"Hippie chicks with boob jobs." That's how a (male) pal inaccurately described the annual Topanga Days fest in the Santa Monica hills this past memorial weekend, when I asked him what the scene was like. Well, I didn't notice too many big chests, faux or otherwise, but I did see more dreads, flowy Indian fabrics, hairy armpits and naturally tanned skin than I'm used to at outdoor festivals. This event sure ain't no Sunset Junction that's for sure.

Never been to the Topanga area before Sunday, and I gotta say, the houses are nice in an earthy, clubhouse-in-the-trees kinda way. The air is cleaner too. Yes the locals do have that unwashed yet moneyed look, like the Black Crowes Chris Robinson, who was seen hangin' out all weekend., but there's no attitude or pretense with these people.

This was an outdoor party filled with kids running about, drum circles breaking out, belly-dancing, hula-hooping, music, beer and every now and again, sweet herbal aromas wafting amidst the breezes. Kinda reminded me of the days when my parents would take me to the jam sessions at Griffith Park in the '70's. Pops played the congas and I'd dance my little ass off.

Topanga Days Sunday lineup had a decidedly country flair with John Doe (who sang both X songs and Beatles covers!), a reading from Pamela Des Barres and the Sin City All Stars with guest appearances by Michelle Shocked and Lucinda Williams. All sounded swingin'.

Apparently there were more tats and less cowboys hats on Saturday with acts ranging from Taylor Hawkins' Chevy Metal to Veruca Salt. I hear the hipsters actually outnumbered the hippies.

My nights are hip enough though. For a day off, it was nice to leave the lip gloss at home and just chill with friendly folks and my family. There will always be another Hollywood barbeque, ya know?

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Instead of going out, I've been going in. You know those heavy introspective phases when you hole up, reexamine your life and call every choice into question? That's where I hang out these days. I spend weekends curled up on the couch, not answering the phone, staring at the heater grating, waiting for the grand epiphany that will make it all make sense.

Clearly, my evenings do not a fun, fabulous Style Council blog make.

The Animatronics played the Roxy Saturday night. I spent the evening in my robe contemplating my hands. Please refer to the masterfully rendered photorealistic annotated diagram below:

1. On my left thumbnail are two blobs of red nail polish – different shades – one, the color of fresh blood as it flows from a new wound; the other is darker, like the thick, coagulated variety indicative of stagnation or death.

2. A burn.

I answer the phone while heating up a frying pan sprinkled with coconut oil.

"Hello," I wheeze.

"Hello Dani."

It's my ex – the one I'll always love regardless of how twisted and co-dependent our relationship was.

"OW!!!"

I burn myself as I toss a colorful variety of chopped vegetables into the pan.

"I was going to see if you were hungry and wanted to grab some sushi."

And this concludes the short but telling metaphor for our entire relationship.

3. Silk screen ink. I had the insane idea to schedule a sample sale/salon while still in the throes of biological/existential upheaval. On the heels of the acupuncturist's strict order to "Rest. Do nothing. Just rest," I spend Friday on my feet, silk screening three dozen t-shirts for Sunday's sale.

4. Like a bumbling eighth-grader, I am still prone to jotting notes on my person; hands, arms and legs are all fair game when there's nary a scrap of paper in sight. I've been invited to participate in/write about a shamanic exploration of the Divine Feminine in Peru this summer and am strategizing sponsorship to pay for the trip since magazines/newspapers don't pay for crap. A couple ideas found their way to the back of my hand.

5. A freckle.

6. Scars from various gymnastics-related surgeries.

7. Yet another note (somebody get this girl a Moleskin!). Dr. D is a brilliant integrative physician upon whom I've harbored a crush for years. After a surfing accident, a coma, numerous brain surgeries and a flatline, Dr. D. emerged with a rockin' sexy skull scar and a renewed passion to revolutionize Western medicine. We'd scheduled an interview for Friday to help publicize his efforts. Weak, exhausted and shaky, I tried to reschedule our interview to no avail. I dragged myself to M Café and picked at a pile of dandelion greens while half-heartedly grilling Dr. D on the benefits of an integrated medical approach versus that of traditional Western medicine. After ninety minutes, Dr. D's companion was antsy and I was dangerously close to passing out. As we said our goodbyes, Dr. D pulled off my hat and gave me the once over.

