For tonight, I highly reccomend getting your booty in a chair to see Worst Laid Plans...It ran a few weeks ago, I got a big gushy crush on it, and now they've returned for a two-night stand tonight and Sept 21 at Upright Citizens Brigade. 

Now, Saturday. Let's talk.

I'm having a mild anxiety attack about all the events I won't be able to get to—and the fact that I've been sleeping on a mattress without sheets for two days because I have no time to breathe, let alone launder linens. This is no way for a metropolitan biznatch to live.  

But...lobsters. What do you expect me to do? I HAVE to go.

Saturday has:

1. The Run Hit Remix 5 mile Nike run (show some support y'alls! And see Naughty by Nature.)

2. Lobster Fest in San Pedro (Seriously. We're baffled by the Awesome.)

3. Elevate Festival of Film and Music at the Kodak theater (Filmmakers get 48 hours to make a short! Gad!)

4. One year anniversary at Tiny Creatures Gallery   

5. David Hochbaum opens his "To the Winds" show at Corey Helford in Culver City (Radness.)

6. Tom Neely opens his Self Indulgent Werewolf at Black Maria in Atwater Village (More radness.)

6a. Check out the side-by-side date itineraries we've so helpfully arranged for the above two shows.

7. UltraLuxx at the Mountain Bar with DJs, live art and all sorts ofcoolness.

8. Journey to Dollywood opens, if you're in the mood for some theater about waitressin, Dolly Parton, and maybe some puns about boobs.

As for Sunday, I'll be cleaning my house and renting a tape on Zen meditataion from the library.

Please, comrades, I urge you to rock on to the best of your abilities. Don't hurt yourselves.

Lovingly yours,

The Ward

(who has earned herself a stalker, which is almost as good as having a cat or a husband. ) 

Was walking outside our hallowed place of employment to grab what was literally my first actual meal of the week when I happened upon this lovely vision:

Yes, sports fans, that is none other than MMX LA's own Ward-on-the-Street, literally on the street, keeping her ear to the latest news coming through her very pink cell phone. Note the professional crook of her arm and ever-so-subtle tilt of the head as she ponders some super secret, naked, hipster art exhibit or other that decided to move up its showing that night across town. That moniker that looms over her shoulder was unintentional but strikes a fitting tableau of how we feel on a daily basis.

And lest any of you doubted, she does indeed pound the streets in striped knee-highs at a slight pigeon-toed gait.

Take a comparative gander:

What does this have to do with food? Nothing really. Unless any of you would like to leave a comment about how scrumptious or delicious Miss Alie Ward is. 

But I do realize—at the risk of totally freaking out my unwitting colleague—that I have yet again resorted to pimping her out for the benefit of the restaurant page. Something that has happened over and over, yet over, yep once more, and most recently over again. 

A.Ward, I'm your number one fan...

OK, maybe the title of this post is a little misleading. Sue me.

1.    Hall & Oates at the Hollywood Bowl last weekend was even more amazing than expected. At 60, Daryl Hall has got it going on more than most singers a third his age. And the hair! It’s easily the best in the biz. The almighty Spinners opened the show, so I’ve been spending lots of quality time with their incredible catalog via the Rhino box set “The Chrome Collection.” Awesome. So much amazing music in one night. I petition that H&O toss L.A. another date before the end of the year. More, please! And this time, they’d better play “Kiss on My List” and/or “Did it in a Minute.” I’m just saying! I’ll make a sign and everything.

2.    We already talked about the Underworld show the following night. Totally underwhelming is more like it. Color me disappointed.

3.    Only a few short years ago, September 11 was a somber, grey day dedicated to remembering the tragedies of that fateful day in 2001. This year, 9/11 has officially become something of a musical holiday, with all sorts of huge releases hitting the racks, from the Kanye West/50 Cent showdown (Team Kanye, baby!) to the latest from Hot Hot Heat, The Go! Team, Animal Collective and countless more to a slew of concerts around town. WTF? I made a stop at Cinespace to see L.A. faves Hot Hot Heat celebrate their latest, “Happiness Ltd.” with an appropriately sweaty performance for fans that bought the record that day. It was a lot of fun, but how can you not have a good time hanging out with my friends Graham and Rachel?

