Life in clubLAnd: the gays cum out to Fubar + a Flip exclusive!

Whenever my friend J comes to town, I somehow end up at places I could never possibly have imagined ending up at. Example No. 1 - Santa Monica after sunset. (Uchhh--I shudder.) Example No. 2 - gay bars in Weho at last call.

Last night's cavorting across town ended up with us at Fubar. Never been to Fubar? Take another look at the picture above. Now imagine the fellow with a sheen of sweat upon his torso and his shorts a lot lower down the totem pole, so to speak. To illustrate the absolute funk of the place, let me share with you this true story. At one point, between gawking at hard penises and the gays who love them, and dancing to pop music like the fag hags we must have appeared to be, I spotted a quarter on the floor. I didn't give that 25 cents a second thought. I left it on the floor. I know that doesn't sound impressive. But I'm an underpaid 20-something. I pick up quarters. Heck, I pick up pennies. But not there. Not at Fubar. You don't pick up anything at Fubar unless you're looking for some up close and personal exposure to human secretions.

Not gonna lie though. I'd go back. Despite the watered down drinks and wall to wall smell of sex, there was better people watching there than we'd found earlier at Hollywood's latest gathering spot for all things tacky, Guys and Dolls.

I'll leave you with this--one of my first hard-hitting interviews shot on the new Flip camera. I ask J the questions that really matter. Are ghosts real? Has your Hollywood dream come true? All this plus a shot of newlyweds John and Jane Doe as they exit the Loews Santa Hotel...



[Image Credit - Shadowscene via Fubar]

Puppets and perversion in Puppet Up!

I would generally steer as clear away from nightclub, Avalon Hollywood, as possible as I like to keep a healthy distance between myself and the ecstasy-influenced masses that frequent the club. But last Saturday night, I made an exception for the [pre-club night] showing of Puppet Up! Uncensored--where dozens of puppets (and their human puppeteer companions) took the stage at for an evening of improv, perversions, and occasional break-out into song. Patrick Bristow--who you might know from any number of roles (seriously--the dude's been in, like, everything--just check out his imdb page)--hosted the evening and led the cast through hilarious, audience-inspired scenes.

Even KTLA reporter Allie McKay was in the house and made a surprise visit to the stage. And when I say 'surprise,' I mean she was in total shock to be called up and I hope that she's fully recovered. I don't know if she had stage fright or if she is really and truly scared of puppets. But kudos to the lady for getting up and 'puppeting up.'

Don't miss the next show of Puppet Up! on September 19th. Click here to purchase tickets. Or check Goldstar to see if they offer half price tickets again for next month. Cause everything's better cheaper. Well, except for vodka and hookers.

Design Dish: Tim Gunn - Fashion guru. Comic book hero.

As every comic book character on God's green earth seems to be making the jump from page to screen lately, other characters are making it from real life to the printed page.

Tim Gunn, former Parsons chair and recent reality star of Project Runway, is now to be immortalized by Marvel Comics in an eight-page comic called--what else--Loaded Gunn. Gag.

Wow. That is all I would like to say. Wow.

Find out more about this comic disaster on Marvel Comics News.

[via WWD]

We Like to Party: M.I.A. makes a [late] splash in Downtown LA.

Last night, M.I.A. hit the stage at Downtown LA's Lot 613 warehouse. Mind you--doors were an hour late. Mind you--she didn't actually hit the stage til after 1 am. After what seemed like hours and hours (and hours) of openers, including Pase Rock, Blaqstar, and much beloved local DJ acts like Them Jeans. And mind you--this is as close as I personally got to the singer...

(For those of you who are thinking--why, that looks like mere projections on a wall outside of the main venue--you'd be correct.)

But all in all, I'm not mad at last night. The crowd was not 14 years old. The lines for the bathroom weren't too long (which can make or break a party for me). I got to see firsthand that M.I.A. lost the baby weight. And I discovered that Monster makes water--that's right, just plain water--in a can. Rockin.

Thanks to my amazingly hip friends at Dance Right for bringing cool (and me) to DTLA.

The RSVP Line: Soi-Meme, an eco-bridal salon.

Those of you who know me know that I'm second-most obsessed with weddings (Obsession No. 1 has, and will always be, babies). I'm not that into romance. And I certainly have no plans for my own nuptials anytime soon (unless you know of an eligible and willing bachelor that I don't). But something about 2 people...tying the knot...announcing their love before all their closest family and friends (which, incidentally, seems like a great deal of pressure)...well, it just melts my heart.

But weddings are generally also frivolous, expensive, and produce a giant, shit-ton of waste. Which is why an eco-wedding is so much chicer than not.

So, please join me this Saturday at Soi-Meme, a day-long eco-bridal salon, produced by my lovely lovelies at Pink Cloud Events.

