Normally I don't like listening to the radio when I am working. It is, frankly, a distraction. But oh what sweet distractions were to be had on last night's edition of internet radio show GTFU (stands for Get The Fuck Up). The show featured Giant Drag singer Annie, (see the story on her in this week's Weekly), and ne'er was there a battier soul – Annie spent much of the show singing about farts and vaginas and then inadvertently causing host Aaron Farley to get in a full-blown on-air bitch fight with 'bondage pin-up fetish glamour model' and space cadet Dana Dearmond.

I tuned in just as Farley (pictured) and his co-host Jeremy Weiss were checking out Dana's website, because Annie had said how much she loves looking at Dana's butt. On the site you can indeed see Dana's butt and all kinds of other shaved fleshy pierced 'n tattooed delights. Aaron then made the mistake of saying that he'd been told Dana was a bit crazy. Bad move Aaron, bad move. Suddenly Dana's on the line, and she's super weird.

"Who is this?" she asks.

"It's Aaron."

"Oh. Who are you?"

"Er…I'm Aaron".

She then insists that she's not crazy. "I'm not crazy, I drink coffee," she deadpans. Aaron, an amiable kind of chap, tries to cajole Dana into playing along with the joke. "So even though you like posting pictures of your asshole on the internet, the fact that you drink coffee means you're not crazy?" he asks. This makes her even madder, which in turn makes her come across even more deranged. For a second I wonder if, like Hamlet, Dana is aware that she's a bit bonkers. After a few minutes listening to her, I think not. It doesn't really matter either way - this is the funniest radio I've heard since Jonesy had that guy from Saturday Night Live on.

After a while Dana gets all huffy and says she doesn't want to talk to Aaron anymore, so they put Annie on the line and the two girls start talking about pregnancy. "Babies are gross," says Annie. "They shit inside you." Dana then starts plugging her new porno movie which comes out in the New Year - "I get fucked in the ass and then I give this guy a BJ and he cums all over my face" - at which point Aaron and Jeremy wisely pull the plug and start talking about religion and Marxism instead.

But it's not over yet…half an hour later Dana shows up at the studio, acting weirder than ever. She insists that she knows Aaron ("I've never met you I my life," he swears) and gives him more shit about calling her crazy. (What was it they said about the lady protesting too much?) Anyway, by this point the poor radio host has had enough. "You know what – FUCK HER," Aaron tells his audience, receiving a round of applause. From me at least.

The whole exchange gets me thinking – Dana Dearmond doesn't conform to the porn star stereotype - she's brunette, her boobs are real and she's Silverlake hot…but she has more in common with her bleached-blond silicone buddies in the Valley than she may realize. The vacuousness, the tenuous grasp on reality, and the stone cold detachment so often found among strippers and porn stars. Some, like Dana, are more detached from the universe than most…and what a treat to be able to experience it in its full demented glory, live and uncensored, thanks to the (relatively) unregulated beauty of internet radio.

And guess what – GTFU is due to have their buddies from Dirty Pretty Things (ex-The Libertines) on the show next Monday. Hooray! They're good at getting high profile guests without even trying – not so long ago Franz Ferdinand dropped by. "We didn't have a clue who they were," said Jeremy. "We just thought they had funny accents."

Posted by Caroline Ryder

Black Friday is my idea of hell. I would rather pay more money to have less people in my way while I shop. Who are all these people who get up at 3 am to buy dusty DVDs and discount bedding? I fear them, I don't even want to share the roads with them. Black Friday is a dangerous day so I did what any self-preservationist would- I avoided leaving my house ALL weekend.  I pulled a Garbo. I had enough leftovers to last me for days, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, gravy, greens, pies, and wine, lot's of wine. All thanks to my fabulous guests (fellow council members and friends) who came and contributed to my first ever non-family thanksgiving dinner and witnessed my first turkey. I am truly thankful for them, they so generously enabled this sublime shut-in. A full evening that ended in singing Bon Jovi till 2 am was a nice send-off into reclusivity.