4.    That same evening I cruised up Sunset post-HHH to catch local glam-rockers A.i. commemorate the release of their latest CD, “Sex & Robots,” at the Roxy. That’s drummer Zach Young laying down the beat in the above picture. While I got there late and missed hostess Joanna Angel (raise your hand if you know who she is. Wow, that’s a lot of hands!), but I did catch the techno-fied trio tear through new tunes like my personal favorite, “Maria on the Moon,” which reminds me of legendary L.A. new wave act Missing Persons. The band is taking their show on the road with an east coast tour next month, and we wish them all the best.

5.    Forgive, but never forget. It keeps you from being bitter, but reminds you to stay on your toes. You can always indulge in mental revenge fantasies just for fun, though. Hehehe...

6.    I get to interview Patrick Wolf on Monday. Wooooooo!

7.    And I’m spent. See you real soon!

Look how generous Gelato Bar is! This Monday the 17th, on its first birthday ever, the Studio City gelateria is giving us the gift of free homemade ice cream and coffee. It's an all day affair: the caffeine buzz for the morning and frozen treats in the evening. Plus, there's a grand prize drawing for a one week stay in Umbria, Italy. Which means eating more authentic gelato. 

Here are the deets:

First off, apologies for the absence. Our blog software was throwing some sort of coding tantrum, but we bizntach-slapped it back.

Onward!

I mentioned in an earlier post sumfin' about getting a t-shirt screened, and it being boss.

Well comrades, grab a blank shirt from home, or take yours off and head to Cha Cha tonight, as Colin Burns from Goldmine Shithouse will be setting up to silkscreen for "5 or 10 bucks" (we're not sure which, but whatever.)

Jake Manny of Streetfight and Kevin Willis will be on hand too, with 6 screens to choose from.

Also, for you early drunks, happy hour goes until 9pm, and Knob Creek Bourbon is $5 all night long. Hello!

(below: Colin Burns, no shirt.) 

Can I get a w00t?

See you there,

The Ward 

I did it. I finally, finally did it. I got effin' reservations at effin' French Laundry. This is hardly braggadocious. In fact, it's a sad display of the obsessive steps that must be taken to play the part of a "foodie." (Did I ever mention how much that term makes my skin crawl? No? Well, don't get me started).

I won't assume you know: French Laundry is the creme-de-la-creme of fine dining in America, and its owner/chef Thomas Keller is a culinary auteur in his own right.

It's a tiny, tiny, mouse of a restaurant (only 16 tables) in Yountville which is a tiny, tiny, mouse of a town in Napa Valley. Getting reservations has grown to mythic proportions, so much so that disproportionate cyber-ink has been spilled writing about the strategies of calling and weaseling your way in. 

In a nutshell, it is recommended that you call exactly two months to the date in which you would like to visit said French Laundry (they will not take a reservations for two months + one day prior). The phone line opens at 10 a.m. I was told that I should call starting at 10 a.m. on the dot. You’d get a sense of the tribulation that is the French Laundry phone line here:

I did not believe them. Such ridiculous requirements could not still be valid. Not with so many new and excellent restaurants that continue to pop up on a daily basis in the Bay Area. I'm the type to show up about an hour after the sale begins, about two after the party hors d'oeuvres are passed. It feels shamefully eager to be there before the doors open, right? 

Who was the one to be shame-faced as I got busy signal after ear-splitting busy signal during three different attempts? That October trip to Napa? Postponed. Again and again. So, last week I finally hunkered down with my calendar, set a requested date, devised a plan, scheduled a reminder in bold red marker, and called on a Sunday morning. I even set the phone number on speed dial on my cell phone. Yeah. It was that bad.

At dial #17, six minutes after 10 in the morning, I finally got a ring tone only to be put on hold. That's okay. I was here before. I knew that in less than ten minutes time, I would actually speak to a real life person and that I would take whatever time slot was left open. 

And I did. So come November 9, I am making my way up to fork over $240 a person (yes, you heard that right and no, it's not a company expense), spend four hours over a daytime meal and rub elbows with the great Keller-ini.

Now to find reservations at the Motel 6 Vacaville.  

OK, we’ve already deemed 2007 the Best Summer Ever™, but this past weekend is vying for the title of Best Weekend of said summer. So many good times were had it’s hard to even remember them all. But I vividly remember the weekend ending late Sunday night at the Swingers restaurant in Santa Monica, after a surprisingly lackluster Underworld show at the Hollywood Bowl. They’re usually so awesome, and last night they were just kind of… there.

