Ahhh, the weekend. It began with a laptop crammed in my bag, and frenzied bolting out of the office to make the 10pm show of Friday 40:

What's this "Friday 40"? Beers AND comedy? Sounds like a spontaneous, goofy time! Not so much.

The Improv Olympic's quiz show is based on the week's news, and requires that contestants glug from a 40 oz. vessel of malt liquor. 

But despite being staged at the IMPROV, nearly all the material was canned and read from folded and crumpled printouts of a script, much of which was shamelessly homophobic. My comade and I left craving a comedic palate cleanser.

So...walking past the Upright Citizen's Brigade, we popped inside to peer down the isle of the packed house and catch the end of Worst Laid Plans. It involved knee slapping, and wheeze-laughs. 

Saturday had all the best intentions: the NewHigh art opening, and a garden party in Echo Park. But comrade and Front drummah Mizz Kelly Kutasy blasted back into town, and all plans were trumped for her birthday madness.

(A blurry birthday Budweiser)

What followed is a scramble of Hollywood weirdness. First off, we hit the back lounge of Three Clubs on Vine, as the lovely Miss Ruth was tending bar. I demured, but was talked into some kind of shot, and the next thing I knew I was outside talking to a hooker.

Kelly had gone out for a smoke, and a tattered blonde in her fifties strolled up and asked us if we had any crack.

Fresh out, we offered our apologies, and were treated to a monlogue about her first $100 trick, and then, delivering a rare diamond in the hunk of drug-addled rough, she busted out the wisdom:

"Don't let this world go by unaffected by you."

With that, we high-fived, and returned inside for 2.5 hours of jams by Salt n Pepa, Tone Loc, and Justin Timberlake. The wisest of sooth-sayers would never have predicted an evening as whack as this.

(Am I really here?) 

(Contemplating hooker wisdom:)

(Jen, in disbelief that they're paying the same Kriss Kross song from an hour ago.) 

(The Ruth:)

 (One too many?)

Sunday, headed to the Buff Monster toy bonanza at Munky King , where I snapped some photos, and sweated quite a bit in the mob-clotted confines of the tiny toy emporium. In all, good times. 

...OK, Daft Punk melted my brain on Saturday night. That’s all there is to it. You remember “DeadHeads,” people that would follow the Grateful Dead on tour? I’m officially a member of the Robot Disco Army, and would love nothing more than to hop on the Daft Punk mothership never to return. Well, maybe for holidays and stuff, but you get the picture. That would be the best life ever, just going to the most incredible dance party imaginable night after night after night. God bless Daft Punk and “Viva La France” for reals...

...Yes, other stuff happened too. Last night I tried in vain to see Hot Hot Heat open for Snow Patrol at the Greek . But by the time I climbed the hill and reached my seat (which was next to an extreme hottie named Cindy that looked like a turbo-charged version of Amanda Bynes. Nice work, Keren!), there was no twitchy dance-punk for me...

...Surprise surprise, Snow Patrol didn’t suck. They’re not exactly my cup of Yerba Mate, but I can see why their melodic mini-anthems have such appeal. They’re kind of like an Irish Goo Goo Dolls, each song meticulously crafted for maximum radio impact. But the singer has a strong voice and was charming and really funny between songs. The thing with the dead bug on the set list was classic. You had to be there. I’m officially no longer mad at Snow Patrol. Don’t tell anyone, but I kind of liked it...

...The real fun yesterday was downtown at Little Radio’s Summer Camp . OK, why haven’t I been kicking it down here every Sunday? Color me moronic. I won’t make that mistake again. It’s an easy sell: give them some money, and you get to eat, drink, listen to good bands and watch insanely hot indie girls chilling out in blow-up swimming pools. Sure, they ran out of booze for a minute – s#!t happens. Spindrift and Dead Meadow played ominous, kind of monstrous sets (Dead Meadow were going for Melvins-level volume overload), lots of good people maxin’ and relaxin’—hooray for Summer Camp, people...

...Friday night was real interesting. Sonic Youth, live at the Greek, performing “Daydream Nation” in its entirety. You can’t front on that. Gemini and I made it to our very posh seats (big ups to you, Judy) just in time to see them launch into “Teenage Riot,” one of my all-time favorite songs by anybody. They sounded and looked great, but something was amiss. For one, the sound was way too quiet. So much so that Gemini and I were actually sushed by these dudes next to us. That’s when I realized people that bought “Daydream Nation” when it first came out surrounded us, and that this was a serious deal and kind of religious for a lot of them. Still, you’d think there could be a little more rocking out and less sitting there like lumps drinking beer. I’m just saying. This is Sonic Youth, y’all. The most seminal band this side of Velvet Underground. Most of what's in the indie rock section of your music collection owes them a huge debt. Thankfully, on the other side of us were cute girls getting hammered and rocking out to "’Cross The Breeze" and "Kissability". Hi Mindy, thanks for the margarita. God, I’m such a whore... 

I hope David Beckham didn't move to L.A. just to go nuts and check into rehab. The soccer player went to Skybar on Saturday night after his first game (and loss) with The Galaxy. And, while no one has reported that he drank a lot, the Skybar has become the last-ditch spot for celebs to go crazy before checking into rehab. Britney smoked butts at the poolside bar after she shaved her head; Jesse Metcalfe "enjoyed" his last bender here; and Lindsay Lohan was here on the same night she managed to wedge her car between a tree and a house.

Photo credit: Wally Skalij  

This weekend I hung out with talented fashion designer and literary anti-hero Savannah Knoop,  best known for being the actress who played  faux-author JT Leroy in public , but whose fashion line tinc is also most worthy of attention.

Knoop wore her tincwear line throughout her years masquerading as JT, during which she traveled the world in a blond wig and hat playing the male former truck-stop prostitute-turned-author. JT's celebrity friends were numerous--Courtney Love, Carrie Fisher, Winona Ryder and Asia de Argento were high profile companions. Knoop told me that De Argento gave 'JT' the balck hat that s/he traditionally wore in public, and that it belonged to one of her Italian relatives.

Knoop and I have been corresponding for a while after being put in touch with each other by Laura Albert, the woman who penned the JT Leroy novels 'Sarah' and 'The Heart Is Deceitful Above All Things'. She came down to LA from San Francisco this weekend and we hung like cojones, as they say, visiting Ooga Booga in Chinatown, checking out an art exhibit at Cactus in Eagle Rock, meeting up with my friends author Bett Williams and stylist Charon Nogues, among others. Knoop looked hot in bright red patent leather flats from Japan and a black silk jumpsuit layered over white string wifebeater. 

Today, we are hitting Fred Segal and Third Street  for some surrrrheous LA-style shopping.

Keep an eye on the site for a full-length Q&A with Knoop, a young and fascinating fashion talent!