I couldn’t have scripted it any better. After running the gauntlet of Harley-Davidson t-shirts and rebel flags amassed at the Gibson amphitheatre to my seat at the Kid Rock show, a row of ladies decamped next to me. It was like the women of SNL’s “Cougar Den” skit walked out of the TV and into the show. The one with the bleached-blonde hair and skin-tight American flag shirt eyed my suspiciously before hitting me with the line of the night: “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Yes, the American race/class war rages on, and the battle lines have been drawn in the crudest terms possible. Never mind that Kid Rock calls himself a combination of Aerosmith and Run DMC, or that his band features at least three black members. I’m tempted to tell my new concert friend about hanging out in Detroit back in the day, and the countless times Kid Rock himself handed me flyers to one of his shows. Or the night when out of nowhere he jumped on stage at a DJ I event I was putting on, pulled two records out of his bag and proceeded to rock the party with ease. I just smiled and introduced myself. She was perfectly lovely, and we chatted easily until the show started.

While it might not be the cool thing to admit, Kid Rock and the Twisted Brown Trucker band are one of the most potent live acts on the road today. Like some unholy combination of the J. Geils Band and Bob Seger’s legendary Silver Bullet Band, Rock’s outfit can play rock, country, hip-hop and honky-tonk with equal dexterity. Opening with the title track from his Rick Rubin-produced Rock N Roll Jesus album like a new-school Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels, the Rock and his band kept the nearly 6000 party people up and on their feet for the entire show.

The show was paced almost perfectly. He took time to pay tribute to American soldiers with a stirring video montage during “Only God Knows Why.” For his ballad “Picture,” he brought out 12-year-old SoCal singer Sasha Edwards, who floored the place with her dynamic vocal range. When she’s a huge star, remember where you heard it first.

But the highlight was when Rev Run from the legendary Run DMC joined Kid Rock for a block of DMC classics. With the band percolating behind them, Rock and Rev Run smashed hits like “Tricky,” “It’s Like That” and of course “Walk This Way,” complete in black hats and gold rope chains. Rev Run might be all sweet and cuddly on his MTV reality show “Run’s House,” but in concert he’s hard as nails and can still spit with the best of them.

But the crescendo came when Rock rolled out his late ‘90s mook anthem “Bawitdaba.” Seeing that many people literally freak out to that song in 2008 is a memory I won’t soon forget. I wonder: Would “Nookie” still set it off like this today? I doubt it.

There’s a really cool part in every Kid Rock show where he addresses the audience about how you might be sitting next to someone you don’t have that much in common with, but that everyone is here for the same purpose: to party, listen to some good music and have fun. He then asks that everyone say hello to the people around them “so we can get this party started.”

While people where hi-fiving all over the arena, my inquisitive concert buddy and I just looked at each other and laughed. We’re way ahead of you, buddy.

—Scott T. Sterling

As the presidential election approaches and partisan politicking rears its ugly head, let’s not forget Republicans are people too. Last week it was widely reported, as though it were some kind of scandal, that Sarah Palin wore a Valentino jacket when she gave her speech at the Republican National Convention. Then there was much ado about her now-ubiquitous eyewear costing upward of $400. Apparently, those involved with McCain campaign have suggested Palin keep her team of stylists a secret, seeing as how they encourage her to wear expensive designer clothing.

I’m not a Republican, nor am I pro-Palin, but I do think it’s unfair to criticize her for merely dressing appropriately on an occasion as momentous as accepting the Republican nomination for vice president. Nobody seemed to have a problem with Hillary Clinton wearing Oscar de la Renta during her campaign or Michelle Obama wearing Thakoon at the DNC. (Then again, neither of them were running on a platform condemning wasteful government spending.) Even though many believe Palin isn’t qualified to take a nap in the White House, one thing everyone can agree on is that it would be a pretty sweet gig to style big-time political figures, regardless of personal beliefs and party affiliation.

—Marcos Luevanos 

Thank goodness, saner minds rule the day.

Swiss authorities have intervened, banning Hans Locher from serving breast milk in his Winterthur restaurant, Storchen—why yes, that does translate to “stork” in English.

The manager/chef had experimented years ago on his wife’s breast milk and decided to revamp some of those recipes for cream-based soups and sauces when he noticed an influx of mothers in the neighborhood. Um, Herr Crazy? Mothers don’t drink breast milk, nor do they necessarily inspire others to do so—unless it’s their own infants!

Apparently, Locher crossed the line when he advertised a rate of SFr16.25 for a liter of breast milk (roughly $54.88 for a gallon). “Humans are not on the list of authorized milk suppliers such as cows or sheep,” sayeth food/health department officials. Obviously, because humans haven’t been pumped full of rBGH and all those other robust hormones…yet.

