LA Weekly

Here's how the story goes. A boy moves to L.A. from Brooklyn. Let's call him Daniel. Daniel Stessen. Why not. And let's imagine he looks something like this:

 Daniel Stessen writes book of poems called More Lonely Than Alone, all about making out with midgets in Brooklyn (among other things).

Daniel Stessen forms an artists' collective called People Food (members include an actor who wears antlers at parties and an artist notorious for posting lurid matter on MySpace). 

Daniel Stessen meets the dazzling bespoke-suited rap-indie pioneer Gray Kid, and inducts him into the People Food collective.

Daniel Stessen and Gray Kid film a comedic music video called 'Paxilback' about the joys of anti-depressant dependency, and inspired by Justin Timberlake's pop hit 'SexyBack'.

Paxilback gets mentioned on Spin.com.

Paxilback gets on the home page of YouTube.

Paxilback is mentioned in Rollingstone.com.

The New York Times runs a story on Paxilback.

There's a backlash led by a stoner kid and O Town fan who thinks Paxilback is the gayest thing he's ever seen 

Paxilback is watched by an agent at United Talent Agency.

UTA signs PeopleFood. (UTA recently created an online unit devoted to scouting out up-and-coming creators of Internet content and finding work for them).

Now with serious backing, and talk of collaborations with some major names in showbiz, Peoplefood look set to take over the world/the internet/your life.

It's just another L.A. story...who knows what the next chapter holds...

Look at these photos from Daniel Stessen's recent birthday/Halloween party at a secret spot in Echo Park. Stessen, dressed as a bear with a Marge Simpson beehive, read from his collection of poems 'More Lonely Than Alone' in an on-stage performance alongside a topless and rather hunky Gray Kid. 

A fitting end to LA Fashion Week indeed.

Photos by Sam Gezari

Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Sam Lanni, the owner of Safari Sams in Hollywood, has decided to let musicians see shows in his club for free. Here's an excerpt from the SS website:

And so to the policy change i opened with. It is painfully obvious that musicians in Los Angeles need to get out and see more music and more importantly, more types of music. As much as I love indie music and punk music, do we really need more of those bands? So I want to start to transpollinate music by giving musicians free entry into the club during most nights. By November 15th we will be giving out The Safari Sams Band Pass, good for 6 months and good for the artist and a guest to come in as long as its not a sold out show. So you guitar players, drummers, vocalists, violinist and other musicians don't be afraid to hear other music and i will give it to you for free and please go see Slim Cessna's Auto Club and save your soul from the daily chores of our lives.
 

It's a smart move - the musicians I know rarely, if ever, have enough money to pay for anything except alcohol and cigarettes. So all you need to do is get them in the door, then direct them toward the bar, and voila - everyone is happy. Also, once word spreads that SS's is a haven for struggling lanky musicians with skinny jeans and sensitive eyes, the club is likely to attract more actual paying customers, especially aspiring groupies. Really, I love this plan - everyone wins.

Now all I need to do is learn an instrument - Sam, does the recorder count?

Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

The biggest party/clubbin' weekend of the year came and went, and for the first time in years, I stayed home. Yeah I would've made a great pregnant nun, as all my pals urged me to dress up and go out with them as, and for sure my belly woulda looked damn good painted as a pumpkin... but I wasn't feelin' it.
Watching horror movies and carving jack-o-lanterns is more my speed these days and that's exactly what I did. Tomorrow might I will welcome the neighborhood kids to my door and give them teeth-rotting treats sure to keep their parents up all night.
My modest decor ( a couple pumpkins, a skeleton cutout on the door) can't compete with the guy across the street who has a ghost hanging from a noose on a tree in his front yard and has been playing a spooky sounds tape since last week. Another fella just a few houses down has a graveyard on his front lawn. Sometimes some people get a bit too into it.
Though I didn't dress up this year, I did try to put a costume on my pit/boxer mix Marley. Unfortunately, she's very adept with her paws and always manages to take off the ears/wings/bowties etc. before I'm able to flash a photo! Instead, enjoy these cute shots a pal emailed me for the holiday.

Halloween hounds rule.

--------

Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Halloween is for amateurs.

If ya wanna party with the real freaks this week, don't wait for Saturday or even Tuesday…. go down to the Henry Fonda theatre tonight (Wed., Oct. 25) for Party Monster- Vol. 3, the dress-up/get down bash from local club fiends Juicy Jay and Jason Jay (who used to do one of our fave raves back in the day called Magic Wednesdays).

Remember the whole club kid craze? Daytime talk shows like Ricki Lake and Sally Jessy milked and bilked the phenom as typified by the flamboyant fashion and nightlife atmospheres coming outta NYC in the late 90s, and America couldn't get enough. Often, the parties and the people were as creepy as they were creative and nothing captured this drug-fueled wantoness better than James St. James' book about his murderous cohort Michael Alig called Disco Bloodbath, though the film it was based on, Party Monster, tried. (Sorry but Seth Green is no James St. James, and no layers of makeup or limp hand gestures could change that).

Being somewhat of a nightlife aficionado in LA, I was always so fascinated by the whimsical, decadent world Alig and co. created in the Big Apple, and though I've been to my share of wild Cali bashes, nothing ever seemed to equal the shit I heard about during the Disco 2000 era.

The Jays' parties are the closest we'll probably ever come the K-Hole- inspired depravity and though tonight's sinful soiree takes its name from the flick, expect it to be much more authentic, with original club kids (okay they aint kids anymore), St. James, LA loons Alexis Arquette, Rocky Racoon and Sham, plus Style Council fave Kelly, DJ Keoki (Wilmer Valderama played him the film) and another NYC pioneer, Larry Tee (who coined the term electroclash) on the decks.

I'll be missing this one due to my current condition, but don't be suprised if ya see a miniature makeup-swathed bundle toted around the dance floor- Juicy (that's him above the logo) told me his gal pal was 9 months preggy herself when we spoke last week and he insisted they'd be bringing the babe (if born beforehand) to the bash! Now that's a real club kid for ya!

