttered with regard to Jell-O, but say it I did.
An imaginary father's work is never done.
Click here for more Amy stories.