Right now, this very exact second, I am listening to the Eagles of Death Metal playing "I Only Want You" as they perform live on top of the Arclight building in Hollywood.

How is this possible? Is it because I have a super dupa Blackberry or Sidekick allowing me to blog remotely?

No.

Is it because the LA Weekly joined forces with the Arclight and set up Style Council blogging stations at strategic points around Hollywood?

No.

It's because the Eagles of Death Metal are quite clearly one of the loudest bands on earth. I can hear every beat of Sam Maloney's drum, every Little Richard-esque squeak from lead singer Jesse "Devil" Hughes - even though I am sitting in my garage...in Los Feliz.

Did sound always travel this far in Los Angeles? Maybe EODM aren't the loudest band in the world - maybe it's just that Angeleno ears are abnormally senstive to even the faintest trace of rock n roll. Like sharks and blood, maybe?

Who knows - either way, I got one step closer to the action when I spoke to The Gray Kid (real name Steve) on his cell. I had called him about something else, and he happened to be there, soaking up the party atmospshere. "There's models and bands and egg rolls," he told me. "I don't mind getting my Gucci dirty for this. Let's rap tomorrow, OK?"

And with that he hung up, leaving me sitting alone in my Los Feliz garage, wishing I was some place else. Love that kid.

Walking into the shopping mall with the big pink cherry blossom on the corner of Alameda and 3rd at 8pm on Saturday night, it didn't seem possible that somewhere past the fake stone columns, broken escalators, and closed sushi restaurants the L.A. Derby Dolls were whipping around a track, knocking each other to the ground in the name of fun and sport. But the dayglo signs reading "Derby," with helpful arrows, assured me and my friend Alexis that we were in the right place. Once we got to the top, the tuff tattooed boys and Betties on wheels announced that while we might be in Tokyo Town, we were on the Dolls' turf now.

Saturday's bout was a showdown between the Fight Crew and the Tough Cookies, whose logo is a girl scout emblem crossed with switchblades. Short skirts that fly up to reveal lacy panties and bruised butt cheeks are part of the appeal, and from our trackside vantage point in the press area, I saw it all. Panties aside, I also began to finally understand how the game works: points are scored by the jammer, who must lap all the members of the other team, and then gets a point for each one she passes the second time. Talk about the fast and the furious! Falling flat on your ass and tumbling down the track is par for the course; at one point Markie D. Sod, glammed out with stacked cleavage and blue eyeshadow, barreled straight into the railing, pulled herself around in a full somersault, landed on her back, and skated away without breaking a sweat. I think we were more scared than she was. Tough cookie indeed.

Yeah, the cute girls are irresistible, but it took a shemale to bring me and Alexis to our knees. Karis, that skinny hipped hula hooping enchantress, was the half-time entertainment, and we howled like wolves as s/he stripped down to a sparkly g-string (he is, in fact, still a he). Frankly, I was more floored by his post-performance outfit: tight boy scout shirt, high-waisted plaid pants, and high-heeled boots. The lust I felt was a little confusing, I have to admit, but I liked it.

By the end of the night, Alexis was ready to sign up for roller derby, and not just so she could impress Karis. I fully backed the idea, "but you need a derby name," I pointed out. She paused, blinked her eyelashes, and responded, "Alexa Cution." And there you have it. Look for this tough cookie on the track real soon.

photo by Wendell Llopis

Corey Haim and Corey Feldman.  A & E has apparently picked up 8 episodes of The Coreys: Return of the Lost Boys, the former teen stars will fill you in on where they've been. How they went from that(above) to this (right)....
I guess not that much has changed, not even their hair... Except A & E, does anyone remember when that network had intelligent programming, sure you'd avoid the Bob Villa crap on the weekends, but usually there was something well-produced and smart, before the days of Dog the Bounty Hunter, and Gene Simmons.

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Cause not all pedophiles like girls...Wait a cotton brief minute!!!  Do you think that's Dov Charney's crotch?

Baby's first words: "You're fired."

I've seen dogs in Chanel. I've seen cats with diamond collars, but I never thought I'd see this— Baby Toupee. The first ever wig company for infants. I am not shitting you. Styles include, the Donald, The Bob (as in Marley), The Lil Kim and The Samuel L. Jackson.

