Q: What would you get if Kitchen 24 had a love child with the Kress?
A: The Fox Theatre.

 
What's the Fox Theatre, you ask? Rumors have swirled for years about what the legendary space at 6506 Hollywood Boulevard would become thanks to several club owners claiming to have a stake, but now it's official. Alan Nathan, John Baydale and Rick Calamaro of Choice Hospitality Group (Ivar, Nacional, Holly's, NineThirty, Tengu) have teamed up with Robert Vinokur (formerly with Crobar) to transform the venue into a one-stop nightlife destination that includes a mega 13,000-square-foot club described as a "full social experience" and "an homage to old Hollywood." 

Sound familiar? I'm sure the Kress will think so, especially since the venue, in addition to having weekly club nights, will serve as an event space for conventions, premiere parties, screenings, fashion shows, live music, and press junkets. 

Fox Theatre might also give Kitchen 24 a run for its money with Sweet Love Hangover, a 24-hour diner housed within the club that'll look "'60s" and "digital." If that has you conjuring "the Jetsons," think again. Designer Kelly Nishimoto created the uniforms with anime in mind. 

With a Crobar alum at the helm, I imagine there'll be a focus on world class DJ talent. And with Gina Wade, formerly at Boulevard3 and Social Hollywood, on board as the Director of Events, Fox Theatre is bound to roll out more red carpets than Mariah Carey can handle. But where Fox really nails it is with its complimentary shuttle service, Safe Ride, that'll pick up and deposit clubbers at Hollywood subway stations and bus stops. Even better: When you take public transportation to the club, you'll get a discount at the door. 

I'll obviously be adding this to my Red Line bar crawl when the club opens in November or December.

—Alexandra Le Tellier

I've vowed to keep politics out of this space (we'll see how long that lasts), especially when there are voices much louder than mine regulating things out there in the mean streets of this election year.

Case in point: Nancy Wilson, guitarist for legendary rock outfit Heart. When Republican VP nominee Sarah Palin chose to use their '70s mega-hit "Barracuda" as something of an ad hoc theme song at the Republican National Convention, the band's response was quick and unequivocal: Cease and desist!

"I think it's completely unfair to be so misrepresented," Wilson (above) told Entertainment Weekly. "I feel completely fucked over." Nancy and her sister Ann came together to craft this email statement to the press: 

"Sarah Palin's views and values in NO WAY represent us as American women. We ask that our song 'Barracuda' no longer be used to promote her image. The song 'Barracuda' was written in the late 70s as a scathing rant against the soulless, corporate nature of the music business, particularly for women. (The 'barracuda' represented the business.) While Heart did not and would not authorize the use of their song at the RNC, there's irony in Republican strategists' choice to make use of it there."

Boo-ya! See Heart kick out "Barracuda" and more of their timeless classic rock hits when they play the Greek Theatre with Cheap Trick and Journey on Sept. 30. It should be interesting, as the band's Republican fans are none too happy about Heart's political stance (just check the comments on this awesome clip of Heart playing "Barracuda" back in the day). It'll also be a good chance to see how your parents act when they're stoned. And yes, they did pilfer your stash to do so...

—Scott T. Sterling

“Breaking up is like a sitcom, except it's not funny, I'm not an actress, and it's not being filmed. And there's no craft-service.”

I’m eating a chicken pot pie with my best girlfriend. She is newly single, and not amused.

People, where is the love? Summer’s still-warm body is barely dead, and already sweaty flings are collapsing all around me. I have on my hands a sea of Sandys and Danny Zukos, their post-summer love in shreds.

Over comfort foods and cocktails, my comrades begin practically: “Should I change the relationship status on my profile?” or “What do I do with the sock he left at my house, and this tube of hydrocortisone? And what is he using that for?” Then it devolves into lip-trembling agony: “Ward, will I ever find someone to love me?”

The answer is no. Not if you’re hanging out with me and eating pot pie.

Rather, I advise: Go out, particularly this weekend. Art and free room-temperature Chardonnay are both proven ice breakers, and L.A. has never, in my professional leisurely experience, seen such a bounteous array of opening receptions as this weekend. (Just search for “We've got openings” on Metromix and you’ll see what I mean.)

Grab a wingman, wear something dapper and cram as many stops into one night as you can. Not only will your tattered heart find inspiration in the beauty of the work, but your rebound may be standing over there eating a piece of cheese. Trust me.

—Alie Ward 

Ps- To find out where the Ward is wandering, add me at www.twitter.com/wardonthestreet. Yay! We're friends. 