Posted by Lina

Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

bebe was the second high street retailer to show at LA Fashion Week and after the sheer embarrassment of WalMart's Metro 7 runway show, I must admit, I had some prior reservations. But they vanished as bebe presented some of the week's more innovative designs, sending their models teetering out like human bubble lampshades in shades of ebony and ivory. The stand-out piece was a long black trench coat with a train long enough for a goth bride, or Darth Vader. I enjoyed the eyelet see-through jumpsuits worn a-la Gwen Stefani with plenty of gold bling. Cropped jackets with square shoulder pads were worn with slim capri pants and spiky stripper heels. Bustiers and sheer mesh midriffs added some vavoom, counterbalancing the pretty puffballs that opened the show. Bravo bebe!

--------

Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Hmmm...Hmmm...I am trying to think of something nice to say, so I don't get death threats this season. But I could sum up this collection by saying I feel like I looked at most of these dresses when I was in high school searching for one to wear to the prom. Remember Zum Zum? I pretty sure I wore one of these exact dresses to my sweet sixteen. Which, if that's what he intended, isn't that bad. I'm sure there's a market for rich Palisades girls going to prom.
And there were a bunch of gaudy white eyelet gowns. I had no idea eyelet could be so tacky. It was like Quinceanera gowns designed by Bobby Trendy.
But I don't know the whole show confused me. Most shows had great music, really more and more the best part of these fashion shows is the soundtrack. But at Alan Del Rosario my ears were punished with a musak version of Boderline, then the sound of motorcycles revving ripped through the room, there were no bikes, instead beefcake dudes appeared and trudged shirtless down the runway, leaving black streaks on the snow white catwalk. They had (presumably fake) tatooes that read "I heart Alan Del Rosario." And I bet he loves you all boys. They creeped me out, but one chick kept whistling and cat calling, yelling their names, "you go Johnny." I thought she was drunk. It was none other than Janice Dickenson, former 70s model, current Model Agency Madam and reality TV star.
There were so many fishtails, the same dress basically with little variations. The crowd seemed to love it, then again like Ms. Dickenson I think they were all drunk. I did like his lacey tops paired with colorful poofy skirts. And my jury is still out on the tuxedo details on some of the gowns.

He had these gowns but...made...out of... linen? The fabric wasn't flashy enough for evening, but the style was way too much for day time. I was so confused and spent the next hour trying to come up with some place one could actually wear them to. I finally came up with it, a Great Gatsby style lawn party at a mansion in the afternoon in the Spring. Should you get invited to one of those, head straight for Alan Del Rosario.

Posted by Linda Immediato

Permalink | Comments (5) | TrackBacks (0)

Angela Basset sat in the front row across from me at the Dina Bar-El Show, eyeing the gowns with a cautious look. All of dresses were perfect for premieres, award shows, and trophy wife fundraising. But few I felt were really flashbulb magnets. They were the kinds of dresses you'd see on the cast of Desperate Housewives (actually Bar-El does dress them!) not the fashion forward stuff you used to see on the girls of Sex And The City (god rest its soul). One of Bar-El's lime green gowns on the right person could be striking, but a yellow number reminded me of the ones seen already on Scarlett "not promiscuous" Johansen and Cate Blanchet. (Kate Hudson already wore a yellow Dina Bar-El gown in How to Lose A Guy in 10 Days.) There were a few Jennifer Tilly-esque animal print Maffia wife type slinky dresses and some more demure safe silver and champagne gowns. I loved the colors Bar-El picked, icy blue, russet, and gunmetal, and the styles were classic, nothing too dramatic. The length varied from knee (IFC Spirit Awards) to floor (Oscars)—something for occasion. Katharine McPhee of American Idol 15 minutes walked the runway in the show, and there was a slight bit of chaos when one model appeared before she was ready, we heard a scream from backstage, the girl was pulled back only to emerge looking pissed off a few minutes later. I haven't seen her again.

Posted by Linda Immediato

Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Frankie B. designer Daniella Clarke was inspired by her "love affair with music" for her latest collection, not too surprising considering she married a musician— Gilby Clarke a former Guns-n-Roser. So what does a "love affair with music" look like? Smudgey morning after a night on a tour bus eye makeup, toussled hair, and of course, jeans. Sparkly jeans (glitter and metallic laced denim) skinny jeans, flared leg jeans, cropped jeans, jean shorts, and more jeans. Nothing too ground breaking here, except for a couple of bell bottom low waisted jeans, which I thought we all agreed were currently out of style. The most interesting trend this season was seen here too— high waisted jeans. That's right ladies pull up your pants, the high waist is coming back (think Falcon Crest, Sergio Valenti, and Jordache, not soccer mommy jeans). But Daniella also designed a special pair of britches, called HER2 jeans named after a specific form of breast cancer that one in four women afflicted with the illness get. The HER2 gene leads to rapid growth of the cancer and few women go into remission once the gene kicks in. Daniella created this line for the Y-ME National Breast Cancer Organization so that women could learn about the recently discovered HER2 gene. The jeans are a dark denim, straight leg with pink seams and pink pocket details. At the end of the Frankie B. show breast cancer survivors walked arm in arm down the runway with models.

Kind of made me not want to go chase Gilby Clarke or Taryn Manning down for a photo, you understand, right?

Posted by Linda Immediato

--------

Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

This Fashion Week you can't seem to sit anywhere without finding a copy of October's 944 magazine under your bum. Or in your giftbag. Or in the bathroom. I must have at least 5 copies in my car.

It's a great read - you should check out the L-Word-esque Pizza Rustica ad two pages from the back. Who knew Italian food could be so sexy? And what about those lip implants five pages from the back cover...it's the blond Lisa Rinna!

There's an ad for Brent Bolthouse's awesome new club spot Area 310, and a few pages later (after a 20-page T&A lingerie spread), you'll find a story all about this great new club...called Area 310! Then there's a big piece on the "faces of Smashbox cosmetics". And a story about loft-living, just a few pages after an ad for Spalofts. Hurrah for advertorial!

