I decided to video blog today. Mistake #1.

Ten minutes later:

*Update*: I still totally look like a bison.

This entire endeavor—from all angles— has been mortifying.

Again, if you're into watching other people's pain and embarrassment, I highly suggest hitting the Mortified show this Wednesday, August 22nd at King King. Adults read from the diaries of their horrifyingly awkward adolescence, and I urge you to check the Mortified website for tickets at once. I plan on attending, as does my afro.

And perhaps, with two decades to heal, I will one day be able to handle today's humiliating foray into video blogging with greater aplomb.

Soul deflated, hair as large as ever,

The Ward 

PS- I kind of smell like a deli.

Looks like lowercase m's are all the rage in the world of logo design:

   (from L to R: Metromint, Metromix)

Meet 'Metromint' (no relation to Metromix), which is essentially water flavored with unsweetened mint. If this water tastes as half as good as we do, I pity the fool who deosn't drink it.

Our suggestion: throw a Metroparty, where each guest come dressed as his favorite Metromix editor, sips some ice cold Metromint, and gets Metrowasted on Medical Metrojuana.

Metromint. It's a good thing. 

I know I know...you're barely over your Sunset Junction hangover and here I am carping on about next weekend's Fuck Yeah! fest...but seriously, you know this is where the real L.A. grassroots awesomeness is going to be at, and you better make sure you have enough braincells in order to jump aboard this two-day sonic mindtrip.

Curated by Keith 'Circle Jerk' Morris and Silverlake's cherubic pin-up Sean Carlson, the line-up is a who's who of L.A.'s emerging talent including: Lavender Diamond, Busdriver, Boom Bip, Entrance, The Mae Shi, Imaad Wasif, Brother Reade, Sabertooth Tiger, Indian Jewelry, No Age, Midnight Movies, The Blood Arm, Darker My Love, Great Northern, Moonrats, Abe Vigoda and more. They even got esteemed underground artist Raymond Pettibon himself to design the poster:

I plan on going and covering it for you, the lovely sweet darling readers of Metromix. And I hereby pledge that in my style reportage from "Fuck Yeah" I will use the word "hipster" a total of ZERO times. I swear it. I'm done with that damn word. No more hipster this, hiptard that. It's OVER (although I may use the word 'scenester' in the interim, until a better alternative is found).

PS: WIll someone please tell me how to spell "Fuck Yeah" this year? The website says "Fuck Yeah" the poster says "Fuck Yea" and the flyers being handed out by organizer Sean Carlson said F*ck Yeah". What's the feckin' deal, yo?

Um, yeah. What can you really ever say about the Sunset Junction the Monday morning after? You're usually doing well if you can say anything at all.

While my mouth is slowly learning how to function properly again, I do remember a few things. Like seeing freak-folkster Devandra Barnhart kicking it on Sunset with a cute girl. I saw two people completely incapacitated on booze (or whatever) passed out on the ground. One was a girl on the side of the street during the Buzzcocks set on Sunday. She had a sweet haircut. Too bad it was plastered with her puke. Not a good look. The other was this dude propped up against a car drooling while his friend pointlessly held his hand. We think getting him somewhere safe and an IV drip of water would’ve made more sense. Yes, it was yet another Sunset Junction.

Lots of good things happened, too. I saw my old friend Joe Donnelly. I made some new friends (wink!). I ate really good food and quaffed really good beer at MMX LA's fearless leader Deb's spot, which was conveniently Junction adjacent.

But you don’t want to hear my silly stories. You want to look at pictures of the cool bands that played. So I’ll shut up for now.

Awww, peeps. If you are sunburned, clinically dehydrated, or sufferring from raw open foot blisters, chances are you hit Ye Olde Sunset of Junction this weekend. I am all three, testament to my having gone both sweltering days. My favorite flashes of blurry memories:

- The crowd oohing along to Eugene Goreshter's falsetto during the Autolux set

- Watching a baby's face change from blank to giggly while it stared at someone playing air guitar during the Buzzcocks

- Running into an acquaintance with an extra (!) bacon wrapped hot dog. I wouldn't buy one, but I sure as hell ate a free one

- Laying on the hot concrete at 10pm for a breather

- The architectural wonders of the mohawks in attendance on Sunday (Buzzcocks)

- The Indie 103 misting tent

- The Smiths night after party at Part Time Punks, which was off. the Hook. One can never ever ever have enough Morrissey, and anyone who says otherwise will be slapped in the face with a gladiola.

Please continue to rock on, and if you have a favorite blurry memory from el Junc-shon, please do share in the comments. Hopefully it's not "Making fun of some redhead's unruly afro from afar." Though I really can't blame you.

The bar at Malo was the drinking destination at Sunset Junction this past weekend. Their big special was $3 Dewar's, which just kills me because it's such an old man's drink. (Guess they're desperate to hook a younger generation on its booze now that their current customer base is dying off.) Scotch just does not equal party, unless you're Augusten Burroughs before rehab—and even that wasn't so much of a party. What does equal a party? Malo's mojitos, which are so good the bartender actually took a sip of my drink before handing it to me. Normally that'd freak me out, but this time it actually earned her a bigger tip.