“Breaking up is like a sitcom, except it's not funny, I'm not an actress, and it's not being filmed. And there's no craft-service.”

I’m eating a chicken pot pie with my best girlfriend. She is newly single, and not amused.

People, where is the love? Summer’s still-warm body is barely dead, and already sweaty flings are collapsing all around me. I have on my hands a sea of Sandys and Danny Zukos, their post-summer love in shreds.

Over comfort foods and cocktails, my comrades begin practically: “Should I change the relationship status on my profile?” or “What do I do with the sock he left at my house, and this tube of hydrocortisone? And what is he using that for?” Then it devolves into lip-trembling agony: “Ward, will I ever find someone to love me?”

The answer is no. Not if you’re hanging out with me and eating pot pie.

Rather, I advise: Go out, particularly this weekend. Art and free room-temperature Chardonnay are both proven ice breakers, and L.A. has never, in my professional leisurely experience, seen such a bounteous array of opening receptions as this weekend. (Just search for “We've got openings” on Metromix and you’ll see what I mean.)

Grab a wingman, wear something dapper and cram as many stops into one night as you can. Not only will your tattered heart find inspiration in the beauty of the work, but your rebound may be standing over there eating a piece of cheese. Trust me.

—Alie Ward 

Ps- To find out where the Ward is wandering, add me at www.twitter.com/wardonthestreet. Yay! We're friends. 

I think it’s fair to say that when Sex and the City went off the air in 2004, it left a void in the televised-fashion-show genre it created—a void almost as massive as its costume budget. Gossip Girl has done a respectable job picking up the slack, utilizing wardrobe as a never-ending storyline in and of itself. And while I do think Gossip Girl is great, its setting and sartorial choices are strictly East Coast.

That’s where 90210 comes in. This fall, the reincarnation of the prime-time teen drama popular through the entire ’90s is L.A.’s only foreseeable hope for a fashion-centric program that tells the story of our aesthetic. The original 90210 set its fair share of trends—Jason Priestley’s pompadour, Luke Perry’s leather jacket, Shannen Doherty’s tights—so here’s hoping new 90210 can once again showcase the city and its fashion-forward inhabitants. If not, we’ll have to make due with the L.A. story arc Gossip Girl will inevitably employ.

 —Marcos Luevanos