People: you've got quite a weekend ahead of you. In fact, it's about to start right now. So brush your teeth, put on a fresh coat of deodorant, and whipser a warning to your sweet, innocent liver.

First up is tonight's Beer Chug Championships, which are gorgeously coupled with a Drunk Spelling Beer Bee in the same Bacchanalian evening. Get thee to the MET, proudly present twelve American dollars, and abandon the notion that you will leave with any dignity.

If you're sober and/or a vegetarian goblin, you may instead consider a trip to the Nuart, to catch the Best Worst Movie ever. Don't wank about not knowing about this; I gave you fair warning. 

We fully invite you to get "lit" on Saturday at the Literartisy show in Culver City; we've gone on and on about Stella, so go check out her piece and many other new works inspired by those things called, wait...um...books.  

And if you need to do a little leg stretching come Sunday, hop on your track bike and cruise past the Westside's murals, then tip back some boozehounds at Air Condtioned.

As for me, my weekend will include either:

a) non-stop beveraging, party chit-chat, hand shaking, sitting on the ledge of a moving car window as it speeds through a canyon road, and rubbing elbows with foreign dignitaries.

OR

b) staying home, wearing filthy, paint-stained sweatpants and getting ready for my next art show.

I'll keep you posted.

Vice, which is located in the club formerly known as Star Shoes, had its soft opening on Wednesday. I couldn't go, unfortunately, so our MMX intern Randi Eichenbaum—always up for a velvet rope challenge—hit the scene for me.

As expected, there were a lot of scantily-clad girls there. (Co-owner Steve Fowler loves a blonde that's barely dressed!) Also, no surprise: Rex Lee was in the house. He's been everywhere lately.

What was surprising was how chill the scene was for a hot new Hollywood club. The door dudes were nice, the space was cozy, the bartenders were hot and cordial and the drinks were strong.

The verdict: She loves it! In fact, it was one of those nights that made her question moving to New York at the end of the month.

Once upon a time, Van Halen was the most dangerous band in America. Long before "Jump" and the birth of "Van Hagar," David Lee Roth, Michael Anthony and the Van Halen brothers Eddie and Alex ruled the world of heavy metal boogie rock. Hard as eff, menacing and super sexy, their initial album run—from the instant classic debut through the underrated psycho-sexual opus "Fair Warning" and the blockbuster "1984," no one could even touch them in terms of sheer power, style and in-your-face attitude.

Yeah, a lot has gone down over the years. And where the VH reunion was supposed to be the mega-event of the year, Eddie's stint in rehab and more internal riffing has the whole thing stumbling out of the gate with more of a whimper than a bang. I'm still not sure what to make of Eddie's son Wolfgang (with Valerie Bertinellli!) on bass instead of Mike Anthony. The kid's what, 16? Not exactly who I imagine singing background vocals on "Ain't Talkin' ’Bout Love."

I'll find out what the deal is first hand on Monday morning when I nervously attend the press conference where the reunited VH will officially announce the details of their impending tour. WIll Eddie be sober? Will David Lee Roth be coherent? Will Valerie be there watching over Wolfgang? It's going to be one manic Monday. Details at 11…