The masthead is the best - Davis Factor, who co-runs Smashbox, is one of their photographers. The KROQ DJ Stryker is also a writer. Hilariously, they have a writer called Brock Landers, in honor of Dirk Diggler's porn character, perhaps? Or maybe Brock The Freelance Writer is "gifted", just like Big Man in 'Trapped in the Closet'...

In conclusion: 944 magazine is, in my opinion, a most valuable anthropoligical tool. Essential reading for anyone interested in finding out how LA really works, the secrets hidden within the pages of 944 magazine will tell you much more than any guide book ever could.

PS: On page 79 it says they are looking for new editorial talent - you think they'll give me a job?

--------

Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Last season we had Charlize. Jack Nicholson. Lara Flynn Boyle. Courtney Love. Tommy Lee. Gina Gershon. Anthony Keidis. Mena Suvari. Mike Tyson. Er...Sporty Spice. And of course there was Paris. Aahhh, we'll always have Paris...or so LA Fashion Week thought. But so far this season, and with only 1.5 days left to go, A and even B-Listers seem to be staying away from the shows in their droves.

We did see former Guns and Roses drummer Steve Adler at Frankie B, and I'm assuming Gilby Clark was there too - but then he had to be, his wife is the designer. Diana Ross was spotted on Sunday. Harold and Maude star Bud Court and Rebecca de Mornay, who we love, were at Jennifer Nicholson (no sign of her father Jack). Bobby Trendy was at KushCush, looking silly. So You Think You Can Dance presenter Cat Deeley was at Shay Todd. Jillian Barberie was around. Then throw in some reality stars. But where's the glitter? The razzle dazzle? These guys can't be expected to carry Fashion Week on their celebrity shoulders alone.

We're not sure why Hollywood seems to be snubbing the Smashbox shows this season. We wish they wouldn't, because when it comes to L.A. Fashion Week, still very much in its nascency, celebrity-spotting is (sadly) often a bigger draw than the clothes. That's not to say there aren't any good designers showing at L.A. Fashion Week - there are - but as the event continues to forge its identity and works to be taken seriously, it could really use the support of the A-List. Without celebs on the front row, all eyes must turn to what's actually on the catwalk - and sometimes that's a dangerous thing. Not always - Louis Verdad's exquisite tailoring, Sue Wong's delicate embroidery and Shay Todd's uber-sophisticated swimwear this season would have been eye-catching with or without the stars clapping on the sidelines.

But some shows could have seriously used some front row eye-candy - the most obvious example being Wal Mart's 'Metro 7' collection. Morgan Fairchild and a former Miss Universe were in the front row, doing their best to up the fabulousness. But it would have taken an appearance by Madonna or the Queen of England herself to detract from the ill-fitting anti-fabulousness being paraded in front of us. As Linda commented in her post, for what it was (ie: daywear you buy along with your tampons and flip-flops) Metro 7 was not half bad. Very OK, in fact. But L.A. Fashion Week deserves so much better - especially if its going to tempt back the A-List anytime soon.

Come back Sporty Spice, we miss you!

--------

Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

My prayers were answered, there was not a skull in sight at the Morphine Generation show last night. In fact, there was very little black either. It was Morphine Generation goes to the country club. A little preppy— with polo shirts, collared shirts with cardigans, and pleated shorts. There were even prep school crest emblems on blazers.

Erik Hart did an amazing job of giving us something different, without losing the MG identity, there were still threadbare sweaters that looks like moths have done their insidious deeds in darkened closets, and desconstructed, unfinished seems. Kudos for not being predictable!

Posted by Linda Immediato

--------

Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

"So this is why there are so many men here," commented the lady to my right at the Shay Todd show last night. Swimwear will bring the men everytime. Sinbad sat with his wife in the front row, he was overheard asking her, "Do women really wear this stuff?" Todd's nautical theme as a collection was tight, as tight as the thighs that strutted down the runway. Blue, white and red, classic bikini's and one pieces that made me want to go home and burn all of mine.

There were also some dresses that were so cute, even though we're barely into fall, they made me long for summer.
POSTED by Linda Immediato

--------

Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Just when I exiled my 80s retro fashion to the nether regions of my closet, here comes Kushcush to make me rethink it all. Hmmm, maybe 80s disco can stay a little while longer, just til spring? Ice cream colors, leg warmers, rainbows, and silvery metallic hot pants.

Kerry Kushman, the former advertising exec turned designer of Kushcush was inspired by her youth and her show was 80s fashion at its sweetest. Its enough to make you grab your skates with the pom-poms and head to the rollerrink. It was youthful, maybe a little too young at times. I heard a few women saying it was unwearable, then again those women were overweight and wearing black capes, they may have been witches. I don't know. I feel like we're ready to move past the 80s redux thing, it had its second time around, maybe it's time to head to newer territory but then I see hot pink hotpants and I want to have a pizza party, pass notes and flirt with boys.

POSTED by Linda Immediato

--------

Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I ran into Jillian Barberie on the way to the Corey Lynn Calter show. LA Weekly's Deputy Editor Joe Donnelly had written a poignant piece on Jillian a while back (to read it, click here). And despite the massive amounts of hits it still gets on-line, he had been upset thinking that Jillian herself had missed it. I confronted Jillian about this and she was surprised, "No I saw it! I loved it!" she declared.  In fact, Jillian told me she held up the LA Weekly the next day on air, and declared on television, "He's the only man who has ever really gotten me."

Posted by Linda Immediato

--------

Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Last time I saw her show snowflakes fell from the heavens, and fairytale inspired dresses swooshed up and down the runway. This show was less magical, in that way, but more refined and elegant. There were still whimsical details, butterfly buttons, polka dots and feathers. It was Holly Hobbie moves to the big city and goes to art openings and fancy restaurants, and just talking about it now I get excited. Sort of country patterns flowers and lace mixed with gold, short jumpers, suspenders with skirts. There were a few pieces—black and white dresses that were a little mod and a few black, white and red pieces that remsembled Miro paintings. All in all the collection lived up to its name: pretty baby.

