The veil between the living and the dead is about to get a little thinner, so grab your best scary (or sexy) costume to ward off those spooky spirits and head over to one (or more!) of our hand-picked surreal and spooky Los Angeles Halloween events:
The Valley Girl drags Shanon into the weird claws of a Cat Show. They witness a Tarantino-esque car chase on their way to the Inglewood diner Pann’s — and discuss some of Los Angeles’ homeless celebrities, mental illness and their plans to find Clive Barker at the Magic Castle. That’s right, we like to keep it Surreal, L.A.!
I have to say that Valley Girl is proving to be the purrrrrfect companion on my strange and beautiful journey through Los Angeles. Everywhere we go, something weird happens . . . or maybe we make the weird happen.
Take last weekend, when Valley Girl dragged me kicking and screaming to the Santa Monica Cat Club Cat Show, where crazy cat ladies (and lads) let their prettiest felines out of their cages for a knock-down, drag-out Zoolander-style cat-fight.
To be honest, I was expecting to encounter some kind of untold horror like this clip from the 1982 not-so-classic horror movie Cat People . . .
This is Zipporah. She’s rich, loves life, has traveled the world — and is certain she will be famous some day. Oh, and she thinks you’re cute and wants to know all about your heritage.
Why? . . . Why are you asking? You’re in Surreal LA.
In a city so preoccupied with beauty and youth, Los Angeles is home to a small army of eccentric older ladies whose eyes still sparkle with a young starlet’s dreams of fame, fortune and love.
If you’ve spent anytime roaming the streets of Hollywood proper or Beverly Hills, you’ve seen them: older women in their sixties and seventies dressed to the nines in all kinds of theatrical assembles begging for your attention. I’ve seen eighty year-old pink-haired old punks standing in line for band auditions, a wheelchair-bound Cinderella buying Depends in a CVS — and a grandmother wearing an ornate feathered mask in a Ralph’s.
Some people call them crazy. I’d like to think of them as withered flowers.