There were so many stripes at the El Rey the other night, I felt like I was at a rugby match in England, not a Klaxons show in Los Angeles. Being that the Klaxons are the purveyors of so-called nu-rave, I expected more of a neon/glow stick vibe - how wrong I was. The look du jour was stripy rugby or polo shirt, worn in several cases with white skinny jeans.

I have to say, it's a look I am not entirely in love with - a little too preppy and not enough sexy for me - but the kids seem to like it. And who am I to argue?

The text messages are in, and I'm having a panic attck at all that I'm missing tonight. I should text Stephen Hawking and ask him if he's working on any portals in the time space contnuum, and if he wants to kick it with me at the Hammer tomorrow/yesterday/tonight.

The Pity Party plays for free at the Hammer with the Little Ones

Foxy rock trio The Front plays at the Scene, brought to you by the lovely Rock Insider

Worst Laid Plans, tales of enduring really awful bootay is at UCB

And the Downtown Art Walk is in full swing, including this bitchin' event 

I just realized that I'm not at any of these events because I'm too busy blogging about them. Hands up, how many people think that's whack?

Okay, hold on...getting a final count...

My best friend Jenny and I have been going for late-night pizookie runs at BJ's runs since... well, since forever. Something about a piping hot, oversized cookie topped with whipped cream and vanilla ice cream really gets us talking. We talk about guys, we talk about our other friends, we talk about that one year in high school when we weren't talking and she had to do pizookie runs with someone else. It was a tough year and after "someone else" turned out to be a man-stealing slag , I was mercifully re-instated. But that's another story for another time.

Before we know it the pizookie we are sharing is gone and the bus boys are vacuuming the floors. We usually take that as our cue to leave, though not before snapping a few photos of the devastation we leave in our wake. 

This morning missing from my daily commute was the tamale lady who sold breakfast tamales, pan dulce, and champurrado at the corner of Venice and Fairfax.  It has become somewhat of a daily ritual, seeing the steam rise from the Styrofoam cups as the bus riders huddled around dreading the rest of what is surely a lackluster day.  It was comforting to see her morning after morning doling out a bit of home cooking to the world weary Los Angeleno populace.  I understand why she was probably ousted from her corner, though it does feel like a little bit of community died with it.  Isn’t there a better way to deal with street vendors than just get giving them the heave-ho?  Hopefully she’ll return in a few weeks time, when the City has forgotten about her little spot on Venice and Fairfax.

--Shane Redsar 

Sayonara Star Shoes. The kitschy bar recently shut down and is getting made over into Vice, an exclusive haunt on Hollywood Boulevard that should be a cross between Stone Rose Lounge and Winston’s. Comfortable, upscale and edgy.

Steve Fowler (former Barfly manager) and Steve Goldberg (former Club 7969 manager) are the owners behind the bar and I heard on the DL that they roped in a controversial actor to invest in the place. (I really, really wish I could tell you who that actor is, but Fowler swore me to secrecy for at least two months.)

Here’s what you need to know for now:

Vice opens August 8, but the grand opening doesn’t go down until August 15.

It won’t be an easy door to get into, but the doormen won’t be a dick to you about it if he can’t let you in.

Dudes in shorts and out-of-work actors with big egos will not get in. They especially won’t get in if they’re wearing a sideways Ed Hardy hat.

Girls will always have an easier time getting in, but Fowler encourages skimpy clothing on girls. Check out the pics on his MySpace page for proof.

The music will be heavy on the rock ‘n roll classics and light on the hip-hop. Fowler also wants to start a house night on Sundays. Interested? Email me at aletellier@metromix.com and I’ll forward it along.

Ultraviolet gets ultraviolent

Just returned from the over-capacity Kid Dangerous launch. Given the solid reps of the party's sponsors and organizers, it had a far more Hollywood frat-boy vibe than I was expecting, complete with jocky dudes breathing Michelob in my face. Bleh. 

The Grey Kid did his karaoke-rap thing, but the most notable lesson came when the hyperglam Ultraviolet came on. After receiving a flaccid response, the lead singer (bless her spandexed heart) started getting all drill-sergeant, angrily commanding that people enjoy the set. I totally felt her pain, but you can't force someone to love you. I learned that at my junior prom.

Anyway, I left with a gift bag containing a Monster energy drink, some advertorial post cards, and a tiny keychain of a beer bottle. I won't say they never gave me nothin'. Meh. 

I'll admit it - I'm thinking about Ryan Gosling. You know all those jokes about saving Ryan's privates - if only he'd let me...

Welcome to my sad life.

I met Ryan at a BBQ nearly 2 months ago and he's a doll. He was singing and playing guitar (he and his ex-GF's brother have formed a band together) while my friend Jimmy, talented guitarist who came up with the Chris Isaak 'Wicked Games' riff, strummed along. It was quite the perfect day...when night fell we all went inside and I played the piano while Ryan sang his new song, and then he told me about travlieng to the Czech Republic and visiting a spooky church made out of skulls. We talked about checking out the Jovovich Hawk fashion show the following night but alas, it never happened.

Then a couple nights ago I saw him again, tall and resplendent in some kind of tweedy brown librarian's jacket on a street corner  on 5th and Main Downtown...he wasn't scoring crack (if you've seen "Half Nelson" you'll know what I meant by that), but he was filming something and looking pleased as he watched footage on a monitor. My hair was discheveled, and my eyes were baggy from overwork...I so wanted to say hello but instead I scurried past, head down, before burying myself inside a vodka tonic at Bar 107. I know, I know...I shoulda said hi...but he looked, you know busy. Like a movie star.

So here I am at 1:41am, thinking about Ryan...what's a girl to do?

If you live in Silverlake, you are no doubt acquainted with Sugar , the teeny tiny hair salon located next to Cafe Stella in Sunset Junction. As well as offering up fun stuff like free vodka and tri-hawks during the Sunset Junction street fair, its owner, biker dude and former Fred Segal hair guru Tommy Carmanico, has been responsible for creating many an alterna-look. In fact, it would be safe to say that Sugar has shaped the face - and hair - of Silverlake.

Well, in a Metromix hairdressing exclusive, I can reveal that Sugar is going to be closing and moving east down the road, where it will reopen on the site currently occupied by the Jeff Electric gallery (another Eastide creative hub, which is closing down this week). The building's landlord Herman had refused many offers from prospective restaurateurs, prefering instead to hand over the space to someone like Tommy, with an old skool Silverlake vibe. No over-priced wine bars or designer sneaker shops here!

Sugar re-opens on August 1st in its new location, and we look forward to many more tri-hawks, mohawks and - if you're really crazy - golden highlights to come!  

While the Klaxons were doing their best to live up to the hype at the El Rey the other night (and doing a formidable job), we ran into all sorts of Los Angeles characters making the scene. There was Rob Simas and the lovely Cristina Fisher from BPM magazine hanging out, and DJ duo Mid-City West, Josh and Spencer. But when man about town Mark Hunter, AKA star photog Cobrasnake came our way to chat up style ed Caroline Ryder, I couldn’t resist trying my hand at taking a shot. The next Terry Richardson I am not. Well, maybe with a better camera and less vodka…