Posted by Linda Immediato

--------

Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

That's right I said Wal-Mart. I was up to the congested sinus cavities with apprehension and preconcieved notions. The show itself was partnered with MyTVNetwork and their two shows, Fashion House and Watch Over Me, the former a bitch-slap-athon Dynasty style between Bo Derek and Morgan Fairchild, the latter a Bodyguard-esque corny drama starring former Miss Universe Dayanara Torres to be aired in Decemeber. Wal-Mart has a special promotional deal to wardrobe the cast of Watch Over Me, in return Torres will be the face and body of Wal-Mart's new line. She sat front row, as clips of her show (and Fashion House) were projected on the wall between collections. It was more like a boardroom power point presentation than a fashion show. On the one sheet, kept from blowing away by a single box of Red Hots candies (ie: no gift bag), was the breakdown, including PRICES! The Holiday looks ranged from $9.94-$54.94. Nothing in their summer collection was over 20 bucks. How were the clothes? The silouettes were way more up-to-date than I expected, skinny jeans, shorts, leggings, fedoras, suspenders. All of those items were seen, so far, all over the runway, but instead of looking crisp and fresh, the fabrics bunched and the pieces lacked tailoring, leaving even some of the gorgeous models looking frumpy. But considering the price points, you can find a few good basics to enhance better fitting clothes this season. Just how Wal-Mart got to show at fashion week is a whole other story. It was like Madonna playing Coachella, just night quite right for the venue.

Posted by Linda Immediato

--------

Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

The Candice Held show started a little after noon. The room was packed with women wearing her recycled vintage hankerchief dresses and so was the runway. The idea is genius— she sews old silk and gauzey hankerchiefs together in glorious color combos. It's one of those ideas that make you want to kick yourself for not thinking of it first. How could you have missed seeing a halter dress waiting to be created in your pile of old hankies?

Posted by Linda Immediato

--------

Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

The theme at Single was California ease. Unfortunately, that meant so many different things, there didn't seem to be a strong throughline, colors and patterns were all over the map. It was more hodgepodge than collection. But that's not to say there weren't some pretty things shown. Silky hankerchief-like gowns, shorts pared with soft hip length tunics and few mod-ish short short Twiggy dresses. It was sort of California ease through the decades...
Posted by Linda Immediato

--------

Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

At Meghan the theme was a rendezvous weekend at the No-Tel Motel. I was handed what is sure to be the cutest seat assignment ticket ever, a "Please Disturb Me" sign, and greeted by oily hunky bellhops. For Spring 07 Meghan invisioned a jet setter, with an arsenal of sexiness in her carry-on, inspired by "opulent and cheesy" hotel lobbies, silky soft bed sheets, and island destinations. Her large collection (90 pieces! some complained it was just too darn big) reminded me of the white hot heat of Miami, sexy, but a little sleazy. Her best dresses were the ones that played it simple, little babydolls with shimmery gold threads running through them, kimono dresses and fringey flappery kinds. I scanned the front row and just as I thought Fashion week may have fallen below celebrity radar this season, I spot, four seats away, Diana Ross. I asked her what she thought of the show, with a big smile and shaking her wild mane of curls, "It was gorgeous." When a boob popped out on the runway, I wondered, but didn't dare to ask Ms. Ross, how badly she wanted to give it a little tap like she did with Lil Kim...
Photo by Ted Soqui

Postd by Linda Immediato

--------

Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

At Louis Verdad, something happened that no one in the limited history of LA Fashion Week can remember ever happening before. We were all locked out of the tents, while only those with invitations in hand were allowed. We were stuck in some Brazil-like new set of rules. I needed to get inside to get my seat assignment. Ah, press pass, those things you pay 50 bucks for, you DO need them. With a wave of the pass, and a minor incident involving someone stealing my identity and my seat (The PR chick at the door had her axed Cutrone style, "Kill her and get her out," she yelled into her headset. ) I sat right behind Garcelle Beauvais-Nilon. I also saw the younger Gilmore Girl, and Randy Jackson (I wondered if he gave a running commentary, "You did good dawg") . But the clothes really outshone everything. It's MOD! That's right go buy a Vespa and get a pixie cut, cause Spring is all about MOD, and at Louis Verdad it was a refined mod, very lady like and proper. Piece after piece I drooled. The collection had a strong linear cohesion, from Mary Quant A- frame dresses to black and white one pieces. I think Mod is the natural progression of all the styles we're seeing lately, skinny pants, short dresses with boots. Verdad's show left me with an unshakeable desire to buy all his clothes and watch Quadrophenia again...

Posted by Linda Immediato

--------

Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I missed the Sue Wong show on Sunday night, Caroline was meant to cover it. But I caught glimpses of it running on a continuous loop near check in.  I was so impressed, this time around the models had fun, they joked, they danced swirling the silk embroidered little dresses like fairy tale princesses. It was so different than traditional Sue Wong, all the heavy beading gave way to diaphanous gowns that shimmered with gold flecks like Klimt paintings. Her bridal wear, white gowns as ornate as Art Nouveu sculptures.  Bummer, I wish I got to check that out. Minus the serious harp player, the show looked like fun.

--------

Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Fashion week got off to randy start at the Dressed to Kilt charity event and fashion show this past Saturday, filling Smashbox's main tent with hordes of catholic school girl wannabe's (though the "suggested attire" on the invite said Scottish and plaid, not sluttish and Britney Spears) and traditional skirt wearing fellas, most of which were of the over-50 variety, but still had great legs.

Sean Connery eat your heart out.

Is all this gam action on men a turn on or off? I found myself pondering the question as knobby knee after knobby knee squeezed past me in the crowd before the big show, and I finally decided that yes, it is kinda sexy. And lets not forget that the proper way for a gentleman to wear his kilt is free and flowing, i.e., sans underwear.