Tickets are only $25 and include amazing workshops, complimentary organic beverages, hors d’oeuvres, great DJs, a resource guide and loads of giveaways.

Plus, if you register online now, you'll be entered for a chance to win a free 4 night stay at a private eco-villa resort in Tulum, Mexico by Azulik. (I expect, of course, to be your plus one on this trip if you get lucky.)

Soi-Meme
Saturday, August 29
11 a - 4 p
JACCC - 244 South San Pedro, Los Angeles, CA (Little Tokyo)

Design Dish: Balls by Baleri Italia.

Waiting last night at the Apple store for the Genius Bar, I popped a squat in the kiddie section (where, mind you, I could not figure out how to open up any of the games supposedly suitable for six year old children). I took a seat on a pint size bean bag and thought, wow, Apple does even their kiddie seats right. This well designed bean bag was sleek. It was firm. It was exactly what I needed 3 or 4 of in my studio for guests. I peeked underneath to get a look at the tag and jotted down the designer--Baleri Italia.

Turns out these little 'bean bags' are not so little in the cost department. They're several hundred dollars each. Which means I won't be picking up one, let alone 3 or 4, anytime soon. But peeping some of the other designs--like the skull version below--they are officially a new obsession.

Perhaps I can afford one for my own child if I start saving now--perhaps by the time he goes off to college?

Signs of the Time.

Seen around town this weekend...

Most of you have never actually sat on a bus bench before (never having rode LA's public transportation system, ya gas guzzling earth-killers). But perhaps you've caught some of LA's most impactful marketing messages on their backs.

This ad, touting Pastor Shepherd's Prayer Hour, caught my eye. Maybe it was the bug-eyed stare of a cult leader. Or maybe it was the combination of multiple offensive pastel colors. But I was moved to drive around the block a second time to snap this picture.

Upon investigation of the supposed Pastor's website, I found this inspired promo video from the Pastor himself.

I assume Pastor Shepherd is a comedian and not a holy man. Though some might not find there to be a difference between the two anyway.

Later in the weekend I came across this sign seeking a missing girl, Elizabeth Vega. Now, I am not a heartless bitch. I think it's absolutely terrible that this family's daughter has gone MIA. I do, however, wonder if they might have found a more dignified picture of their FIFTEEN year old to post all over East Hollywood--one without, let's say, the bared midriff and 'take me now' pose.

Shop: from samples to sexy to Saks.

I can go weeks without shopping--to do so, I adopt a mature goal of saving and a self-righteous attitude toward the materialism that drives others to spend their cash. Well, let me tell you...this is not me. I'd rather have new sunglasses today than an extra grand in my Roth IRA next year. And as for materialism--I find about as much wrong with material goods as I do with clean water--both, as far as I'm concerned, are essentials. Which is why my hiatuses from shopping only last as long as I keep anywhere that sells anything out of sight.

So, today, when I decided that I'd allow myself one new dud (or two) for my birthday, things didn't go so well. I started out at the Paige Premium Denim Sample Sale at Siren Studios in Hollywood. I bought a pair of jeans that are slightly too big and these bright blue denim shorts. Because a) they were on SALE, obviously!, b) who doesn't need a pair of bright blue denim shorts?! Especially when the summer's almost done. Um, right, and c) sometimes, when stripping naked in front of a large room of other frantic shoppers and male security checks, the only obvious way you can see yourself out of your butt naked situation is the cash register. (I regret to say this sale is ending in less than 10 minutes--sorry friends.)

Next, I hit the mall to pick up a dress for my upcoming [belated] birthday party. This stop was essential. Every girl should feel special on her [belated] birthday. Especially when she's turning the big 2-5 [again]. In a building that screams overpriced, tacky, Los Angeles (aka, the Beverly Center), there is one store that generally promises stylish pieces (outside of the Ed Hardy genre), a lovely staff, and good sales--Traffic Los Angeles. Once you forgive the sort-of cheesy name, you'll find brands inside that you're not totally embarrassed to wear. I picked up a dress from one of my favorite LA designers, Society for Rational Dress, for under $200. I'll be wearing it next Friday at my [belated] soiree. Primarily cause I really like it. Also, because sale items are non-returnable. Oops.

I just arrived home, multiple bags in hand--relieved that I'd made it back to K-Town without having overdrawn on my debit card--when I open my mailbox to find a postcard from Saks Fifth Avenue. The flyer claims the "Best. Sale. Ever!!!" How can I turn down "up to 80% off women's designer collections from Saks stores around the country, all in one place for the first time ever.' That would be insane. This sale is insane. I've got to go. It's net Thursday, August 27 to Monday, September 7. It's at the Saks at The Shops at Mission Viejo. I have zero idea where Mission Viejo is. But I'll be there.

The Name Game. When the name your mama gave you just ain't enough.

