I'm fixin' to get hitched and, as anyone who's taken the plunge before knows, working out the wedding details can be a challenge. As the awesome Evelyn McDonnell told me recently, any marriage that makes it through the planning stages was meant to be.

When I asked my betrothed where we should hold this shindig, he came up with some interesting propositions: the zoo, a vintage trailer rally, and a go-cart track among them. Gawd, I love this man. But, by far, his best proposition was House on the Rock -- the bizarre roadside attraction that constituted life's work of the eccentric Alex Jordan, Jr.

There are plenty of wacked-out architectural marvels out there that pay tribute to the singular vision of their slightly unhinged creators (Watts Towers, Winchester Mystery House, etc.), but none to rival the deranged, obsessive energy of Spring Green, Wisconsin's House on the Rock. According to the geniuses at Roadsideamerica.com, the house - a fascinating, albeit unwieldy, Japanese-looking structure built atop a sheer 60 ft. tall pinnacle rock (70 ft. in diameter at its base - graduating to 200 ft. in diameter on its surface), was conceived of by Jordan's father as a big "eff you" to Frank Lloyd Wright. Apparently, Mr. fancy pants architect insulted the elder Jordan's capabilities by telling him, "I wouldn't hire you to design a cheese crate or a chicken coop."

It is reported that Jordan, Jr. inherited the project from his father in the '40s. But information regarding HOTR's origin is hazy. Junior, a legendary recluse, was not forthcoming about anything regarding the project and, when he died in 1989 at the age of 75, he took much of the mystery with him, leaving only the weirdness behind.

The house, which features among other oddities, the Infinity Room (an observation deck that juts out 216 feet from the structure over the forest canopy without any visible means of support), is quirky enough on its own. But the real lure of HOTR is the unbelievable aggregation of junk housed on its grounds. It would seem that Jordan, Jr. never met a garage sale he didn't like. And, in order to display such oddities as his collections of self-playing mechanical orchestras, full-sized steam engines, pipe organs and German beer vats, a 200-ft.-long sea monster replica and the "world's largest carousel," he constructed a veritable Habitrail of enormous, hanger-like buildings that snake through the woods surrounding the house. And that's just for starters. The man's doll collection (yes, doll collection) alone will blow your mind. Thousands upon thousands of baby dolls, Santa dolls, circus figurines, etc. are scattered throughout the place. Creepy? Yes. But mesmerizing all the same.

Because of its proximity to our Detroit-area home, HOTR wasn't a practical option for our nuptials. We've instead decided to take our vows at the odd little shipwreck museum on Belle Isle (let the wisecracks begin). But, if you're still looking for a last-gasp summertime road trip, I can't recommend House on the Rock enough. It's open now 'til November 4th.

I promise, it'll make everything else in your life seem normal as hell.

Wendy Case is the MOLI View's contributing editor for Arts & Entertainment.

Captain Jack Sparrow, Johnny Depp (sigh) was a swashbuckling guitarist himself. In the late '70s and early '80s, he played in a band called the Kids, one of many new wave acts trying to make it big in a part of the country geographically - not to mention psychically - far from the established music meccas: South Florida. Not many people know that before bass and Gloria, Miami was a rocking town. As the film Rock and a Hard Place: Another Night at the Agora documents, bands like the Kids, Cichlids, Charlie Pickett, etc., were creating the soundtrack of a tropical Athens (in fact, REM were Pickett fans).

Depp is the only member of this scene who went on to great fame - and he did it as an actor, not a musician. But even the world's biggest movie star can't let go of those rock-star fantasies. I suppose that's why Depp's strapping his guitar on again; this weekend, he'll play in a Kids reunion in Pompano Beach, as part of the Sheila Witkin tribute concert that also features Pickett, Slyder, the Romantics (featuring a veteran of the SoFla scene), Z-Cars, and Tight Squeeze.

It's not the first time Depp has rejoined his old bandmates: The Kids played the first Witkin tribute in 2007. Witkin was a concert promoter who helped build the South Florida scene; her son Bruce was also in the Kids. The '07 concert was caught by the Rock and a Hard Place filmmakers. Depp wears a vest, beret, and his instrument hanging low. Be still, my heart.

Rock 'n' roll, like any arts career, is a crap shoot. Rock and a Hard Place perfectly captures that sense of failed dreams, the ones that got away. I mean, if even having the hottest guy on the planet in your group doesn't get you an English countryside mansion, whatcha gonna do?

Evelyn McDonnell is MOLI's editor at large. Her Populism blog runs Tuesdays and Thursdays.

The first major U.S. Latin record label opened in 1979, the company had quick hits from rising stars Julio Iglesias and the Miami Sound Machine (featuring Gloria Estefan). But CBS Discos stayed out of the salsa game because independents like the legendary Fania Records had it all locked up.

A few years later, flush with success, CBS Discos decided it was time to sign a salsa act, but only if the label could get the very best. Juan Estevez, a young Cuban American who was in charge of marketing -- and since the company was so small at the time -- of signing artists too, suggested to his American boss that they go after the legendary Queen of Salsa, Celia Cruz.

But what would that cost?

"If there's any artist I would trust with a blank check, it's her," Estevez mused.

"You mean, signed?" his incredulous boss asked.

But the CBS honcho went along, signing a blank check made out to Celia Cruz.