Short of taking a poll to see who was actually adhering to "Scottish regimental dress" (the term for letting the jewels hang) I decided to chat with a member of the Los Angeles Scots Pipe band (all young chaps), which opened up the runway show with a parade of spirited Scot rhythms.

Redheaded drummer boy Scott MacDonald (how's that for a traditional Scottish name?) told me that yes, everyone in the band was boxer-less and brief-less and that yes, everybody asks them about it everytime they perform somewhere. He didn't seem to mind though.

"It's great," he said. "It feels really comfortable." He had this twinkle in eye as spoke, and for a moment I thought he actually might try to prove his claim, and though I was curious, I quickly cut the convo short. No fire-crotch flashin' for me, thanks mate.

I thought I was being daring by even asking the question, but when the runway show began I soon realized that the undie-less aspect was a huge part of the event. With a panel of mostly female judges (celebs included Patricia Arquette and Paul Rodriguez), holding up numbers for the best models, the show quickly took on a Chippendales-esque vibe with ladies running up onto the catwalk and stuffing dollar bills into the waistbands of kilt-wearing prancers such as Chris Kattan (who walked to Rod Stewart's "Hot Legs"), Rex Lee (Ari Gold's hilarious gay Asian assistant on Entourage) and some decidedly hunkier actors who looked familiar but whose names escaped me.

Nearly every dude up there teasingly pretended to lift his kilt at some point, but I only saw one real bare bottom (that of actor Hamish Linklater from the Julia-Louis Dreyfus comedy The New Adventures of Old Christine) from my vantage point, and that was okay by me.

Other models included Linda Hamilton done up like a queen, Kimberly and Alana Stewart in aforementioned Spears-ish plaid minis and Crossing Jordon's Steve Valentine, who threw miniature Johnny Walker bottles out to the crowd. JW sponsored the gathering.

As for the fashion itself, there were some beautiful pieces: gowns beaded in sparkling plaid patterns, colorful capes and matching wool kilts, cozy looking sweaters, and a way-too-short segment celebrating the work of Vivienne Westwood, which showed some of her foxiest and fanciest tartan: deconstructed skirts, dresses and bondage pants. Westwood continues to mesh elegance and anarchy in a way that no one else can… though so many designers (some of whom are actually showing at Smashbox this week) continue to try.

For all the flaunting and shirtless skirted studs who killed it in kilts, it was the Westwood pieces that ultimately raised the temperature in the room. Yup, when it comes to this type of event, we'll take fashion over flashin' anytime.

Posted by Lina

Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Sunday

6:18 a.m., I'm dressed like a fairy with a Magnum PI mustache, drunk, dancing to Crazy Train in a former bordello in Port Costa (near San Fran).

Six hours, two boughts of nausea, and an IN-N-Out burger later I'm driving straight to the Smashbox tents in Cuver City for the Meghan and Louis Veradad shows. I apply make-up at stoplights, not feeling at all "front row ready." I believe my weekend left me vulnerable to some illness that's been going around, known as the Burning Man flu, I feel feverish. I trod on.

--------

Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Lily Allen...only 21, and the little Brit still manages to totally sell out her first LA show and pull in some heavyweight Hollywood glitterati. It was UsWeekly heaven at her Troubadour show on Saturday, the audience peppered with stars like Gwen Stefani - who I spotted on the balcony during the show, studiously checking out the competition. At first I didn't realize who it was - all I saw was a really hot chick in a big red beanie with perfect lipstick. All was revealed post-show when Ms Stefani, still clad in her red beanie celebrity disguise, went up to Allen in the upstairs bar and personally congratulated her ska sista... I wouldn't be surprised to see Lils opening for Gwen some time in the near future...

I had a quick chat with Lily in the dressing room. She was looking very Breakfast at Tiffany's in her demure little party frock. "It's Chanel," she informed me. And what about those big sexy hoop earrings? "I'm not sure...my assistant picked those up." Then she mentioned a boutique in New York that I had never heard of. Considering she's a 21-year-old sailor-mouth who likes singing about crack whores and getting stoned, Lily Allen's pretty ab-fabulous.

I got off the couch for a minute and when I returned, someone was in my seat - Orlando Bloom, also in A-List Beanie Hat Disguise (his was black). I was unable to spot the elvish word for 'nine' he apparently has tattooed on his right wrist as he joked around with Allen. Then in a cloud of elf dust and Chanel, the crew disappeared in the direction of Monroe's bar for the afterparty.

I'll be interviewing Allen on Monday and was advised by one of her entourage to not mention MySpace because she's totally bored of answering MySpace questions. But it is hard to not mention MySpace when attempting to explain the Lily Allen phenomenon. The daughter of British actor/comedian Keith Allen and film producer Alison Owen (who made films like Elizabeth and Sylvia and was in the audience, wildly cheering on her little girl), Lily Allen always had a head start in showbiz. She was first signed to a record label at the tender age of 17. But she scored her first UK #1 months before her label had even released her record. How? Because she uploaded her songs on MySpace, cultivating a massive following online. Her music was first played in America by the savvy gurus at Indie 103.1's Passport Approved show.

Her record, Alright, Still, is still not out in the US (it is being released in February by Capitol), so Lily was extra-specially impressed at how many people in the audience had memorized her smart alecky lyrics, like: "how would it make you feel if I said you never ever made me come?/ In the year and a half that we spent together, Yeah, I never really had much fun/ (from 'Not Big').

Anyway who cares about music, back to the celebs - some people said they saw Lindsey Lohan in the crowd, and there was a Sean Lennon sighting. But fuck all y'all -  'cause I made the best celebrity sighting of the entire night. On my way out I saw none other than Taylor "Tell It To My Heart" Dane. That's right - Taylor Dane! Accompanied by a brunette! Her highlights looked great! And not a beanie in sight.

Posted by Caroline Ryder

--------

Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Hello boys and girls, and anyone else looking to while away the hours with harmless, ingenious entertainment at the click of a button. I've got tricks and treats for all!