"You should wear color. Go buy yourself something expensive."

He then prescribed a mugwort bath at the Korean spa and a Thai massage – simple, silly instructions which, in my lightheaded delirium, I jotted down on my forearm.

8. A deep, craggy multi-colored scab garnered while weeding Joe Donnelly's garden last weekend.

9. Rings. Pearl on gold chain, plain gold chain, another plain gold chain and shrunken disco ball on gold chain - handcrafted by me while feeling crappy though crafty.

10. Black hair tie. For those instances when my long, thick lustrous locks annoy the fuck out of me.

11. While there is nothing on my appendanges to indicate such, let the record show that Ben Goldhirsh (founder of Good magazine) is no trustafarian. He's got the wits, the heart, the goods and the foresight to prove it...and the posture.

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So I finally tried Pinkberry, and folks, I've just got one question- what's the big wup? Okay, it's pretty tasty and the place is cute (despite the name, the Vermont Ave. space has no pink to speak of; the palate is lime green and it's all plastica'd out with distinct Japanese toy touches) but seriously I just don't get why everyone's so cuckoo for cocoa puffs over the place.

Speaking of cereal, I'm a big fan of the stuff (I eat it day and night) so the fact that they offer toppings like Capn' Crunch and Fruity Pebbles- I like that. Still, the taste aint worth getting all Crackhead about, which Pinky's proponents seem to act like, battling traffic for parking spots and actually waiting in long lines (at the original WeHo location anyway) just to get another frozen fix.
Coldstone Creamery's got all the same yummy crap to put on their frozen delights, and hell even 31 Flavors offers tasty toppings. You don't see these chains enjoying  a Starbucks-like hip hangout status. Yes, yogurt has less calories than ice cream (25 per oz., they say) but once you pile on the toppings it adds up quick.

Also, I'm not entirely convinced it really is as "light" as they say. Doesn't anyone remember that Seinfeld episode when Kramer got fat on the supposedly low-cal concoction? Guess I'm not the only one whose been skeptical either. On the front page of Pinkberry's website they address the "recent claims" about the "nature" of their products, and say they are "investigating." Sounds shady to me. (Oh, and while you're at the site, check the electro-girl rap. It's a hoot.)

As I mentioned on this blog not too long ago, I used to work on Vermont Ave., back when you got coffee at the Onyx,  you got your videos from Mondo Video and you got your books from Amok.  It just wasn't the kind of place where chain stores fit in. And while I have nothing against franchises, chains, or even corporate owned establishments ( I love fraps okay?), when too many pop up, it inevitably changes the vibe of a street and ultimately the neighborhood, mainly due to traffic.

Even indier than thou Trader Joes market is guilty of this. Look what it's done to Hyperion Ave. Gawd, I can't even drive thru there anymore without getting into some road rager with a spectacled scenester in his/her Prius.  It should only get worse now that Pinkberry is opening up across the street, right at the corner of Rowena and Hyperion, next to my longtime nail place, Bonsoir Nails.

Still, I'd be lying if I said I'll never pop in for a yogurt after my mani/pedi, especially as summer approaches. It's too damn conveinient.

Actually, if this location becomes as popular as the orginal, it might end up being anything but. Anybody know of a good, not too popular nail salon in Silver Lake?