Anyway, after getting seated at Swingers and ordering an especially tasty seared Ahi sandwich, I noticed a familiar (and very pretty) face sitting just two booths away, heartily swigging at a bottle of Pellagrino water. It was none other than Brandon Boyd, the ultra-cool singer of the pride of Calabasas, Incubus. Dressed casually in a skullcap and flannel shirt, Brandon and his gal-pal were able to enjoy their meal without being besieged by a single fan (which in L.A., has to be kind of rare for him). Lucky for him, the alt-rock soundtrack playing on the Swingers sound-system never cued up any Incubus, but it came pretty close.

But the real question: When did the food at Swingers get so good? I’m just saying…

Credit: Pretty on the Inside 

 
Everything that could be said about Britney’s disastrous performance at the VMAs has been said. She didn’t sing, she didn’t dance so much as jiggle in her sequined bikini, and, though she looked like she was four months pregnant with a keg, her performance wasn’t even cringetastic. It was boring. So boring in fact, I didn’t even have a desire to hurl my remote at the TV. Instead, I just clicked it off, went to the Cha Cha Lounge and stared into my glass of tonic-and-gin and sighed. RIP Brit Brit, RIP.

PS. And what was up with LC's dress? It looked like a white-and-silver sequined potato sack—not an enticing way to debut her new "fashion" line. 

PPS. The moral of the story: Just because you’re wearing sequins does not mean you’ll sparkle. Unless you're a tranny and hang out here.

My weekend started with a bang, then a wilt, then a bang, then a stall. Then I dug through garbage.

Friday, I bolted out of work for the 8 o'clock show of Modelogues, a new play at the Complex. After two intermissionless hours of model-related sketches, my comrade and I emerged glassy-eyed and unable to speak. I'm sure they had the best of intentions, but homophobia and whining about rejection can only go so far. And by so far, I mean, less than two full hours without an intermission. A high point, however, was the cabaret sequence about insecurity. Grandma always said: you can never go wrong with fishnets and choreography... or can you?

Saturday:

I grabbed a bag of cheddar Ruffles and hightailed it downtown with a few girly comrades for the Angel City Drive-In—(yep, it was called the "Million Dollar Drive in" a few weeks ago, but they just changed the name).

We picnic-ed the beejesus out of "Pee Wee's Big Adventure," split a bottle of wine and whooped it up at the good parts ("Let's talk about your big butt, Simone...") Folks dressed as P.W. got in at a discount, and we sycophantically stalked them and took pictures.

Then I lost my keys and a homeless man attacked me with a shopping cart.

After needlessly searching through a trash bin downtown and dodging cockroaches like a jog through a minefield, I finally reunited with my lost keys in the bathroom of the parking garage. Way to go, Ward. So...

Newly energized from the key victory and running on homeless-man-attack adrenaline, we hit a soiree in the courtyard of some lofts on Beverly, caught a howling set by Wake Up Incinerate (below) and considered getting a taco from the truck hired just for the party. Yes, I'm proud to report that we kicked Saturday's arse. 

Last words of wisdom:

Carry hand santizer. If you need to dig through trash, you'll be protected. And if the keg runs out, you can probably huff it.  

Over/out,

Why, NYC, why?

With all those humps and bumps and studs, they're more stegasaurus than sandal, don't you think?

Nicole Richie and Kimberley Stewart have also been photographed out and about in these prehistoric  atrocities all summer long.

Listen—I'm sure an actual gladiator would find them useful, especially when trying to kick someone to death. But ultimately, I think they'd look best around the neck of my boyfriend's bull terrier, Bruce.

Did you see the spanking that the Colts gave my sentimental favorite New Orleans Saints? Yeah, I missed it too...'cuz of a little thing called work. So instead of hanging over a bar with hot wings and a pint from the tap at Busby's or Ye Rustic Inn or even stinkin' TGIF, I stole a Luna bar (peanut butter flavored, at least) from my colleague and ate that in front of my computer.

That's okay. I'm not bitter or anything.

To remind me that I missed a kickin' kick-off, I got this in the mail:

Despite the totally misogynistic display, the Beach Blanket Buffet sounds kinda delicious...or at least, breakfasty. You can't really mess up the awesomeness of eggs and hash brown with a Sunday morning football game. (Well, unless you totally suck.)