I admit, at times, it felt a little like Last Days as I played guitar (I learned Beck's Lost Cause) and slipped through my house in wool socks and a bathrobe, eating cold turkey carcass, but with the roommates gone for the holiday, there was also a bit of celebrating having the whole place to myself, picture a Risky Business floor-slide-to-couch dance in my socks but replace Ol' Time Rock n' Roll with an Arcade Fire song. Passing out naked in the mid-afternoon heat on a chaise lounge can simply be described as glorious. One night I actually slept outside on a couch in my lanai with my dog, under a crisp sky and warm blankets. You can't do that in New York in November!  I missed my family but I was pretty happy.  And you know, although I also missed joining in the mayhem of a post-holiday Los Angeles weekend, I imagined Boo Radley singing to himself, or JD Salinger plucking his guitar, and maybe even Howard Hughes kicking up his socks and for a moment completely understood the beauty of self-imposed exiles... Of course if I start saving jars of my own piss, I do hope someone would come and save me.

Posted by Linda Immediato

Last night I attended a party at my friend Zoe's teeny-tiny adorable Silver Lake cottage on a hill, which comfortably holds a maximum of maybe fifteen people, if all the rooms are utilized.  (Note: this word will be discussed at greater length; read on...) By midnight it was so crowded one had to snake one's way through the guests, sort of like modern improv Twister. At one point I found myself thrust into the middle of a conversation between four or five people, including Damian, the fine, fancy lad in this picture (who was there with his equally irresistible girlfriend, so settle down everyone).Damian was a bit of a cunning linguist (sorry, I just had to), and he was talking about the annoying redundancy of certain words. He was particularly stuck on the utter uselessness of the word utilize, which he insisted was merely a more officious (his word, though I kept hearing efficious, which is not a word at all) way to say "use." "There is no time when the word use will not suffice," he insisted. I disagreed, asserting that there is a subtle difference between the two. "Trust me, I've researched this one," he said. Dictionary freak that I am, I climbed over a few people to try to locate one on the shelves, but I didn't think an Italian phrase book would help me prove my point. So that topic pretty much fell flat, and I was left to admire Damian's charmingly mismatched sartorial joie de vivre (last night's outfit was a cacophony of plaids and stripes in shades of blue and green), cursing the fact that I'd forgotten my camera. But then I heard him say (since he was still standing about a foot away from me), "Yeah, we're called OK Go."         Bingo! So he's google-able (second only to the dictionary in its, um, utilizability). I'd just heard the Chicago band's song, "A Million Ways," on Jonesy's Jukebox, and its Elvis Costello-fronts-Gang of Four groove is pretty infectious. And the one-camera video is even better; whoever choreographed this cheesy backyard disco line dance has a long career ahead of them. Kudos to the boys for (almost) keeping a straight face the whole time.

    Damian, this is for you, straight outta the good book:

Usage Note: A number of critics have remarked that utilize is an unnecessary substitute for use. It is true that many occurrences of utilize could be replaced by use with no loss to anything but pretentiousness, for example, in sentences such as They utilized questionable methods in their analysis or We hope that many commuters will continue to utilize mass transit after the bridge has reopened. But utilize can mean "to find a profitable or practical use for." Thus the sentence The teachers were unable to use the new computers might mean only that the teachers were unable to operate the computers, whereas The teachers were unable to utilize the new computers suggests that the teachers could not find ways to employ the computers in instruction.

posted by Steffie Nelson

Hope everyone's having a great holiday weekend. I wasn't able to make my fellow style council-or's T-day gathering, but family obligations for an LA gal like myself mean I usually miss all the cool orphan Holiday parties I'm invited to.Anyway, I'm proud to say I've practically ignored my computer (which I'm usually chained to) for two whole days! But I'm back, and like Style Councilor Caroline (see  post below), I've been letting out my inner shutterbug lately. Check it out.

11/20 

Frantic dancing punk chick (obviously working an Adam Ant look) at my pal Jean's suprise party for her bud named Atom (pronounced Adam... coincidence, I think not) at Swingshouse Studios.

Ginger Goldmine finds the treasure and shares it with the whole dang Swinghouse party during an awesome midnight burlesque performance!