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The other day I got an email - a company called Joe Joe Productions is throwing a glittering bash at the Playboy Mansion on June 23. Boys get in so long as they're rich,  girls get in so long as they're hot. The Kandyland bash, which they're calling 'The MOST Outrageous Party of the Summer', will be populated by 600 studs who paid $1500 a ticket for four hours of fun (that's $375 an hour). For that, they get to mingle among a crowd of luscious 'hand-picked ladies', selected by JoeJoe and his team. That's right, if you're a girl and you want to go, you have to undergo a strict vetting process. Any 'Elegant Lady' who wants to attend Kandyland for free needs to go to www.KarmaKandyland.com, click on "Delicious Ladies", fill out the contact info (assuming they can spell, that is) and upload their hottest photos. If you're hot  - you're in. If you're homely, you stay home and play with your cats. Here's  what you'll miss:

"Kandyland II will have even more sexy treats, cellophane (see through) wrapped girls passing candy drinks, there will be desserts and chocolate fountains, painted ladies, cyber girls, girls swimming on the Kandy islands in the pools..."

Joe Joe Promotions also runs Thursday nights at Social, previously Thursday nights at Cabana, Saturdays at Vanguard - and they did Lindsey Lohan's party at the Saddle Ranch last year. If you visit the Joe Joe Promotions' MySpace page, you'll see that the LA Times, Associated Press and la.com think he's something of a nightlife king, a jock-turned-smooth operator who started throwing parties for his friends ten years ago while on a sports scholarship at UCLA. JoeJoe invites you to visit his personal MySpace page because "there is more to me than clubs, events and glitz and glamor! Believe it or not, I'm a real person" he says.

 I'm intrigued, so I visit his page. Turns out that JoeJoe may seem like a Hollywood douchebag, but is actually an entirely different person. Under the Prada shades and the cologne lies a sensitive little fella. One who just wants to be loved. "It is essential that in a relationship somebody expresses their feelings verbally and constantly for me," he writes. "It makes me feel good, its like aural ecstasy to me. You can buy me a Learjet, but it wouldn't equal just saying "I love you," or "I miss you."

He then adds:

"I pick my nose sometimes, mostly in the car."

We learn that JoeJoe originally wanted to be in the FBI, that he likes wearing women's accessories, that his clothes always have to match and that he's "addicted to tattoos, despite only having 3. (Buddhist Chant on left wrist, Tibetan Sanskrit on my right wrist and a white star in my ear)."

And:

"I used to weigh 265lbs. all muscle. I benched 470lbs! Now I can bench 225 on a good day. I was a fucking meat head!"

Some things change, and some things will always stay the same...right, Joe Joe?

http://joejoepromotions.com

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OK, as if you weren't knackered from Coachella and Stagecoach and Wango Tango and all the other hedonistic mayhems we are privy to here in LA ('cause there may be a fookin' war on, but that's no reason not to partaaaaay!!!) - now we have Lightning in a Bottle, a 'green music festival' taking place in Santa Barbara this weekend.

I'm not entirely sure what 'green-music' is (drum kits made from recycled bottles? mic stands made from branches? conch shell orchestras?) but the line-up looks interesting - a little heavy on the Burning Man vibe and I imagine there will be some serious multi-colored dreadlock action, but maybe that's just what bougie Santa Barbara needs. 

The whole thing is being powered by alternative energy, and vegan, veggie and raw food will be on sale. 'Radical self-expression' is promised on three stages, with 40 acts on the bill, including the Lucent Dossier Vaudeville Cirque, The Mutaytor,  and Dublab DJ Edit.

Poi warning levels have been set to high, hula hooping dancing chicks and cyber punks with 8-inch soles expected. 

PS: For all your rave gear accessory needs, visit this website, www.raveworx.com, where you'll find things like pocket plasma clip-on belt buckles that glow in multi-color rainbow, or a diamond-shaped battery  powered pendant that glows brighter depending on the sound volume.

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I'm gearing up for the first ever Stagecoach Country Music Festival, back at Coachella this coming weekend. I have a feeling things are going to be very different, I just can't picture the Tesla coils or Burning Man art installations working with country music folk. Already the stage names were changed (don't know if they will have tents, they're called stages now) the Gobi, Mohave and Sahara tents, will be called Mustang, Palomino, Mane and Appaloosa, and masala fries will be replaced by BBQ, lots of BBQ. We'll have a full report. In the meantime, here are some Coachella outtake pics, you remember these people, the dudes who kept your potties clean, the chick who really should have put more clothes on, and the guy wishing the ride he was on would end soon.

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