The LA Times family was even game for a new football year. The cafeteria downstairs has been promoting a tailgate "party" all week:

But when Alie and I actually went downstairs during our "lunch" hour (which is like at 4pm) and were faced with this:

we opted for salad and some cold pasta instead. Actually the chicken or hot dog option (or even burgers and pizza) didn't look bad at all. I think I was really just craving the hot wings with a brewski...from a keg...not that we had one yesterday during a meet-and-greet with the rest of Times Interactive, or anything.

Photo credit: Ricardo DeAratanha

So, I was wrong. John Legend isn’t the super secret performer at this year’s Entertainment Tonight/People Emmy Awards party as I suspected. But he is getting in on the Emmy action. I just got wind that he’s headlining the TV Guide party at Les Deux instead. (So exciting!)

Also on the bill is Band From TV, Greg Grunberg’s band with James Denton, Bob Guiney, Bonnie Somerville and Hugh Laurie. I saw them play at last year’s TV Guide after-party at Social Hollywood and I can tell you this: There’s nothing Hugh Laurie can’t do well. (He better freakin' win an Emmy next Sunday.)

Samantha Ronson is DJing the event, but that’s not all. TV Guide is turning Les Deux into a French-inspired playground evocative of Marie Antoinette’s lavish fetes. There’ll be 12 bars, black chandeliers, a classic French garden (trimmed hedges, topiaries, and juniper trees), and costumed “champagne girls” pushing carts of bubbly. (I’m just bubbly thinking about it.) 

I just interviewed awe-inspiring jewelry designer Jules Kim of Bijules NYC, who is creating far-out gold and silver pieces in the shape of ice picks, grenade launchers and dental retainers. Kim, who has diamond-encrusted teeth, is beloved by MIA and Gwen Stefani and other divas of infinite hotness. She told me how she's just cast a new piece from her recently-deceased aunt's false teeth. Here's what the 27-year-old East Village innovatrix said in our AIM  interview:

juleskim(10:03:33 AM): i paid ode to my aunt winnie by casting her false teeth and studding them with gems

juleskim (10:03:33 AM): its ok

juleskim (10:03:38 AM):  death is part of life

juleskim (10:04:04 AM): winnie used to take her teeth out and talk to my twin and i

juleskim (10:04:09 AM): gummin it out

juleskim (10:04:13 AM): f--kin hilarious

Look out for the full interview on the Metromix style page soon!!!

We can’t all be saints like our superstar intern Sara Tan, who had her gorgeous locks shorn for Locks of Love. But we can do our part just by partying. The folks at Philantro Productions are all about throwing top-notch events at buzz-worthy clubs as a way to raise money for its non-profit partners via cash donations at the door, raffles and bar tabs. My super fabulous intern Jane Pham hit up Philantro’s last bash at Cabana Club on Thursday, August 30 and was treated to a fashion show by Ray Ray Clothing as well as cocktails care of Effen Vodka and 180 Energy. The mission: to benefit Camp Heartland, an organization dedicated to children affected by HIV/AIDS. Take a peek inside.

Want to get in on a little charitable clubbing? On Saturday, DJ Lady Sha is taking over Tantra to host Sunkissed, an event to benefit HavenHouseLA, a shelter for women and children recovering from domestic violence.

PS. There’s no cover is you RSVP (list@lionessLA.com) and there’ll be gift bags packed with goodies from FIJI, Terra and, um, CondomJungle.

Now if that’s not a good enough reason to drink up, I don’t know what is. 

25 years of stars, hearts, rainbows and clouds, and the Care Bears are still going strong—and not a wrinkle in sight. Were you a Tenderheart bear fan? Or perhaps, like me you were a Grumpy Bear kinda girl. Do you remember when Carole King sang the Care Bears movie theme song, "Care-a-lot"? And did you celebrate when the politically-correct Amigo Bear was born in 2006? This year, to mark their 25th birthdays, the Care Bears have a new movie, called "Oopsy Does It".

I'm not sure why I care about Care Bears, but I do.

You may have encountered David Hochbaum before: he's the guy with the chin scruff and silk screens that comes out to L.A. with his buddies from the Goldmine Shithouse art collective. I met him last when they took over a portion of the New Image Art Gallery and he sent me home with a freshly screened T-shirt with goat heads on it. I still have it. It's boss.