Here's a "Gothtober" Helloween countdown calendar with amazingly spooky mini-movies and art for every day of the month (sent to me by the lovely Jenna Didier from M&A). Just don't try to peek into the future, or the ghouls will get you!

Then, temper the terror with this "clown name generator" - much like the porn name based on your first address and pet, but with wacky clown lingo thrown in. That is thanks to the bewitching Wit of the Staircase blog.
posted by:
Doctor Steffini Itchy
aka Stefferton El Crackers

--------

Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I've always had strong thighs. Not thighs of steel or anything, but fairly firm ones…
One of my little tricks for keeping them that way is shared with countless women out there, but I've recently realized just how imprudent it is.

I'm talking about the "public toilet squat," wherein one bends one's knees over the commode but never lets one's fanny touch the seat. It's great toning for the upper leg, sure, but now that I've got 30 additional lbs to hold up thanks to pregnancy, and can no longer do it, I've come to realize just how many women have (no pun intended) shitty aim!

Okay most of us gals already know this too well and in a way, the drops or puddles left behind are a good thing 'cause they motivate us to keep ourselves propped up. Nobody wants their precious bottoms touching foreign urine (though I saw an episode of Oprah this week on which a doctor revealed that the golden gush is in fact, sterile and germs don't live on public seats… Check out his illuminating answers to other "embarrassing" health questions -like "why is poop brown" and "what's the best way to wipe?"- here).
Yeah, they really went there.

Anyway, if you're a non-squatter, and you still don't feel comfortable parking the cheeks where thousands have been before, you're probably a seat cover gal.

And here is where the problem gets sticky (literally): put a seat cover on a wet throne and guess what happens? It sticks! And not only to the seat but to your butt too! Take it from someone who spends a lot of time in public restrooms these days, this is not a pleasant experience.

Now if you're some place where the only option is a port-o-pottie, like say the LA Weekly Detour Music Festival this past weekend, it's a whole other ballgame. Even I had to attempt the squat that eve, and if splishing and splashing occurred, so be it. The key to surviving these stinky chambers from wasteland hell is always the same anyway: never, ever, look at or near the hole!

So my plea today is this: Ladies please improve your aim! If you want to do the squat, do it as close to the bowl as possible. The higher up, the less likely you are to hit a bullseye and the more splashing occurs. You are not a man, so standing up is unacceptable. Better yet, leave thigh strengthening to the gym and just use a seat cover. It will leave your fellow pee-ers a lot less pissy.

Posted by Lina

--------

Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

--------

Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Kim Jong-Il, North Korean Dictator is straight up gangsta style, he admits to lovin many bitches and he's had way more people killed than Shug Knight. He drives a Benz and has a penchant for extravagances like lobster and Hennessy. He's big fan of the NBA (he even has a signed ball by Michael Jordan) and he's supposedly packin' the world's largest weapon. In three simple steps, you too can look like a Dear Leader.

1.) Tease your hair. Jong-Il admits to teasing his locks into a three inch bouffant to add extra height to his dimunitive 5'2 frame.

2.) Wear Shades: Diddy, Please-Don't-Hurt -'Em-MC Hammer, Bono— Jong-Il too knows nothing says self-confidence like wearing shades— all the time. Please note the similarity to another dictator, Yoko Ono.

3.) Get Yourself in Khaki Leisure Suit: There is something reminiscent of Tony Soprano and mob guys from Jersey in his matchy, matchy windbreaker Docker's combo. Nothing says "tough guy" like a leisure suit.

--------

Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Rock overlord Slash called for listeners of Get The Fuck Up Radio to keep an eye out for his poor lost kittie-cat Habib, who has been missing since April. The curly-haired guitar god, who was born in Stoke-on-Trent, England, guested on last night's GTFU show and said "My wife really loves that cat, and I do too."

Slash hung out with hosts Aaron Farley, Jeremy Weiss, Annie Hardy from Giant Drag and Little Wolverine Curtis for a couple of hours at the Little Radio studio downtown (GTFU, formerly on Kill Radio, is now a Little Radio show), and I was there too, sucking on some Bud Lites. We talked about all kindsa things. Annie introduced Slash to the real meaning of the term "pink sock", and told him all about the new IPod vibrators. Aaron engaged Slash in a fascinating back-and-forth about the erstwhile rift between grunge and metal bands, and discussed whether it was real or largely a media contrivance. "We didn't give a shit," said Slash, recalling the time he and Axl went to see Nirvana, and brushing off the whole Axl-hates-Courtney drama that happened back in the 1990's. "I stayed out of all that," he said. 

A few listeners tried to call in but no-one could actually hear what they were saying due to technical difficulties. Slash, clearly intrigued by the unique nature of GTFU's operation, asked "is this an experiment?" He seemed excited when informed that the show was being broadcast on the internet. "The internet is so weird," he said. 

I thanked Slash for coming down and being a good sport, and not being a celebrity douchebag. He explained that most of the time, he doesn't really think much about anything he does, and prefers just to go with the flow. Afterwards I went home and renamed my dog 'Slash'.

Go to www.gtfuradio.com to hear the interview, it should be available as a podcast at some point.

Posted by Caroline Ryder

Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

Thousands of urban urchins took hits on bowls and marveled at their shroom trails while sitting on the steps of City Hall during the LA Weekly's Detour festival this weekend. Like the end of Ghostbusters, where New York City is thrown into biblical chaos by the demon overlord Zoul, The Detour Festival likewise transformed what is normally a staid stretch of Downtown, that between the LA Times building and City Hall, into one of the best and messiest al fresco gatherings of the year. We knew it was going to be an awesome night when we arrived to overloaded porta potties (always a sure sign of a partay) and spotted a kiosk serving only artichokes. God bless LA...

Speaking of God, he was nowhere to be found after VHS or Beta, Weird Science and Shepard Fairey took over a church and played beats to the club kids, some of whom were spotted most disrespectfully making out in the confessionals. Ten Hail Marys upon thee!