11/22

Minx jewelry designer Carole Shepherd celebrated her company's two year anniversary last Thursday with a bash at the Montemarte (aka the Day After) featuring Obey Giant's Shepard Fairey on the decks, fashion from the super-cool Rock-n-Role clothing line, and a silent auction with proceeds going to charities including the Art of Elysium.

Here's Carole with Pink Cookies models, who were serving and selling her designs on a platter like they were little snacks (wish they were, we were hungry). Yes, the girls are wearing their P.C. air-brushed bootie shorts out in public, and yes the boys there liked it very much.

Rock-n-role designer Ali Maclean and pal (both in her designs). Rock-n-role is having a huge sample sale for the holidays, check her website for more info.

Up for auction: Vans shoes designed by the dudes from Dogtown. Knarly... or is that gnarly?

Up for auction: Art by Efren Ramirez (aka Pedro from Napoleon Dynamite) plus a character doll, button and hat. Vote for Pedro!

Up for auction: This groovy art by... I cant remember. But it's fun trying to name the characters. Can you guess 'em all?

Swag alert:

This bash was not only for a good cause, it had good freebies too, with giveaway bags boasting Minx jewelry, Smashbox lip gloss, a t-shirt from a new website called 80s Purple (check this one out, they've got really cool shit, great for xmas gifts) and super-cute Asian-art buttons from Tokidoki.

11/26

They don't call it Harry POT-ter for nothing... at least that what's my friends told me about the latest installment of the whimsical wizard tale. Indeed, the colorful flick is best viewed in an enchanted, aka enhanced state, though a bunch of stoned grown-ups probably isn't the fanbase author JK Rowling had in mind when she first penned the popular book series.

Before checking out Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire at the Vista, I opted for a couple of margaritas at nearby El Chavo restaurant instead, which more than heightened my viewing experience.

Is it just me or does the new Potter movie conjure a distinctly rock n' roll vibe? Forget about the appearence of Pulp's Jarvis Cocker and Radiohead's Jonny Greenwood as the house band in the school dance (which by the way, has got 'em some legal heat). It's Harry himself that's like a rockstar. The spectacled kid looks more and more like John Lennon, okay more like his son Sean, and the Weasely brothers? C'mon they're straight outta the band Jet, what with their tattered clothes and long-ish hippie hair. And don't even get me started on Professor Snape, who resembles every aging goth dude who haunts LA after dark.

All in all, inebriated or no, this was a fun film though. Wasn't too happy about the line outside (duh, seeing a flick on the day after Thanksgiving aka Black Friday, is like the most popular thing to do after shopping... turned out to be a lot safer too) but at least it gave me the chance to finally have a chat with this guy.

You've seen him, and (I hope) you've honked for him too! I mean, he's been standing at the same corner of Hillhurst for over 3 years, "every Friday between 5 and 7, since Labor Day 2002" he tells me, with this sign, jumping up and down and encouraging drivers to honk in the name of peace and love.

His name is Stephen K. Sharp and according to his business card, he does astrology, tarot and runs a publication called Heresy magazine. 

With the holidays upon us, we need to recognize people like Mr. Sharp, people who embody the kind-hearted spirit we should all aspire to. Next Friday evening take a little spin by the Vista and give this guy a big ol' honk, and maybe even a hug. He deserves it, doncha think?

Posted by Lina Lecaro

Tom Vek, aka The British Beck, had a strange and powerful effect on the indier-than-thou womenfolk at the Troubadour on Wednesday night. First their cheeks began to flush. Then their eyes glazed over. It seemed like the girls with the heavy bangs were being hypnotized by Vek, a pretty 24-year-old thing from London. Initially I don't get his Manson-like powers (all I can think is MmmBop! when I look at him) but a few minutes into the show I start to feel the shamanic power of his minimalist, ecstatic electro-geek-rawk.

It really hits me during a New Wave-inspired number in which he chants the words "Music, Television, Music, Television," over and over for four minutes. Somehow he manages to make it sound good. Really good. Methinks there be some powerful magick at work here...