Press release: "Having a baby doesn't mean you have to stop having fun or do everything by the book," said Graham Farrar, Proud Parent, Founder & Big Wig, BabyToupee. "At BabyToupee, we don't take ourselves or our products too seriously. In fact, BabyToupees are just the first of many fun products designed to give that special baby a little extra personality and to ensure that parents retain theirs…along with a sense of humor."

I guess they just want to take the edge off being a parent. Some people are calling it "cruel" or "sick." I don't think so, but laugh now, when little Gina is later arrested for smoking dope, does jail time, or shows up to Christmas dinner wearing naught but a pastie, that wig might come back to haunt you...

Maybe it's my "nesting instinct" kicking in or maybe I've just been watching too many home-improvement themed TV shows (I'm somewhat of a packrat but the piggish horders on programs like "Clean House" and "Neat" make me feel downright organized and minimalist by comparison)… Whatever the reason, I've had the urge to purge lately.

So my pal Michelle and I had a huge yard sale on Sunday at her place on Vermont Ave. in Los Feliz. For days before, I mercilessly scoured thru my stuff, much of it dusty and even unfamiliar, as it had been in storage long enough for me to forget about it. Like a visit with old friends, I was happy to see a lot of it: past Halloween costumes that might make a comeback, journals from my wild twentysomething years ( a book someday?) and stuff I'd like to pass on to my daughter (my doll collection featuring Cher, Charlie's Angels and the very glam "Superstar Barbie" complete with boa and diamond jewelry).

Still most of the stuff I unearthed just looked like trash to me and I wondered why I had held unto it for so long. I wanted the shit out of my life now.

I collect stuff with lips (it's a Warhol/Rolling Stones thing) and lions (I'm a Leo) mostly, but I've also got a hefty load of 70s swag (clothes and décor) and uh, purple stuff. Yeah I said purple stuff… as in anything purple: plastic boxes and doodads, fluffy faux fur and fabric, basically useless junk that I always thought I'd have use for some day, like when I got that big house with a "craft room."

Alas, I'm all about the here and now these days and my current place is too small, especially with a new addition on the way. I needed to make more room in my outdoor storage bins so it was time to ask myself some serious questions about the crap I had accumulated. Out went half of my lion collection (including lots o' Disney's Lion King items… that film was huge for me when it came out), any Rolling Stones things that I had two of (there was a lot) and clothes that I haven't worn in 2 years (the one year/6 month rule really isn't applicable to us pregnant gals).

You'd think it'd be painful to part with stuff I've been holding onto for so long, but with a few exceptions, it wasn't. As waves of Latino families, trendy teenyboppers and old ladies plowed thru my colorful items and took them away throughout the day, I felt lighter and lighter. Clothes that I had long ago rejected, gotten sick of or regretted ever purchasing were now going to gals who totally appreciated each piece and that felt good (even if they paid $2 and I paid $20 and sometimes $50-80). Toddlers carried away my fuzzy, well-cared for stuffed animals and toys, old men walked away with piles of books I planned to read but never did (many of which I got from the Weekly gratis) and at the end of the day one lucky fella got a giant box of CDs (some of them actually good) for $5... okay they were Amoeba rejects, but still.

There were a few overzealous bargainers who just got on my nerves, and my friend Michelle's. She had a load of pricey jeans (Frankie B, Seven, etc) that she was practically giving away at $5 each, and some people actually had the nerve to say "One dollar???" She promptly snagged them out of their arms and said forget it, opting to try her luck at a resale store like Buffalo Exchange instead. The same thing happened between me and and old bat over a mint condition purse from the 1960s, I wanted $8; she wanted to pay a buck. It came back home with me and I'm sure I will get at least $20 for it on Ebay.

My toughest sale of the day will probably sound like the strangest- that of my once beloved Ronald McDonald cloth doll.

I carried that damn thing everywhere as a kid and I loved it. I'll never forget the day I got it either. I was to meet the "real" Ronald McDonald at a Glendale Micky D's after begging my mom to take me, but when I got there and actually saw him in all his garish, red and yellow glory, I was terrified. I started crying and hiding but the persistent clown was determined to make me like him. Despite a long line of kiddies who wanted to meet him, he focused on me, talking slowly and patiently as my tiny, teary face peered thru my mother's knees (in retrospect, I think the dude had a crush on her- my mom was/is hot). Anyway, I really liked him after that and cherished the doll he gave me in his likeness. I later got the Hamburglar Doll too and though he was supposed to be a bad guy, I liked him just as much.