Estevez caught up to Cruz at the Miami Jai Alai fronton, site of the annual telethon for the League Against Cancer where the star was performing. He approached her backstage and asked if she were under contract or if she might be interested in signing with Discos CBS.

Celia exchanged a look with her husband Pedro Knight.

"What are you offering?" she asked.

Estevez extended the blank check.

Celia looked at the check, then looked at her husband again. After about five minutes, she held it out to Estevez, her hand shaking.

"This isn't real," she said.

"Look," Estevez insisted, "It's signed, from CBS."

By this time Olga Guillot, a singer who was sharing the dressing room with Celia, figured out was going on.

"Write in a million dollars!" she yelled.

Estevez recalls that the suggestion almost gave him a heart attack.

Without saying another word, Celia handed the check back to the record exec.

"I am honored by your offer," she told him. "But I can't do this to Jerry Masucci."

Masucci, the founder along with Dominican bandleader Johnny Pacheco, of Fania Records, had signed Celia away from Roulette Records, where she had been overshadowed by the success of another Cuban star, the histrionic songstress La Lupe.  At Fania, Masucci featured Celia, making her even bigger and better known than she had been as a star in Cuba before the Revolution.

"As long as Massucci is alive, I can never leave Fania," she explained.

Estevez took the still blank check back to his relieved boss.

"We thought about having it framed and sending it to Celia, as a keepsake," he remembers. "But, you know, it was a blank check."

Celeste Fraser Delgado writes about Latin music and the American Dream for MOLI.

We last saw Lady In Red when she was struggling with her love or lust for a lying and cheating fool, in Lady in Red, Part Deux. Now she's moving on. Here we pick up with her in: Lady in Red, the Sequel.

Dear Theo,

I am moved to tell you I am meeting someone new next weekend.  He is someone that I have known for a while, but not someone I have met in person. His long-time girlfriend moved to the East Coast last summer, and I have just kind of kept in touch with him. It was a long breakup for them.

So, for the last nine to 10 months, I have just gone on with my life and, as you know, gotten involved with someone that wasn't good for me. I feel like this is going to be a fresh start. And I'm certain this guy isn't a cheater.  He lives in the Southwest and is an artist. He's also a member of an art collective, and travels quite a bit.  He's 28.  These young guys just keep popping up.   

I'm excited and nervous all at the same time. Any advice, of course, would be appreciated.
 
Hope you are doing wonderful as ever!

-Lady in Red

Dear Lady in Red,

I am so happy to hear you have moved on and it is great that you're so excited to meet this guy. The best advice I can give you right now is a classic; don't count your chickens before they hatch. And what I mean by this is, wait till you have met him and see if the two of you jive well. I am glad you are certain he's not a cheater, but a traveling young artist is somewhat of a nouveau rock star (like chefs), and I would most definitely be careful. Piece of advice #2: Don't put all the eggs that haven't hatched in one basket yet either.

I am not telling you not to trust him. I am just suggesting that you watch out for yourself and be discerning. Sometimes when we are attracted to the same types of people (for you, young and living in other cities), we are living a lesson over and over until we really learn it. I am not trying to stomp on your bed of roses, just reminding you that when you collapse into that bed, you most likely will find a thorn or two.

Have fun and keep your eyes and ears open for clues. 'Till next time…

Theo Kogan is the MOLI View's contributing editor for Fashion & Design. Her THEOlogy column appears Tuesdays and Thursdays. Every other Tuesday, she answers your questions with her tough-love advice. Send your questions via e-mail or here on MOLI.

Among the novel distractions last week were the goings-on in the Water Cube, another great building put up for the Olympics in Beiing. Its most appealing feature (to me) is that its walls are designed to not just resemble but mimic the properties of bubbles -- soap bubbles, it seems, and the way they fill space entirely. The cube is not really a cube: it's a rectangle, and it may look light, but it cost $200 million to build (by PTW Architects, Arup, and the Chinese construction team).

Given what I said last column about architecture having meaning, about its being intentional in ways most of us wouldn't consider, somehow the idea of a tight enclosure of bubbles containing all that watery athleticism (and the politics thereof) is delicious. The metaphors can't stop: Building as grand laundromat - put in all that terrible human rights stuff, set on double-wash, and out they come, clean as a swimmer's thigh. Building as seemingly transparent (after all, the light moves through those walls, doesn't it) but actually not transparent at all.  Building as made of elements more akin to the brain of a super-swimmer: bubbles, blue and green light, undulations, waves. Building as giant nest made of bubble wrap, protecting the fragile peace, or momentary willingness to suspend awareness, of the international sporting event known as the Olympics. I'll stop before I start saying something like, "China, after all, is as fragile as it is powerful: as if made of china...." Forgive me, for I know not how little I sleep.

My favorite inhabitant of the magic bubble box were the Olympic synchronized swimmers, women with Amazon-hot bods in high-hipped swimsuits, their nightmare-beautiful faces adorned with identical warpaint make-up, their noses turned into cartoon beaks by nose clips. The most extreme case of synchro intensity was the Russian team made of the two Anatasias, with their exaggerated poses and mermaid contortions. They dove and stayed upside-down underwater for long minutes while they kewpie-kicked the air, all to the beat of the music - hey, that was magic. And even when the absurdity reached a zenith -- those fierce girls from Spain wanted to wear lig