As for the bands, we went home very happy - Blonde Redhead played a mind-transporting set and we loved the beautiful Kazu Makino's shorts-under-shirt-dress combo. We dug Basement Jaxx' dancehall-ragga style MC, but when oh when will they start playing stuff from their first, and best album, again? Beck gave an awesome and eminently crowd-pleasing performance, and received special bonus points for hiring a crazy dancing man to get his freak on on stage.

The musical highlight of the event came courtesy of New Yorkers !!!, who tore it up in front of a crowd of lunatic dancing kids, whipped into a frenzy by co-frontman Nic Offer, his high-energy posturing and curly locks recalling an early-era Robert Plant.

!!! Geek Fact: According to Wikipedia, the band's name (pronounced chk chk chk, but you knew that of course) was inspired by the subtitles of the movie The Gods Must Be Crazy, in which three mouth-clicking sounds of the Bushmen were represented as "!!!". So now you know.

Anyway, Chili Pepper John Frusciante, who we saw milling around, was dancing like a crazy man backstage (!!! opened for the Chilis at the UK's Reading festival this year). And even the homeless people outside wanted a piece of the !!! action - it took no less then five security guys to pull away a bum who was desperately clinging to the fencing, trying to get in.

 We ran into !!!'s Nic Offer at the schmoozetastic Detour after-party, held in a secret basement bar nearby. It was decked out kinda like Banksy's elephant's living room, complete with fireplaces, comfy couches and a rather unfriendly dog. Offer complimented my roomie Alexis Florio on her legendary dance moves, which he said he had noticed while he himself was performing on stage. High praise indeed.

But the real highlight of the evening came when our very own Kelly - who is STILL not responding to my Myspace messages, the betch - performed her break-out YouTube hits 'Shoes' and 'Let Me Borrow That Top' right before !!!'s set. Not all the !!! fans were in on the joke at first, but by the end of her 10-minute performance, Kelly had them at her feet, leading them in a "fuck yoooooo" catawal that shook City Hall in a way no politician ever could...

Kelly for Mayor, anyone?

Posted by Caroline Ryder

Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

Ryan Seacrest and Jillian Barberie have more incommon than having vaginas. They both love KELLY (click here to watch Jillian shake her melons to Shoes)!
Go see Kelly sing about the mall, text message break-ups and of course, 300 dollar shoes, at the following venues:

Posted by LINDA

--------

Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Now you too can learn to talk like a transvestite shoe-whore from Tarzana - and it's all thanks to an educational YouTube movie currently doing the rounds.

Entitled 'Shoes', this three-minute gem rocked my shallow world with its tale of Kelly, a JT Leroy-a-like with bigger tits, who goes stiletto shopping with her homegirls after being dissed by her parents on her birthday.

Here's what I learned -  

 1. It's all about vowel substitution - eg: "bitch" becomes "betch". And "shoes" become "shuz".

2. When a pair of shuz costs $300 fucking dollars - you fucking get 'em.

3. Shopping for shuz should always be accompanied by poolside raves attended by a men in shiny purple jumpsuits and robots.

4. And when the cunty sales assitant tells you that "this style runs small, I don't think they're gonna fit your feet" you spew the wrath of a thousand Jehovahs, and threaten her with a Burning Man Fire Hoop Dancer. That'll teach the betch.

"Shoes" has been around since August, when it was posted online by a guy called Liam Sullivan, aka Kelly. Kelly had been performing her two songs - Shoes and Let Me Borrow That Top - at O'Brien's in Santa Monica, and ended up creating the music video for Shoes apparently due to "overwhelming demand". Thats what Kelly's publicist said. That's right, Kelly has a publicist - Shoes has gone viral on YouTube and MySpace and now Kelly has turned her cross-dressing and shoe fetishes into a viable career path, with an 11-song CD and Kelly ringtones and wallpapers being launched this fall.

Way to shop, betch.

Posted by Caroline Ryder

Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

Tonight (Wed, 10/4) kicks off the month-long Fashion Targets Breast Cancer (FTBC) charity event at Beauty Bars across the nation. The Council of Fashion Designers of America, with Rose Apodaca and Trina Turk, are hosting our local fundraiser at the Cahuenga Beauty Bar tonight. Get a martini* and a manicure for 10 bucks--all proceeds go to benefit the FTBC.
Tonight from 7pm to 10 pm, and every happy hour all month, Thurs.- Sat. 6 pm- 10 pm

Beauty Bar
1638 N. Cahuenga, Blvd., www.beautybar.com

* or your cocktail of choice

Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

I spent an hour staring at Karen O's ass last night. It was mesmerizing, swathed in silver hot pants, it reminded me of Jiffy popcorn. Anyone without a microwave knows the joy of shaking the aluminum pan till the silver balloon rises filled with crunchy buttery goodness, but Karen O's bubble just shook and shook and shook. How did I have such a spectacular view of her rump? Caroline had the hook-up, not only scoring us tickets to the show at the Palladium last night, but she also armed us with backstage passes so we were able to watch the show ON the stage, in the wings. We stood next to a crouching Roadie, or so we thought. Turns out he was just another fan who snuck back there. From stage right we could live out our collective girl crushes on Karen, who thrashed and railed and brought the sex thunder. I don't know what that means either, but if you allow me, Karen O, in her second costume change, a purple body suit, with yellow lighting bolts looked like a superhero, like a female Thor armed with sex thunder, lighting rods of pheromones shooting out from her metallic technicolor chuck taylors. I wanted to dry hump her pretty badly. But the most touching moment was when O, rushed to stop the guitarist who was launching into a speedy version of Maps, O slowed it down, so we could feel the intensity, the panic, "Wait... They don't love you like I love you..." We swooned.
Later we headed to Beauty Bar where Frankie Chan was spinning, Alexis and Josh, the modern day Fred and Ginger had taken the "Let's Get Retarded in Here" chant seriously and swung into action. They can dance. We had no choice to join them when Chan played "My Girl Likes To Party All the Time" by Eddie Murphy. From that to Journey's "Don't Stop Believin.'" The crowd, which included Ms. Karen O and other Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs, did not let the speakers failing stop us. When the record was inaudible, we sang it together at the top of our lungs. We had inadvertantly covered Journey with the Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs. I could go home happy. Though dry humping was not in my future, a Fatburger was — and bed. I mean, really, what more could I have asked for...
Ps THANK YOU CAROLINE!!