Both were dingy and tattered when I found them at the bottom of an old box recently, filled with years of tears and joyful moments, though their later years were spent in unlit garage exile as I went on to prettier baby dolls and plusher, cuter stuffed animals. I thought about keeping 'em but Hamburglar's head was water-damaged and Ronnie was downright brownish and a bit stale smelling. Still, I knew he'd sell, and sure enough some foreigner, French I think, wanted him.

A brutal bargaining bout ensued. I asked for $10, he offered $5. I offered to give him the Hamburglar too (really, I didn't want to separate them) if he'd just gimme the 10 spot, but the guy wasn't having Hammy's shredded head. "Six dollars," the Frenchman said, adding that Ron Don wasn't in the best condition himself. "Eight," I countered, telling him about my past with the thing. We had a deal.

By day's end, I made about 200 bucks and was able to pack all the unwanted stuff into three boxes. Though none of it came back home with me, I have to admit my place is still pretty crowded. I could definitely use another purge session, though sitting in the sun all day aint gonna happen anytime soon. I'll probably just go straight to Out of the Closet, where the remaining stuff from our yard sale is now available. By the way, if you happen to be thrift shopping and see Hamburglar, give him a kiss for me will ya?

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I had the distinct pleasure of hanging out with half of Ima Robot a few weeks ago, Timmy Anderson and Alex Ebert. Ok, maybe "hanging out" is a bit misleading. I could slightly mislead you further and say that it ended by the pool with Alex Ebert in a bathrobe, to find out more check out the link below:

http://www.laweekly.com/la-vida/la-vida/the-myth-of-the-mc-hammer-pants/14497/

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On Sunday night or was it Monday? I had the opportunity to accompany my boyfriend to the Ray La Montagne show at the Troubadour. "Who?" I asked him. "Dunno, but it's sold out and supposed to be amazing, and I got free tickets" he replied. And free tickets are free tickets, so I agreed to go, sight unseen, or whatever that expression translates to when referring to hearing. Song unheard? Whatever. My first indication that people really dug this guy was the chick who approached me as I was walking up to the venue to ask me if I had an extra ticket offering me double the face value. Turns out folks were willing to pay upwards of 100 bucks for a 25 dollar ticket. Crazy. That really piqued my interest and also made me feel pretty lucky for the freebie. Who was this guy to command such a mark-up?
Welp. I found out in the first two minutes. He reminded me of a 70s era Cat Stevens a bit, intensely lyrical. Or an introverted James Taylor. The songs were all like lullaby tales of love and longing, you know, exactly what you'd expect when you see a singer songwriter with an acoustic guitar. In between songs you could hear a pin drop. The audience hung on every word, had there been any words, in-between song banter is not La Montagne's thing. But he was so revered by the crowd, he could give Jesus a run for his crucifix. People shushed even someone's involuntary cough.

The place was wall to wall couples, all vertically spooning, and nuzzling, and kissing. My boyfriend kept a hand on me, but when he attempted a reach around embrace, it made us both laugh, given the sappy love we were already drowning in, so we headed upstairs for a scotch and vodka.

It was there I saw Morpheus. Sitting above the crowd in the reserved side mezzanine was a tall Laurence Fishbourne. I only briefly made eye contact, my passing had apparently disturbed his rapture.

My boyfriend and I nabbed a comfy couch in the VIP room and listened to the music, heads drooping with fatigue. Until two LOUD and very drunk lesbians (I know they were lesbians cause they kept talking really loud about how they were REAL lesbians as they made out on the couch next to us) squealed, not kidding squealed so loud my heart jumped. "OH MY GOD YOU'RE MORPHEUS! I LOVE THE MATRIX!" We turned to catch the less fat one accosting the actor who had come up to use the restroom. He seemed more embarrassed for being the impetus for the gaping hole in the sanctity of the performance, than for any celebrity stalker moment. He quietly smiled and hurried back to his spot. But the ladies couldn't let it alone, they kept going on and on, yelling "CAN YOU BELIEVE? Morpheus!!" Then they grabbed their over sized handbags and went to chase the poor man. With them gone we nestle back into our seats, and went back to sleep. Not bad for a free Sunday. Or was it Monday?