Hochbaum just flew into L.A. this week to take over the Corey Helford Gallery, setting up for his solo show "To the Winds." He left the silk screens at home this time, opting for a new crop of delightfully anachronistic photo collages and a Tower of Babel constructed of over 100 ladders.

I popped by last night to see how the building was going, ride a cherry picker, and eat some leftover carrot cake. 

Ahh, progress

 A piece awaiting a frame

Tools of the trade 

After his long day of building ladders, and my not building ladders, we decided to meet up with pals at the Cha Cha for a few well-earned Stellas.

Ever lovely comrade Georgia joined, and at the end of the night, hunger came a-calling, so we hit the Brite Spot for some ridiculous cupcake action. That top layer is some sort of peanut butter blanket. 

Not bad for a Wednesday.  

Where has the year gone? It's already that time of the year when I think the temperatures should cool off, and L.A. would have some notion of a season other than summer and smog. How foolish of me.

On top of that, I completely forgot that the L.A. County Fair starts up tomorrow. And, it's still out in Pomona! It's going to be a scorcher with...you guessed it, lots of smog.

But this year's theme is "deep-fried-anything-on-a stick"! That in and of itself is enough to tempt me away from my spot by the beach. The piece de resistance will be (in honor of the 30th anniversary of his death) an Elvis commemorative deep-fried peanut butter-banana sandwich by the master fry guy himself, Charlie Boghosian. If you haven't heard of him, let me just tell you that he had the balls to sell the Krispy Kreme Chicken Sandwich at last year's fair without getting the hazmat team on his boo-tay.

If you still think Elvis is alive and out there, I'm telling you these deep fried heart attack specials pretty much did him in. 

After all the hubbub about having two separate bars in the state of California named Harlot—the original Harlot is in San Francisco—it seems the L.A. Harlot has decided to change its name before it opens. I just got a voicemail from the bar’s marketing dude Jamie Barren who said that they’re leaning toward calling it Tramp, which would be fitting because Charlie Chaplin used to own the building that houses the West Hollywood bar, or so Jamie says. Whatever they decided on, it’ll most likely still have a hit-you-on-the-head sex-themed name. The bar kicks things off with a soft opening party (“It’s a porn party,” laughs Jamie) on September 27, but won’t open to the public until the first week in October. [Insert “grand opening” joke here.]

There was an extremely fun (and blurry!) couple of years when I lived in Chicago. No offense to my beloved L.A., but in the summertime, Chi-town is arguably the most fun city in America. But it’s hard not to party like a crazy person for the few scant months of sweltering heat when the city is buried beneath a deep freeze for most of the year.

One of those Chicago years was spent sharing a loft with DJs Colette and Dayhota, both charter members of the SuperJane DJ crew with Heather and Lady D. I call it my “Real World” year. If those walls could talk, they’d be really rich screenwriters by now. It was so much fun I eventually had to flee the city to avoid the non-stop party that life became out there.

I’ve always kept in touch with my old pals, and was so excited when Colette’s new album showed up in my promo pile. It’s called “Push” on Om Records, and is a super-fun collection of Technicolor dance tracks and CoCo’s lovely voice. I can’t stop playing “Funny,” a lush, downtempo hip-hop track that rides on an ocean of thick synthesizers akin to productions by the Neptunes. It’s such a nice song that I got kind of emotional with pride listening to it. If you like sweet dance beats attached to actual songs, give “Push” a whirl. Check Colette out live when she performs a free show (with a full band!) at Amoeba on Sept. 28. She brings out the band again at The Vanguard the following evening.

Colette, you’ve come a long way, sister. Rock on.

I certainly don’t make cocktails as well as well as I drink them, so I appreciated this overheard advice from the bartender at Bar Marmont last night. 

"The secret to a good cocktail is to shake it like it done something wrong to you."

If anyone would know, it'd be him. Bar Marmont serves the best classic cocktails, especially the (ice cold) Pimm’s Cup.

To know me is to know I’m never speechless. But at this moment, I’m at a loss for words. Behold this flier for a porn party this Sunday.

Note the location: Northridge.
Note the dress code: clothing optional.
Note the offer of, um, professional massages.

Email promoter Joe Joe at rsvp@joejoepromotions.com to get on the list. Wear protection.

I know, I know. You're always reading about these hecka rad art openings and thinking: "When do I get to wear a beret and stand aloofly in the corner surveying people surveying my work?"

Artistes, the time is now. Maybe.