So get this - not only is Vek a mystic, he's a multi-tasking mystic, drumming, playing guitar and singing all the songs on his debut album We Have Sound, recorded in his Dad's garage in south London. Following some heavy hype back home, he recruited four musicians to accompany him on a tour of the States, but the drummer quit shortly before the LA show, forcing Vek back behind the snare.The drummer (and friend) had apparently threatened to quit several times during the tour, and Vek finally called his bluff just before Seattle show on November 18. A statement issued by his press people said Tom was "disappointed that there wasn't more of a chance to prepare this new performance style" and that he was keeping his chin up "in the face of difficulty". I thought he did very well, although it was a shame  we didn't get to see the nifty Talking Heads-style dance moves audiences enjoyed during previous shows, back when he didn't have to play drums. AND play guitar. AND sing.

At the end of the show, my friend declared her undying love for Vek and suggested we stalk him to the Beauty Bar in Hollywood. Apparently he was due to be playing a DJ set there later that night. So we head east to Rose Apodaca's infamous hairsalon-turned-bar and camp out in front of the DJ booth, eagerly awaiting Vek's arrival.

An hour later, and no sign of Vek. To alleviate the boredom (and take my mind off the really bad hip hop), I pretend to be a female Mark the Cobra Snake, and start snapping random photos of the groovy Hollywood kids. My first victims are these two young libertines. I ask them to touch tongues with each other and Mr Right says yes but sadly Mr Left can't stomach it...

I channel the cobra and happen upon these these fine lookin' lassies who are more than happy to stick out their tongues for me. Ms. Right's exceptionally broad and well-proportioned licker deserves its own My Space page, wouldn't you say?   

Suddenly, I become aware of some powerful medicine entering the room...is it Tom Vek, finally??? No, it's an infinitely more powerful magician - meet Jyota Om, energy healer for punk rock bands. A real-life shaman, in the Beauty Bar no less! That's me pouting next to him.

Jyota Om is his real name - his parents are hippies who converted to Hinduism. The New Yorker was that night assigned to watch over garage rock band The Willowz, working as their spiritual consultant and keeping up the happy vibes on the tour bus. The Willowz, who got their big break when one of their tracks was featured on the Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind soundtrack, had opened for Vek that night. In fact, the whole party at the Beauty Bar was for The Willowz. It was nearly 2am and Vek was clearly a no-show but at this point I didn't care. Who needs Tom Vek when you're talking to a real-life rock 'n roll shaman, all thanks to my new vocation as a nightlife paparazzo!

But then I spot this blue-eyed little fella making stabbing motions at me - it's the mighty Cobra Snake himself. And he ain't happy.

Cobra Snake is a young but powerful wizard capable of conjuring great things from apparently very little. He was watching me from a corner by the DJ booth, wearing a yellow t-shirt bearing an eerie drawing of a Thanksgiving turkey with a Mark the Cobra Snake head (you can order the limited edition tees for $30 a pop on his website). And he is clearly wondering who this Style Council chick thinks she is, trying to move in on his territory. I lay down the camera and high tail it outta there before he can continue with his incantations. Cobra Snake is one kind of shaman I don't wanna be messin' with...

Posted by Caroline Ryder

--------

I never understood the appeal of big, beefy Fabio type guys. Getting frisky with a muscle-y man seems about as appealing as rubbing on a rock, and me and my girls are pretty much all in agreement in our preference of the lankier male frame. Check out the KISS flick Detroit Rock City (in which Edward Furlong rocks out with his uh, shirt off in a strip club) or our pal Stephen Hauptheur's 'Skinny Boy Burlesque" night at his Wednesday club Radio at Star Shoes, and you'll get the idea.

