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. ) 

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 

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,

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.  

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  

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.