The Hive Gallery downtown is looking to line up some new artists. Go to their myspace and if you're not already a pal of the Hive, befriend them, and leave a comment with a picture of your finest work. Even if they don't offer you a solo show (hey, crushed beer cans painted gold ARE art... don't listen to them) — you'll get your work seen by the gloriously creative underground art community.

Which ain't too shabby an accomplishment for a Wednesday afternoon.

In other news, I have consumed enough caffeine to cause seizures in large mammals and am thisclose to Ebaying a tranquilizer gun to bring me back down.

Palpitationally yours,

Ward  

Style Ryder commands you to encase your private parts in items from the new intimate apparel collection by Diesel. I'm especially fond of these tighty-whities (not a snip at $35), which emulate Calvin Klein's "brand-name-on-the-elastic" underwear from the 1990s.

You remember Marky Mark with his Calvins sticking out from under his jeans? Swoon. And if you're really really old like me, you'll also recall how sexy 1990's squatter chicks used to wear nothing but a pair of Calvin Klein men's shorts underwear with fishnet tights and steel-toe Doc Marten boots, and maybe a few dreadlocks and a maroon wool halterneck bikini top.

Today, the same outfit would give me hives. But back then? Hot!

Photo credit: Wally Skalij

√  Pubic hair alert! The Boom Boom Room has had its last romp. [OC Weekly]

√  What is it about Les Deux that makes people want to fight? [TMZ]

√  Is Reza Roohi’s glamorous club Villa really going to open at the end of this month? With this photo, I think not. [Eater LA]

√  Is SBE promoter Frankie Delgado dating LC? [TMZ]

√  A tiny VIP bar that feels like a house party and serves free booze: sweet! [Caroline on Crack]

It's a little late to the party (paying serious bucks to have a sitdown meal of cereal was a brain-lapse of a trend that came and went a couple years back), but Juju Cereal Bar is looking to lay claim to the UCLA domain.

Juju will set up shop just outside of Westwood Village, so it remains to be seen whether students who could otherwise have their cereal of choice in the dining hall (and you know the grain won't sit stale and fallow from the quick turnover) would cross the Wilshire Blvd border for their Fruit Loops and Apple Jacks.

But Juju isn't without enthusiasm or sense of grandeur as they are hosting a job fair today! Come join the Juju family, y'all.

In a sparkly stroke of marketing genius, fuschia-haired jewelry designer Tarina Tarantino has teamed up with internet phenomenon Jeffree Star and the AFI's Davey Havok for a giant video campaign promoting her next jewelry collection, called "Tokyo Hardcore". Here's Davey, looking typically emo-tional:

The teaser that was released on Tarantino's Buzznet.com page features Havok playing an angsty rock star (hard to imagine, I know), lip-syncing to Pulp's "This is Hardcore" (best. song. ever.) while intermittently making out with an insanely hot young Japanese model. Alfonso Campos, Tarina's business whizz husband, invited Havok to play the part after meeting him at a Camille Rose Garcia opening. Havok, being a friend of Jeffree's (you see how incestuous the fashion world is?) decided to give it a whirl.

The move represents part of a general new approach to fashion marketing...one which ventures beyond catwalk and catalogue and steps into the world of film, or so-called "fashion cinema". Susan Ciancolo screened a short abstract film at one of her recent fashion shows, in which the actors wore items from her collection. Tarantino has taken things a step further with her series of MTV-friendly videos, due to accompany the launch of her Tokyo Hardcore collection.

Getting Jeffree Star involved was a very smart move, not least because he has 15 million or so MySpace friends who faithfully track his every move, and who probably enjoy buying pink and shiny jewelry...like Tarantino's! I am constantly amazed by the fame that Jeffree Star has achieved, through just working the MySpace. Sometimes it makes more sense if I think of him as the gay Paris Hilton, savvy and vacuous, a poster-child for the OxyContin generation.

Do check out user comments to the video on Buzznet. I especially enjoyed Star's bitch-slap to a female fan named "cerealwars13", who dared to question Davey's "man-whore" presentation in the Tokyo Hardcore video. Star's response begins "you're a piece of fucking shit".

Meeooow, ladies!!! 

Hey, what'd you do this weekend? Oh, sweated a lot and wished you were dead? Oh em gee, me too!

Moving on to the week ahead: I don't know about you, but I'm growing my goatee out.