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Me. 11:30 pm, in bed, my glasses are taped together on the left side with electrical tape, somewhere, as I click and clack on the laptop, the thought goes through my head, I don't have enough money for gas and the reserve light is on. some cheap ass mulit colored jalapeno shaped Christmas lights bought for 50 cents at a yard sale, surround my bed, providing some kind of ambient lighting. and I'm clutching my stuffed Charles Darwin doll, Chuck to me, like a cherished childhood toy. Like a good luck charm. I'm working on a script. How fucking lame is that? How cheesy? How LA? But I have to say two years ago I was sitting in a similar situation, same glasses, minus the tape. And I was working on a script in New York City. That one was re-optioned this year. That one, for a paltry sum, someone bought the rights to shop around and help set up with a studio, so that they can make more money than me on it later. That one has sat on a shelf in a few agent's offices, and if the people who bought the rights to it are to be believed, sat on a lot of shelves. Two years now. How much dust could collect, if left undisturbed, on a three-hole punched, brass brad-ed pile of words, I wonder. What, maybe a half inch? I can't imagine. But this script ,the one I'm working on now, well this script has been half done for over two years. Yet, despite the dire situation, my prior laziness, and even as I hear rent's winged chariot hurrying near, I'm kind of glad, that at the very least, I am working on pursuing some dream I have, and for the first time in a long ass while, I'm not just sitting around talking about it.

Oh, and I'm pretty sure my cell phone just got turned off.

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Summer Strummer

A funny thing happened on the way to Summer Strummer on Sunday night.... Lina Lecaro's baby shower was the baby shower of the year. And this proves it: My plus one got to the show before me and was denied entry, he complained saying he couldn't reach me since I was at a baby shower. "Oh, is she at Lina Lecaro's baby shower? I wanted to go to that!" exclaimed the chick at will call, who then let him right in... I arrived later to find that the festival was a bit of a non-event. At least by the time I got there, crowds had thinned to a mall show level low. And we hopped from one stage to another, but the Bergamot Station parking lot where it was held was so small, the Coachella like exodus after each set felt a little ridiculous. Highlights for me included checking out the chick ahead of me at will call, cute shoes, cute dress, cute hair, only to discover I had been giving the once over again and again to Susanna Hoffs, I probably came off like some Bangle-starved fan, it was very uncool, I also had the good fortune of catching (actually picking up off the floor) the guitar player from Bangkok Five's pick, which he had tossed at us. My friend Sarah and I saw it assailing through the crowd landing on the asphalt between us. Neither one of us really wanted it, but I picked it up to save the fellas feelings. Bangkok Five sort of rocked, the lead singer's posturing a la Mick Jagger and bug eyed expressions got us riled up a bit, but then it was on to see the Donnas. I spent the entire set trying to decide which Donna I'd go for, in the end my friend Steve and I decided on the guitarist. But there is a Belinda Carlyle charm to the lead singer that's so fetching. My friend Sarah was all for the drummer. But it was unanimous the bass player has to go. Not cause she's dowdy, but because she's sour, I'd be having a great time rocking out and I'd look over at the bass player and she'd just bring me down. She looked like she'd rather be somewhere else. In any case, I was battling an extreme bout of hair envy. My thought of thir wavy thick virgin hair were interrupted by my friend Sarah's observation— these girls could be selling out and selling their bodies through their music, oversexualizing themselves to get radio play, but they don't. They just came here to rock, like old school rock, you can't have their bodies, they won't even let you think it for a second, but they'll spoon feed you their music. I want their hair. The Donnas finished up just in time for us to catch the last Matthew Sweet and Susanna Hoffs duet. It was so soft and lulling but I was distracted by how fat Matthew Sweet has gotten. The quiet rambling was finally put to rest as we walked the final foot shuffling walk over to see rawk-ous Kinky take the stage. Within a few minutes we were hooked. We danced like possessed people in a trance to the rock, dance, latin beats. We loved the funky accordian, and the Freddie Mercury meets Cheech dude who came out and danced his skinny hippy ass off across the stage. I wanted mas y mas!!

(note) We hear Kinky is set to tour the Northwest with Gram Rabbit in early October, which is perfect, two desert bands, double the rock-electronic-funk. I'm sure that will be a good time. Look out for LA dates...