Hey, I know times are tough and the price of dairy has been consistently going up since last year, but we have yet to reach the Dust Bowl and the culminating tableau from Steinbeck’s “Grapes of Wrath.” No one should be getting any fuddy-duddy ideas. All these late-blooming frozen yogurt shops desperate for a new gimmick? I’m looking at you.

—Jiyeon Yoo

It’s officially fall. Why am I sweating?

Our countrymen in the cold clutches of a Minnesota October would hoot like joyful, tropical monkeys right now to have an 84 degree autumn, but for long-term Angelinos, it’s challenging to feel trapped in a bikini year-round.

So after a summer of beer and barbecued sausages, what’s left for fall? Beer and barbecued bratwurst. To fully experience the seasonal shift, simply wear lederhosen.

Getting drunk in your neighbor’s backyard was so July, but getting drunk in Torrance—in the well-organized gluttony of Alpine Village—is a bold gesture toward accumulating fat cells that would sustain folks in colder climes through a four-month blizzard.

Cajole someone into designated driving and merge onto the 405 south to behold a tented oasis of Germanic alcoholism. The plastic red kegger cups you slurped Tecate out of through August are no match for Alpine Village’s sturdy, ceramic steins of beer. Tip: hit the place after 6:30 p.m. on Friday or Saturday, when it’s limited to fools 21 and over. No one needs the buzzkill of a 4 year old throwing fistfuls of pickled cabbage like confetti.

For those willing to make a more aggressive effort toward autumnal cirrhosis, the Big Bear Oktoberfest lies roughly 100 miles away, in the pine-needly comfort of the San Bernadino National Forest. Sometimes, all it takes is an old guy dressed like a gnome to remind you that life need not always be a beach.

After last week's onslaught of frighteningly bad news, the Emmys were a welcome relief, especially for a TV junkie like me. "Gossip Girl" has been a fun warm-up, but it's the Emmy Awards that really signal the start of the fall TV season—and what better way to get pumped for the shows than by partying with the stars of them? Lucky for me, it was all about the Emmy events on Sunday, from Entertainment Tonight's party at the Walt Disney Concert Hall, where "Mad Men" star January Jones celebrated, to HBO's extraordinarily well-attended bash at the Pacific Design Center. And by well-attended I mean Jeremy Piven, Adrian Grenier, Tom Hanks, Bill Maher, and Larry David all in the same room. And that was just the men. We've got the full party report here, which you know wouldn't be complete without some new 90210 gossip.

I personally hit up TV Guide's party because they always put together something that's trendy, but also whimsical. Last year: Versailles at Les Deux. This year: a Japanese fantasyland at the Kress, complete with oversized bonsai trees, giant rock gardens, kimono-clad girls, performing geishas, paper cranes hanging from the ceiling, and bounties of Japanese treats, notably spicy shrimp rolls and a sake that'd been chilled to perfection in this ice sculpture that all bars should have. MGMT and the Bravery were this year's surprise headliners, a surprise twist given last year's main attraction Kanye West. As always, I was most excited about seeing the stars of my favorite programs, which this year included Kyra Sedgwick ("The Closer") and Jaime Murray ("Dexter"). Spying Lindsay Lohan and Samantha Ronson engaged in lovey-dovey PDA was pretty fun too. 

 I've got more photos and gossip where that came from! See the full report here»

Now let's just hope for some good news this week.

—Alexandra Le Tellier

You know who's really missing from the 2008 music scene? Eminem. If anybody could come along and start kicking asses and taking names, it would be our man Marshall Mathers. And right on time, he's plotting to get back in the mix and make some noise before the year is out. 

"I'm concentrating on my own stuff right now, just banging out tracks," the blond bomber announced during a recent appearance on his Sirius satellite radio station, Shade 45.

"The more I keep producing, the better it seems I get," he boasted.

And not a moment too soon. For one, Lil' Wayne is a huge Eminem fan, and the idea of those two rap maniacs hooking up and terrorizing the music industry is an awesome collaboration that needs to happen. 

But more than anything, one can only hope Em goes after the new slew of pop stars that have come up in the four years since his last album, Encore. Given the insane amounts of controversy generated around the relatively tame shots he took at Michael Jackson and the trumped-up fiasco around The Source magazine (yawn), the thought of him going after Pete Wentz, Katy Perry and the rest brings joy to my Detroit-born heart.

Those closest to Em like 50 Cent and Detroit rapper Trick Trick have been talking up the new tracks, and rumor has him recording with (please God let it be true) Dr. Dre in a Florida studio. With both artists suffering major personal losses of late (Eminem's best friend and right-hand man Proof was killed in a bar dispute, while Dre's 20-year-old son recently passed away), there is the possibility of the album being a veritable sonic powder-keg.The way Trick Trick told it to the Detroit News was that "Everybody gets it. No one is safe. He is showing no mercy." 