Needless to say, when my friend Stacy organized a girls night out gathering to celebrate her "liberation" (she just quit a job)  at the Hollywood Men show at Arena nightclub this past Saturday, I wasn't exactly aroused about the idea. I'd seen the male strip show Thunder from Down Under and the result was more like "laughter from the rafters." But I figured, what the heck, could be good for some more giggles.  I was in for a surprise though…

Hollywood Men does indeed feature some big n' bulky boys but it also has an impressive mix of multi-racial fellows of various builds and looks. There was definitely something for everyone; the ladies in the house's deafening screams made that clear. These two were hottest in our humble opinions:

"If you've got a husband or boyfriend at home….. fuck 'em!" proclaims host Scott Layne,  the fit, 44-year-old dancer and promoter of the long-running show. The screams get louder!Looking around, I see that each table (except mine) has a bride to be… White veils abound, some even have little penises dangling from them. One, who is led up on stage for a "private" lap dance is wearing a beauty queen sash that says "sexy little thing." "Are you ready see the same 'little thing' for the rest of your life?" shouts Layne, as the music -and the screams-  get louder.

The show that proceeds offers a slew of choreographed dance performances showcasing every male fantasy figure imaginable. The rough ridin' cowboy, the dashing muskateer, the wild 50s greaser dude, a Dracula-type masked man, a fireman, a Top Gun flyer, and our two favorites "the officer (who is definitely not a gentlemen) and the obligatory cop ("you've violated penal 6969 and you will need to be frisked")…. It was sexy, but all pretty tame, i.e, no actual jewels were unveiled.

Then it was time for the guys to come into the crowd, and seriously, I was scared for them. A room full of drunk and horny ladies screaming their lungs out…not pretty. But these dudes are pros. Heck, they even seem to like what they're doing and shockingly, none of 'em seem gay to me, unlike the Thunder guys who actually have to advertise that they're "100% straight" (me thinks they doth protest too much).  These ladies were all from my table…Dollar bills were waving, sweat was dripping, and temperatures were definitely rising. It was pure, lusty chaos. 

By the way, no lap-dances for moi…  Hubby's not the jealous type, I'm just not the nasty in public type. It was fun to watch though,  even if I did battle a brief bout of prudeness at one point (I mean isn't this kind of sexual objectification of men just as bad as that put on women?).

Then I remembered the two girls I know who do strip. They seriously love the attention and in a bizarre way,  it makes them feel powerful. Maybe it's insecurity, or sex addiction or just plain exhibitionism, but either way, people give up hard-earned cash to be entertained by them- and they make damn good money too.The Hollywood Men (who leave the stage with bills bulging from their speedos on our night) turn the tables on the whole concept in a fun, and theatrical way , and that's why they're still going strong after more than a decade.  It's a good deal too because the admission price includes entrance to either of the two dance clubs that follow on the premises: the electro-o-rama  at Circus called Spundae and the Latin gay night called Club Papi in Arena.  Guess which one my group chose to cha cha with more shirtless hombres at til 4 a.m.?

Posted by Lina Lecaro

--------

This is an example of a WordPress page, you could edit this to put information about yourself or your site so readers know where you are coming from. You can create as many pages like this one or sub-pages as you like and manage all of your content inside of WordPress.

--------

I am a comics illiterate, and maybe even a comics Philistine. In my entire life I have never purchased a single comic book. When I was a kid and still reading newspapers that had funny pages, I liked Nancy and Blondie and Archie - which is probably as cool as saying your favorite musician is Ashlee Simpson. During college I would chuckle over my friends' copies of Peter Bagge's HATE, and I truly believe that Matt Groening has made the modern world a better place, but for the most part I just don't get it. The realm of comics seems like an exclusive boy genius club that communicates in codes and dialects I can't be bothered to learn.     However, "party" is a language I speak, so I happily attended Friday and Saturday night's opening soirees for the massive Masters of American Comics exhibition at the Hammer Museum and the LA MOCA, bringing along Andrew, a certified comics geek, to do the translating for me. I think it's safe to say I've been schooled - which doesn't mean I suddenly relate to American Splendor or that I'll be funneling my lunch money into the latest graphic novel - but the 20th Century spanning survey was almost like a window into the American unconscious. I came away thinking about childhood fantasies, our changing ideals of masculinity and femininity, and the ways we confront life's challenges, both the grand public ones and the secret, personal ones.     At both events the celebrity quotient was just about nil (blame that dorky image thing), but the bigwigs of the funny business were definitely in the house. Despite my ignorance I managed to snap this picture of Gary Panter, Chris Ware, Sunday Press publisher Peter Maresca, Art Spiegelman, and Matt Groening at MOCA. The thing about all these guys is, they seem like people you want to know. Gary Panter, in orange, joked that he'd shook so many hands the night before, he had a blister on his finger. "I felt like Eisenhower," he said.    My friend Andrew, pictured here with the show's curator John Carlin, was definitely a little star struck. "I met Matt Groening, I can leave at any time," he said with a loopy grin. Groening, a longtime LA Weekly contributor, jokingly complained that in all his years of working for the Weekly he's never once been invited to the office - and he lives in LA! I think this would be a fine time to have him up for tea - or roast beef sandwiches, which perplexingly were the sole item served at the MOCA fete.Andrew asked John about the somewhat controversial exclusion of  Daniel Clowes of Ghost World fame, and John said that was one of his biggest regrets of the whole show. "We only had fifteen artists, though," he pointed out, explaining that he'd cut the list down from forty. Carlin said his next exhibit will be a retrospective of the work of Art Spiegelman, who was awarded a Pulitzer in 1992 for the Holocaust tale Maus. Standing before the haunting, beautiful drawings, I did experience a moment where I was pulled into the imagery and the decades of pain that had found catharsis on the page. For a second or two there, I think I was fluent in Geek.     posted by Steffie Nelson

