The New York Times just paid a visit to Willis Wonderland in Studio City, home of my favorite songwriter/playwright/artist/cyber-pioneer/kitschmeister, Allee Willis. Her 1937 pink Kesling modern shines in a color soaked gallery by Ethan Pines, a regular contributor to Los Angeles magazine. The streamline home is spectacular and every room is wackier than the last, but her underground wood-paneled rumpus room, which looks like a flooded deck on the S.S. Lurline, is a fantastic exercise in underwater vertigo and home to some of the most cherished items in her Museum of Kitsch. Every time one of her songs like Boogie Wonderland or September or Neutron Dance comes on the radio I imagine Allee applying CarLashes to her headlights or fiddling with one of the vintage TV’s playing Soul Train throughout the compound. It’s a spectacular place and a singular vision by an artist, who if not limited by building codes, would be the Simon Rodia of the 21st century.