This week is SO artsy, you're going to be left with a beret cocked to the side and a face permanently distored into an expression of bemused evaluation. Like this man:

I'm genuinely hyper about these shows coming up:

Wednesday:

Learn to build a mini park the size of a parking spot in preparation for this awesome day

Thursdsay:

Luke Chueh bloodies bunnies

Naked crotches covered in cake sprinkles

A stone-faced homage to deadpan comedy

Friday

Get Wacko and praise (La Luz de) Jesus with Miles Thompson

Saturday:

Photorealistic anti-war work about magnificent bastards 

Chango's art steps it up a notch

Buy a little bird for $100 bones

Pick up the pieces with some medical illustration collage

Also, my dear comrade and right-coaster David Hochbaum is in from NY installing his Sept 15 solo show at Corey Helford. If you email him, he might even want your help. He says he's "making a 15 foot high tower of babel out of ladders and need anyone who knows their way around power tools, chop saw, nail guns, drills.. I also could use a hand on some of the wall installation and hanging the 461 birds."

Um, okay. Looking forward to that, whatever the hell it is. 

Now, back to the post-holiday work load. Not that anyone cares at all, but I came into work early to find that they serve oatmeal in a huge cauldron in the LA Times' cafeteria in the mornings. It was awesome. 

New Yorkers won’t like this, but it turns out some of the best bagels anywhere come from Beverly Blvd. If it makes them feel better, the place is called Brooklyn Bagel Bakery.

I checked them out yesterday during “Bagel Happy Hour” (3 to 5, Mon. through Fri.) and acquired eight chewy delights for a grand total of three dollars. Their multitudinous varieties include New York-style, which are extra dense and baked in an hearth, rather than in a pan in the oven. The other, nouveau bagels are softer and just as delicious, like the everything bagel that really had everything and the sharp, perfect pumpernickel. We took those bad boys to Echo Park for a picnic, an outing I highly recommend.

Whoa. Stop the presses. Kanye West is flying into L.A. tonight at 10:45 p.m. and going straight to Les Deux. (I'm telling you: Tuesdays at Les Deux are hot.) The club’s hosting a record release party for his new album “Graduation,” in stores September 11, and rumor has it that he’s antsy to see the crowd’s reaction. After all the sh-t he and 50 Cent have been slinging at each other, he better hope the reaction is good. Email freshpolitix@gmail.com to get on the list.

Oh, laborious. How you tortured me so. The last true party weekend of the season decides to do double duty as the hottest weekend of the year, too. Would that stop me from making my appointed rounds? But of course not, my sexy friends.

Saturday morning equaled an excuse to hit Pasadena and stuff my face with the soul-enriching macadamia nut pancakes at Marston’s. Oh, sweet, delicious glory.

Sunday night brought the big Chromatics show at the Echo. Way more people are into these Portland art-rockers than I realized. Maybe it was our DJ buddies at Part Time Punks pulling the crowd. Either way, by the time Ruth and the boys hit the stage, there were a lot of people queued up to watch them play.

Staying true to the monotonic ice hipstress persona she’s cultivated on Chromatics recordings, Ruth (that's her in the picture) stood stock still the entire time. Dressed in a purple dress, black belt and stilettos, she would occasionally sway from side to side and maybe stare blankly at someone in the crowd. But that’s it. The band (guitar, bass, drums—what, no synth player?), faithfully cranked out the tunes, with “In The City” and “Hands in the Dark (Dark Day)” standing as their strongest numbers (you can find both on the awesome “After Dark” compilation, released on the equally sweet Italians Do It Better label).

I wish I could quote Jessie’s infuriated rant about the show verbatim. But to paraphrase, the general idea is that as a performer, you have to give the audience something more than blank stares and static stage (non)presence.

The crowd, on the other hand, ate it up. I definitely enjoyed a sizable taste of my own. On the way out, I eagerly snapped up a copy of a special limited edition 12-inch of “In The City.” Getting it home, I was so excited to discover that it comes with an a cappella version, a killer minimal remix that’s borderline ghetto, and then, the piece de resistance: A deadpan cover of Springsteen’s 1985 single “I’m on Fire.” The perfect soundtrack for the hottest weekend I’ve ever had to endure in L.A. Keep burnin', y'all.

Guess what, another streetwear store hit Fairfax...NYC's ALife opened up on Saturday and the sneaker freaks were more rabid with consumerism than ever. Or was that just the triple-digit heat?