--------

Cor blimey guvner! T'was a merry night of Dickensian delights on Thursday when kooky Brit-rockers Art Brut played their very first LA show. You could practically taste the bangers and mash, so elevated were the Limey-ness levels in Spaceland that evening. Even supporting band Every Move A Picture, despite being from San Francisco, looked and sounded like a 21st century Blur. As an experiment, I decided to count the number of British accents in the room and was immediately drawn towards this young Oliver Twist lookalike...

I was right! Turns out his name is Jasper Future and he's from Queen's Park, London. And look, here's his Artful Dodger friend, who goes by the name Eddie Argos!

And together they're...Art Brut!

Once on stage, Eddie made himself right at home, hanging his hat on his mike stand and kicking off his boots - literally (nice socks Eddie!). The lads, who are supporting Oasis for a couple of shows on their European tour, told me they were really excited to be here. And so they should be - their most popular song is called 'Moving to LA', after all. A two-minute work of genius that I heard for the first time this summer (thanks to Brandon Fuller from Indie 103.1FM show Passport Approved), the track beautifully explains why LA is so goddamn Limey-infested... Hang around with Axl Rose / Buy myself some brand new clothes / Everything is gonna be just fine / I hear the murder rate is in decline /When I get off the plane /The first thing I'm gonna do is /Strip naked to the waist /And ride my Harley Davidson /Up and down Sunset street /I may even get a tattoo / I'm drinking Henessey /With Morrissey /On a beach /Out of reach /Somewhere very far away... The boys told me they were staying at the Hyatt West Hollywood - "'cause that's where Led Zep drove their motorbikes up and down, right?". Their greatest ambition is to appear on Top of the Pops and charismatic Eddie, who likes to refer to the band in the third person ("are you ready Art Brut?") led the crowd in a delightful "Art Brut - TOP OF THE POPS!" chant for several minutes, occasionally throwing in names of people he likes, as in "Axl Rose - TOP OF THE POPS!" and "Morrissey - TOP OF THE POPS!".

The band already has a huge following in Germany (maybe something to do with bass player Frederica Feedback being German?) and have appeared on the cover of Rolling Stone there. Former Libertine and Baby Shambles frontman Pete Doherty is also a fan, but lead singer Eddie, who spent much of the set dangling off the front of the stage and taking questions from the audience, warned the fans to "stay AWAY from the crack, unlike Pete Doherty, stay AWAY from the crack".

All this shortly before Jasper tripped up and fell on top of the drum kit.

Makes you proud to be British...

Posted by Caroline Ryder, Certified Brit.

PS: Art Brut plays a second show at The Echo tonight (Friday) and will be performing on Passport Approved, Indie 103.1 FM tomorrow morning at 11AM.