POSTED By Linda

--------

Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Few museums – particularly those located in Newport Beach – ever see lines of hundreds of hipsters, all dressed to the nines and desperate for admission. But then, most museums don't feature Sonic Youth performances at their parties. Even with a $30 ticket price, Saturday night's California Biennial opening party at the Orange County Museum of Art sold out well in advance, and who knows what the unlucky masses were waiting for – a miracle, maybe? One fellow received one, courtesy of bona fide O.C. resident Matthew Fletcher, who had an extra ticket. "This has really put us on the map," Fletcher joked, noting other atypical visitors, like the "older men in white suits with big glasses" –art world signifiers to be sure.

No white suits were visible at the front of the stage during Sonic Youth's hour-long performance, but a middle aged couple was blabbing away behind me, and I couldn't help but eavesdrop. "She was horrible, totally flat!" exclaimed the woman after Kim Gordon finished singing a song. "Oh my god that's so out of tune!" she griped during one of Thurston's solos. It was all I could do to restrain myself from telling her, "That's the point! Sonic Youth invented their OWN tunings, genius!" I did glance disparagingly over my shoulder, scribbling down a few notes, and the man smiled at me and asked if I was a reporter. "Yes, I am," I answered. "I take it you don't like Sonic Youth?" "No, I like them," he insisted. "They're just too LOUD. I'm OLD," he laughed feebly. I didn't see any reason to mention that Kim Gordon, who was whirling like a dervish in silver lame, looking foxier than ever, is pushing 50.

This is a band that is best seen live, and I guess they played a lot of the "hits," but I have to admit, I haven't really been keeping up with Sonic Youth's albums. Occasionally I put on Sister and think back to the utterly revelatory night my boyfriend took me to see Sonic Youth play in 1987, assuring me, "you'll like them," but lately I've been more interested in Kim Gordon as a cultural icon than a music maker.

"This song is for all the people in Westwood," the icon intoned coolly, staring icily into the crowd. "The really un-punk rock part." I took that as my cue to go check out the food. I was snacking on a limp, $6 egg roll (sadly I wasn't invited to the previous night's dinner, where Mr. Spock, no doubt wearing large spectacles, was the big celebrity attendee) when a colorful, flickering light caught my eye. I followed it to…the bottom of someone's beer glass? "Where did you get that?" I asked a guy in a dusty black suit. "Oh, this is the Orange County VIP glass," he quipped. "You need to be on a list." I looked a little closer. The Rainforest Café? "It's a lovely little mom-and-pop restaurant," he told me. "They serve really expensive fried food and it rains every 20 minutes." At that point someone else leaned over and gazed into the rainbow beer light show. "Is that a prize?" he asked. "Yeah, 4th place," the funny guy answered. "You're getting a lot of attention," I noted. "A little bit," he shrugged. "More than for my work."

It turns out I was talking to Walead Beshty, whose carbon monoxide monochromes, painted with diesel dust collected from his windowsill, were featured in the Biennial. "It sounds like a caricature of a bad artist who'd be on 'Sex and the City,' doesn't it?" he mused. Um, no comment.

I really need to go back because I missed what was supposedly some of the best work in the show, a video by performance troupe My Barbarian, and Marie Jager's sci-fi-inspired installation, "Purple Cloud." Nevertheless I did see some fantastic pieces. You can't help wanting to slip between the glossy black lips of Pearl S. Hsuing's gorgeous "Tidal Wretch," which looks like a surreal, prog disco album cover, or the best hot rod paint job that never happened.

Joel Morrison's cast bronze sculptures were also quite eye catching. "Mikey" shows a mini version of Michelangelo's David with a blown-up surgical glove on his head and an asthma inhaler strapped to his crotch, while "Alligator Shoes, George Lucas" were bronzed Vans with spikes - particularly apropos for Orange County. The artist, who spends half his time in Berlin, said he was partly poking fun at traditional bronzes, but also playing with notions of immediacy and permanence with these "fast compositions." The surgical gloves, for example, have to be cast immediately, or they'll deflate. "Kind of like Cynthia Plaster Caster?" I suggested. "Exactly," said Morrison. "Plaster Caster meets Marcel Duchamp."

One of the show's curators, Karen Moss, told me that while the museum didn't start with an agenda, "what we started to notice is that a lot of the work was showing a boldness, intensity and vibrancy that was reflecting and dealing with the chaos of the world right now." Moss also told me that she saw Sonic Youth perform for the first time at CBGB in 1980. She was dressed in black for the opening, so maybe that's why I didn't notice her at the front of the stage with the rest of the youth.

--------

Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Does dressing your tot like a mini-me mean he/she will turn out just like you? Or could outfitting the offspring in rock tees and black onesies backfire so that the only way they can rebel is to one day wear pocket protectors and listen to Yanni?

I'm talking about the Alex P. Keaton effect. You know, like on "Family Ties" wherein Michael J Fox's character becomes this tie-sporting Republican capitalist pig to uber-liberal stoner hippie parents.

Guess ya never know how they're gonna turn out. But it's not like they can tell you what they like when they're tykes, so I figure, why not? Used to be our only choices were pink and blue pastel-hued ensembles, but these days, even the mall stores (Baby Gap, Children's Place, etc) offer primary colors and rock n' roll themed get-ups. Even saw a trendy baby section at cheapie fashion emporium Forever 21 last time I popped in, though there is a line of appropriateness, and Paris Hilton-style mini-skirts for infants kinda crosses it for me.