It seems that no one's given names are good enough for them anymore. Nicknames are commonplace from birth onward, sure (who hasn't heard their fair share of honey - baby - sweetie-pie - from her adoring parents). But the notion that grown men and women are giving themselves nonsensical names--in earnest--and expecting other grown adults to call them by these newfangled names--this confounds me completely.

Case in point. I ran across a press release this morning with this header: Book Launch Event for "It's Just Begun" by DJ Disco Wiz, Hosted by Frankie Needles with performances by Mellow Man Ace

Now, these men are all esteemed in their respective fields of hip-hop, art and fashion. And the event, I'll admit, promises to be a good one (it's tonight if you're interested). But tell me DJ Disco Wiz's mama isn't crying over the fact that her son (born, Luis Cedeño) is going around with a self-proclaimed moniker that can't help but evoke images of everyone's favorite '50s cheese spread.

More customer service woes. Today's offender: PayPal.

The folks on the phone aren't really that awful at the country's biggest payment portal. It's this online message that made me feel a little like punching a hole through my computer screen...

And I quote--"My name's Sarah. I am not a real person..." Really, Sarah? Well, I hope for your sake that 'fake' people are not sensitive, cause you just made me super, super pissed off. For 'real.'

NY - Day 1: Long Island. A cultural abyss.

I arrived to NY last night. When most people think of New York, they think of bright lights, a big city, and party people up all night. This is not the New York I grew up in. This is not the New York I arrived to last night.

My day today was spent driving from one Long Island mall to another Long Island mall. The only obvious difference between the two malls was that one was for slightly older, wealthier people with bad taste (Saks, Bloomingdale's, a food court) and the other was for younger, broker kids with bad taste (Justice, Rave Girl, a food court).

Here are my shots from the day's journey...


This is me. In the parking lot of mall one. Next to a large truck I fancied.


This is me. Sitting with a giant stuffed gorilla. The gorilla had something to do with a mall kiosk. That apparently, according to the gorilla's shirt, was selling equity?

This is me, taking a break in the mall from the Island accents and the smell of Aunt Annie's pretzels and the Abercrombie mall rats with a $1 massage chair.

This is me, taking a tip from Jesus, who--according to this sign--suggests 'com[ing] apart and rest[ing] a while.'

Fingers crossed that tomorrow holds the same promise for excitement.

Wesleyan makes the news. Again.

My alma mater, Wesleyan University, has produced some of the finest minds in science, literature, education, and the arts. But now that we've got some commercially successful musical alum on the scene (i.e. - MGMT, Amazing Baby, Santigold), the school's finally getting noticed by the masses.

Take the latest piece on the school in the Village Voice. The reporter completely underestimates our alma mater's standing as a hotbed for creativity. Just because you've never heard of the school, doesn't mean that there's all of a sudden 'something in the water.' It just means you haven't been around the block enough times. That, or you went to a state school. (Ouch. That even offended me...slightly.)

Wes alum--what's your take on the writer's perspective of Wesleyan?

[via Village Voice via Stereogum]

[Image Credit: Village Voice]

Design Dish: Ninaki Jewelry

Remember those icebreaker games when you were a child during which the line of questioning would always, undoubtedly lead to an inquiry about your 'talents?' I used to answer this question with a detailed description [and often a demo] of my human pretzel. Looking back, I must have been an extreme disappointment to my mother who paid oodles along the way for dance classes, acting lessons, and karate--all in the hopes of instilling me with a a 'real' talent.

Now that I am older and not even flexible enough to boast a human pretzel any longer, I am even more impressed by folks who do have real talents. And always excited when those folks happen to be my friends.

One of my very talented pals, who may or may not be able to perform a human pretzel for you, is the designer of NINAKI, jewelry that is, simply put, to die for. The pieces are bold and beautifully sculpted [and will look amazing on me as soon as I can afford them].

This ring is one of my favorites...

Now, imagine it on my hand instead of on a wood dummy. Spectacular, right?

So, though I didn't make it to the Broadway stage, perhaps my mother can be proud at least of my good taste.

View Ninaki's collection here.

Typographical Error: Sweet Undy's

Typos and grammatical errors really get my metaphorical goat (which, if I had one in real life, they could gladly have). Misspelling a word, using the wrong 'there,' or punctuating erroneously is like telling me you either don't care or can't afford one of these newfangled computers with spell check. But when stores actually pay money to have signs and menus and billboards produced for the world to see, still sporting a typo, anger turns to pity. And I can have a laugh with (or at) these unfortunate businesses.

Spotted in Downtown LA yesterday on Los Angeles Street: 'Sweet Undy's.'

There are a couple of possibilities here...

1. Undy is a person. A person with a really, really awful name. She is sweet. And this is her store. That coincidentally does sell undies.

2. It's the undies inside which are sweet. And someone at 766 Los Angeles Street did not complete 4th grade.