I think it’s fair to say that when Sex and the City went off the air in 2004, it left a void in the televised-fashion-show genre it created—a void almost as massive as its costume budget. Gossip Girl has done a respectable job picking up the slack, utilizing wardrobe as a never-ending storyline in and of itself. And while I do think Gossip Girl is great, its setting and sartorial choices are strictly East Coast.

That’s where 90210 comes in. This fall, the reincarnation of the prime-time teen drama popular through the entire ’90s is L.A.’s only foreseeable hope for a fashion-centric program that tells the story of our aesthetic. The original 90210 set its fair share of trends—Jason Priestley’s pompadour, Luke Perry’s leather jacket, Shannen Doherty’s tights—so here’s hoping new 90210 can once again showcase the city and its fashion-forward inhabitants. If not, we’ll have to make due with the L.A. story arc Gossip Girl will inevitably employ.

 —Marcos Luevanos

In what can only be described as the creation of an entirely new form of musical performance, former Blink 182 drummer impresario Travis Barker has joined forces with beatmaster and DJ to the stars Adam Goldstein (DJ-AM) to start something unquestionably special. Emphatic performances of both showmanship and style make up what seems to be nothing short of a skilled challenge for both artists. Lucky for me, I got to hang out during the soundcheck before their final summer show at the Roxy on August 27th, just after they found out they’d be headlining MTV’s Video Music Awards this Sunday. While the duo seemed to be stoked about the VMA’s, the focus of the day was on the evening’s show. After soundcheck, we sat around for a quick chat, talking about everything from their humble beginnings to plans for the future. When asked how they came up with the idea to collaborate, their five-minute answer only confirmed what critics have been saying all year. These two belong on stage together.

You pretty much know you’ve made it once people start imitating you, and its only a matter of time before we see YouTube videos of amateur drummers and DJ’s trying to emulate those special Roxy performances of summer 2008. From Fugazi to Justice to the Refused, AM took everything in his arsenal and fired at an eager Travis, nailing every second without missing a beat. And while this writer has seen her fair share of shows this year, nothing beats standing in an empty legendary Hollywood venue watching one of the worlds’ greatest DJ’s dole out song after a song to a human drum-machine.

—Ali Miller

The 2008 MTV Video Music Awards will air live at 9pm (Live ET/Tape Delayed PT) from Paramount Pictures Studios in Los Angeles on September 7, 2008 and will be hosted by British comedian Russell Brand.
 

Pardon me. Where the eff did the summer go?

There are some indisputable signifiers of summer: strawberries, pedicures, the scent of SPF 45 mixed with sun-baked perspiration. For me, it’s naeng-myun. Noodle soup served with a top layer of sludgy ice. That plus a side of galbi is a classic Korean combo you’d find on any menu from K-town to Seoul. Grilled meat with a tangy, chilling libation so cold, you develop frostbite from picking up the metal bowl: Koreans sure know how to do summer.



But how peeved am I to find that on the very last week of August, this bowl from the original Yuchun on Olympic Boulevard—L.A.’s undisputed place for the refreshing tonic—is my very first taste of summer. Guess I gotta start working on my tan.

—Jiyeon Yoo

"I'll top your Judas Priest with a 'Jesus Walks.' Kanye in the hiznouse!"

I am in a text war with my sister, who is headbanging her way through a metal concert 400 miles away. She surrenders: "You smoked me with Kanye."

I've just run 6.2 miles at Nike+ Human Race, along with over 12,000 sweat-soaked Angelenos who've gathered near USC to hyperventilate through the urban race course, which ends with a Kanye West concert. It is my first ever organized race, and my brain is keeping a running list of observations to distract me from my fear—and later, from my aching lungs.

7:46 p.m.: I never wear sneakers around this many people. I feel like an 11-year old boy or a hockey mom who has given up on fashion.

(Note: not my legs.)

8:04 p.m.: The lawn in front of the L.A. Coliseum is a sea of identical red shirts. Glow sticks are prevalent.

8:06 p.m.: Oh hey, there's Tiffany Amber Theissen.

8:31 p.m.: The race is seconds away from starting. The energy of 12,000 nervous people is electrifying, as is the presence of Randy "Dawg" Jackson, currently pumping up the crowd with affirmations. Instead of a gun blast to mark the start, an air horn goes off, and it occurs to me that in L.A., it might be difficult to discern between ambient neighborhood gunshots and athletic-related ones. Good call, Nike.

8:33 p.m.: We're running. There are so many people that it starts off like the slow shuffle one might encounter at the mall on Christmas Eve. 

8:45 p.m: Along the course, they've set up Hawaiian dancers, taiko drummers, and French can-can girls to represent the millions of participants across 25 cities who are running simultaneously for this event. Distracted, I smash my face into the back of a very sweaty man with a fanny pack.

