The Weekend of Ward: Busted

You guys, I swear I am sick. Listen to this wet cough. Observe the fact that I am wearing stretch denim. Does this hair look flat ironed? It is not.

After a week of being sequestered with myself, some books, and millions of lung-swimming viral bodies, I finally made a trek outdoors on Saturday. Sure, I skipped a straight week of work, but I wanted flapjacks.

Poking a cautious toe back into normal life, I go for brunch with a few girlfriends in Silverlake. Seconds into a piece of toast, my editor Deb Vankin walks in. I stammer an explanation: "Oh hai. You know that week I took off? I swear I was sick."

Then I run into Sean, our video editor, on Sunset Blvd. I am starting to look like a fraud.

Later that night, after a stop at the new gallery space Sea and Space Explorations in Highland Park, I take a Subaru full of hooligans to Shatto Lanes in Koreatown for some bowling and stale popcorn. Walking through the door, I encounter Metromix Bars & Clubs editor, the lovely Alexandra Le Tellier. At a dirty bowling alley in Koreatown?, I ask my subconscious. "Seriously," it responds.

(Holligans love bowling)

I wrapped the evening up with a jaunt to a hilltop house party, said to be in Charlie Chaplin's old digs. There were bikini-clad art chicks, the wailing ridiculous synthpop of Hard Place, Dame Darcy walking around in a tattered prom gown and artist Carlos Ramos drunkenly/charmingly calling me the wrong name— four times.  The strangest part? There was no one from work. It was odd. 

(Hard Place, bring art-rock back to living rooms city-wide) 

Until next time, my esteemed comrades. 

 Miss Alie Ward