So make it rain, Em. Music needs you now more than ever. It is an election year after all, and there are a couple of Presidential candidates just ripe for the picking...

—Scott T. Sterling

Q: What was the most audacious accessory to make its debut during New York Fashion Week?

A: It wasn’t anything designed by Marc Jacobs. According to The Daily Mail, the disturbing diet trend du jour consists of injecting oneself with an intravenous drip containing multivitamins. Originally designed to aid alcoholic hospital patients who are nutrient-deficient from drinking more than they eat, the bags (which contain a yellow liquid) are rumored to be this season’s must-have item among a number of print and runway models.

Dieting has existed since long before the advent of high-fashion commercial modeling, and everything from the cabbage soup diet to Atkins to the lemonade cleanse has been championed over the last few decades. But do any of them really work? If they did, would so many American women stop whatever program they’re on and immediately become obsessed with the new way to lose weight? Sure, models are supposed to be physical representations of unattainable beauty, but there’s a line that shouldn’t be crossed—and that line is now littered with track marks.

—Marcos Luevanos

Los Angeles, a burger kind of town?

I guess so, according to Serious Eats. The NYC-based food blog is looking for an L.A-based correspondent dedicated solely to consuming and documenting burgers. Yep, just burgers. OK, maybe fries and the occasional milkshake.

I’m likely in the minority here—in fact, my dear colleague (hi, Oliver) already told me I’m flat-out wrong—but I hadn’t really thought of us as a burger-loving little hamlet. Tacos, yes. Burritos (and variations of tortilla-wrapped packets), sure. Even fro-yo and sugary pocket-sized cakes. But a lump of animal oozing rivulets of pink-tinged juices? There’s a reason a California-style burger involves lettuce, onions, tomato and other forms of trendy green stuff like avocado and alfalfa sprouts. Hey, we like our veggies!

But then I began to mentally list all the burger joints—classics like Apple Pan, In-N-Out, Bob’s Big Boy; cult favorites like Marty’s and Astroburger; then the ubiquity of the $15-plus burger in so many high-profile restaurants, let alone the latest outcropping of chichi burger counters (namely 8 oz. Burger Bar and O! Burger, which you can read more about in next week’s Metromix). Well, perhaps L.A.’s carnivorous whole is far more than the sum of its parts—a nice analog for a burger itself.

To commemorate this modest epiphany, I had me-self a burger at the Redwood Bar, considered by some to be the best one in Downtown. Plus, the kitchen just added sliders (with crispy fried onions!) on the menu. I’ll weigh in fully at a later time—perhaps Serious Eats might come a-calling…but only if a blood pressure/heart monitor comes with the deal.

—Jiyeon Yoo

Interested in pushing your LDL, HDL and triglycerides? Check out the job listing here »

I have just been oddly, wordlessly ushered backstage at the Avalon.

A lighting technician, overhearing me ask about press check-in, gave me a conspiratory nod, pulled me past security and then into the VIP wings for the Zodiac Show without saying a word. The theatrical, musical affair is partly the brainchild of former Pussycat Doll Carmit Bachar and I have no idea what I'm doing in her dressing room.

I stand awkwardly in a corner, keeping an eye out for red-carpet urchins likely to attend: Dita VonTeese? I don't see her. Paris Hilton? Not back here. Dancers are getting caked with fairy dust by the wardrobe staff, and I contemplate grabbing a costume, joining them onstage, and seeing how long it takes before I am arrested. I also consider eating a piece of pizza from the craft service table.

As showtime approaches, the vibe gets more frenetic. Headdresses are being fastened on, and I slip into the audience to watch the show as it's intended to be seen, from a plebeian point of view. Lights dim and a statuesque drag queen wearing metal shoulder pads and a glitter-rimmed mouth bursts onstage with a song and dance routine to Zeppelin's "Black Dog." The Avalon explodes with color and movement through 10 acts involving aerialists, rap, leather bust harnesses and choreography.

It's a welcome instance when the show is actually more exciting from the audience than from backstage. Go figure.

  -Alie Ward 

Speaking of awesome bar owners:
Bobby Green will add another kitschy rock 'n' roll joint to his empire, which already includes Bigfoot Lodge, Saints & Sinners and Little Cave. With a '70s truck stop theme and a name like Stinkers, the boys are sure to love the Silverlake bar 2939 Sunset Boulevard. The ladies will too, so long as the guys don't actually smell—in which case, might I recommend the SubtleButt deodorizer?