--------

Okay, I gotta fess up. Before I got hitched, I dated my fair share of band dudes. The talley includes one singer, two guitar players, and oh yeah a drummer, who now just happens to be my spouse. No he doesn't pound the skins anymore, but he is still a rockstar, both in my heart and in his chosen profession: a chef. I know, lucky me huh?

While I don't think I was ever a "groupie" or (sadly)  a "muse," back in those days, I will admit to carrying the occasional amp into soundcheck, and handing out a flyer here and there, and ok, selling merch a couple of times too. This was way before I became a serious music journalist so there was no danger of tarnishing my rep by supporting a boyfriend's band that sucked (and there were a couple). Thank god that's not an issue anymore because looking back, I know love is not only blind, but deaf when it comes to hot musician types.

Anyway, my rock n' roll past isn't nearly as juicy as that of a few of my pals, but suffice to say, me and many of my LA-bred girlfriends have each left a few famous (well mine were almost-famous) brooding punkers and long-haired glamsters in our wake. Sorry, I aint naming names though.

Pamela Des Barres did names names and they were HUGE. She's from a different generation, sure, but I think we could all relate to the awe and lust she conveyed for her rock god lovers in her literary confection of a book, "I'm With The Band." I mean, this woman had relationships with (and yes, the respect of) everyone from Jimmy Page to Mick Jagger. And you know, she wasn't just about the guy all the time. She was creative and musical and poetic all by herself. Still is.

Des Barres inspired my pal Leslie Gardner, designer of the Smashing Grandpa t-shirt line from the very beginning, so it was like fate when a mutual friend brought them together for a new line inspired by prose and themes from the book- which was just re-released with additional text last month.

The two had a party at the Chateau Marmont last night to celebrate the collaboration and, lets just put it this way, if I was a groupie, my head would have been even more in the clouds than it already was (the party was in Marmont's  penthouse). My pubescent crush, John Taylor from Duran Duran was there, looking all tall and sophisticated. Shit, he looks better now than he ever did when he starred in sexy videos like "Rio" and "Girls On Film"... and in my schoolgirl fantasies. Didn't get a picture of him though… Guess I was just too damn shy.

But look who I did get a picture of? None other than the Style Council's #1 fan, Mr. Dave Navarro (thanks to council member Caroline). I've actually met Dave a million times before, like back in the Jane's Addiction/Club Scream days, but decided not to mention when we spoke 'cause you know, he was a junkie then and stuff. If I barely remember those days, he surely doesn't. A friend of mine (not at the party) actually dated him for a couple of years.  Again, didn't mention it. Lina Lecaro and Dave Navarro

I did, however  thank him for his support of the blog and tell him -with my hubby right behind me- that I didn't think the "Style Council naked" thing was gonna happen (although I can't speak for everyone, so keep checking the other gal's posts). He was super cool and even put on this spiffy jacket for the pictures, because "if I'm gonna take a photo for the Style Council, I should look stylish." And indeed he does. The hat is a sharp touch but I think his best accessory was his so hot-you-want-to-hate-her-but-you-can't-cuz-she's-totally-sweet wife Carmen Electra, who posed for a pic with our girl Ginger Goldmine.

Imagine a  party with all your closest friends and some of your favorite rockers mixed in, and you'll get the idea of what  a fabuloso bash this was.  Here's a few more hot shots featuring a bit of both.

Our hot pal Heidi Richman (of Heidi's Night of Beauty- who supplied Urban Decay lip gloss for the goodie bag) with our fave Indie 103.1 radio host (along with Dave, of course) Steve Jones of Jonesy's Jukebox. He's making a face because my camera didn't work at first and, cranky but cute Brit he is, he tired of holding his smile.

Our favorite K-ROQ radio host Rodney Bingenheimer with  actress/singer India Dupre.

Our favorite rock club DJ Joseph Brooks (Bang!) and the glamorous Kim Goddess.

Read the full party report in my Nightranger column next week, and read all about Bang!'s temporary new home, Urb mag's new tsar and a couple of females who aren't just "with" the band but leading it (The Sounds and Dirty Harry) in this week's column. 

Posted By Lina Lecaro

--------