9:02 p.m.: At the midway point, in front of modest South Los Angeles houses, families have set up lawn chairs on the sidewalk to cheer us on. I wish they would come to the gym with me sometime, because it's really quite motivating.

9:21 p.m.: At mile 5, I'm starting to tire, but manage to keep pace with a man in wheelchair, who's pumping his arms to keep his wheels spinning at a speedy clip. I'm trying not to be sappy, but it's unspeakably moving.

9:43 p.m.: At the final mile, the finish line glows in the distance. I keep running, hoping that medical attention will not be necessary. 

9:50 p.m.: Finish. Lawn collapse

9:58 p.m.: My faithful comrade Georgia has accompanied me, and I find her near the finish line. She informs me that while I have been jogging for 1.5 unbroken hours, she has been in the VIP tent "eating a bunch of food! Oh and drinking 3 glasses of wine. Oh and I got a massage!"

10:46 p.m.: Kanye West is onstage rapping "One for my mama, two for real hip hop and three for Obama." The crowd is roaring in approval.

10:49 p.m.: I spot a group of runners, who have apparently adopted the Michael Phelps Philosophy of Compensatory Nutrition: they've each piled plates with thousands of calories, as though preparing for the Iron Man competition or a winter's hibernation. I want to remind them that by running 6.2 miles, we burned off less than a Happy Meal, but why ruin a stranger’s binge?

11:01 p.m.: Comrade Georgia, not presently pumped full of adrenaline, is over it. She wants to go to a bar. She also wants to beat traffic home. In the interest of showering, I agree to leave and as we walk to the parking garage, fireworks thunder in the sky.

12:45 p.m.: I return home and I eat a piece of cheesecake.

Overall, I must hand it to Nike for getting millions of people off their asses in one day. It's no easy feat, but baiting the finish line with Kanye and/or snacks is a bang up strategy.

Until next time,

Ward

Can't get into the exclusive Skybar? You'll no longer need to leave the Mondrian with your tail between your legs. The Sunset Strip hotel has transformed its lobby lounge into Koka, a chic destination unto itself. Sure, it will welcome any and all through its doors, but you’ll hardly feel like a reject here. Gone is the long lone table next to the concierge that the Mondrian folks called the “lobby bar.” I’m told it’s been completely redone in shades of orange and white, complete with plush couches, low tables, sheer orange curtains, lanterns and claw-footed stools.

Speaking of claws: Cat Power has signed on to perform at the opening party on Thursday, September 4. Doors open to the public officially the following evening. Until then, might I suggest occupying yourself with a box of creamsicles? 

UPDATE: This just in. The Mondrian folks have changed the bar's name from Koka Lounge to ADCB, which stands for Asia de Cuba Bar.

—Alexandra Le Tellier

It was among the most surreal moments of the year. I was in the blue carpet scrum in front of the Hollywood Avalon, watching Pharrell Williams and racecar driver Jeff Gordon work the press line. As they approached the People magazine crew I’m standing behind, Pharrell walks right up and shakes my hand. “I remember you from the last time,” he offered before returning to the sea of reporters, whom at this point are now all giving me the ol’ side-eye.

I guess I should have expected the unexpected at this bizarre collision of culture. It’s not everyday that one of the hottest producers in the game is scheduled to perform at a NASCAR event where Heidi and Spencer are signing autographs outside. It got even weirder inside, when I spied pro skater Terry Kennedy, rap star Common and singer Rihanna.

Of course, the cliché is that NASCAR is a sport even “whiter” than hockey, a southern-fried American tradition that also includes prominent display of the Confederate flag and exactly one African-American to ever win a Grand National title, Wendell Scott back in 1963.

But it was a rainbow coalition on the dance floor when N.E.R.D. finally took the stage for a quick, four-song set. Even though it took a couple of songs to get the crowd really fired up (“I hate corporate events” Williams sighed early in the set), once the band pulled a dozen or so young women onto the stage, the vibe was hot enough to get the cheese-eaters on the balcony to join the party. Even Common got up there and busted a wicked freestyle at the end of “She Wants to Move.”

Rappers rocking a NASCAR party? Yeah, right. Soon you’ll be trying to tell me that a woman is running for VP on the Republican ticket...

—Scott T. Sterling

This just in! Can't get into the exclusive Skybar? You'll no longer need to leave the Mondrian with your tail between your legs. The Sunset Strip hotel is transforming its lobby lounge very soon into a chic destination for tourists and hipsters alike. I pinky swore that I wouldn't reveal the exclusive details until Saturday, so all I'll tell you for now is that the new bar will have you craving creamsicles.

—Alexandra Le Tellier