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"You don't have to call, it's okay, girl, cuz I'm a be alright tonight" - Usher (featuring Ludacris), You Don't Have to Call Remix [buy the album]

"I'm representin' for them gangstas all across the world, still...hittin' them corners in them low-lows, girl"

Besides being able to hit switches on Sunset Boulevard, all we really needed was for a mushroom cloud of chronic smoke to billow out of car as we hit The Standard Hotel valet area. Felicia is rolling in a white Grand Marquis for the next 4 weeks as her baby gets some body work done. When I sank into her front seat, she turned the key in the ignition and BUH buh buh buh buhbuh... Dre and Nate Dogg let me know it was time for the next episode.

It's Friday night and it's near the end of LA's Fashion Week. We're here for the Yana K Fall 2005 lineup. Well, that's not entirely true. We're here for The MVP. When she IMs me, I do whatever she says. That's why she's the M to the P with the V in the middle. She's a playmaker.

mvp: I want to invite you to a fa-
me: I'm there.

Felicia is looking lovely while I'm lookin' hipster 4 life. The triple 5 soul blazer, the dodge dart baseball tee, the two tone leather superstars, sidekick in the inside pocket. I'm learning how to navigate this scene without losing my soul. I'm not the flyest one in the building but I'm the flyest me I can be...and people notice. The right people and that's all that matters.

We rush across the mini-red carpet which is hilarious in it's own right. LA must keep the entire mini-red carpet business afloat by itself. Flashes go off as we cross but we don't turn to acknowledge. It's early and the photogs aren't sure if we matter or not so they snap a few just in case.

We're poolside. We find a place to sit and get drinks and people watch for the next 30 minutes. Everyone is hot. I want to lick people. I want to put my hand on the small of their backs and sneak a finger into a belt buckle or just inside their low rise jeans right at their hip. I want to nibble on chins.

Hov and Red aren't here yet and The MVP is nowhere to be found. I take a lap. There's Shane West and Tara Reid and Courtney Peldon and aHahahahaha. I sidekick the fuggingitup ladies immediately and curse them for not being on instant messenger as I laugh my face off. Hov and Red arrive and Red, looking super fly herself, takes a seat next to us.

"Did you see The MVP," I ask immediately.

"No, but we'll see her soon enough. She's in the show."

Nate Dogg says, "Hold up. Hey-Ay." She's in the show. Well, damn son. Now it's getting good. DJ Morty of Spider Club's 80s Mondays spins some serious tracks and the show begins. Yana K has some hot shit. She's putting hoodies and jackets back on the map for dudes and ladies can rock some polka dots next year. It takes me two times to notice but the glistening lips of Meagan Good are walking the runway as well and she's killing it. Hov said she watched me the whole night and it was the first time she'd seen me totally "guy out."

"I could tell which girls you liked," she said.

"What gave it away? The clapping, the shaking my head no when it was all just too much, or when I jumped the stage and tackled Meagan and the MVP?"

Oh. The MVP. She walks the stage like she dances with me. Attitude. A smile. A rock of the hip. A knowing "I'm cute and smart and perfect and hot and you love me and can't help it" glance here and there. I nearly stood up in my seat. I tried to get pictures but I fumbled on the 1 yard line. All you will get is blur.

I would've been set for the rest of the night but the night was just beginning...

The Mayan Theater
October 28th, 2004
Lucha Vavoom!

Stories later. Pics now.

"Got arrested at the Mardi Gras for jumpin' on a float" - Beastie Boys, Shake Your Rump (Green Mix) [New York State of Mind]

I'm still dancing.

We hit URB's November Issue Release Party at the Conga Room last night. It was my first time at the house that J.Lo built, err, bought with Jimmy Smits and Paul Rodriguez. It's a great club. I might have to have a party there. A separate room with a stage and a huge dance floor, a second dance floor. A large bar, a smoker's area, bathrooms aplenty and a restaurant downstairs. I was impressed.

I was not impressed, however, with Wannabe Dave Meyers and his cigarette bumming and bad dance moves. In fact, nobody seemed to have cigs in the joint. Everyone was trying to bum off of Felicia whose denials got better with each new inquiry. "Sorry, this was my last one...Nope, we actually just bummed these...Oh, sorry, I have cooties and just licked all of these."

But back to Wannabe Dave Meyers. Why is he ironic breakdancing right now looking like he's Jackie Chan's body double in Legend of the Drunken Master? Is he trying to challenge? Does he want a Beat Street Breakdown because I am wearing these Superstar Grafs and I do get down like that and El Dopa just dropped that Alicia Keys' You Don't Know My Name Reggae Remix and if I had on my powder blue tracksuit it would already be on. You would have been faced my friend and I ain't even playin'.

But El Dopa has been spinnin' for an hour and the dance floor is empty. We are about to search for where the party is really happening but just as soon as we get up Ubiquity's Jamie Strong drops Al B. Sure's Off on Your Own (Girl) and we. must. dance.

Everyone on the outer rim of the floor watches as we drop in to the center of the floor. I open with the troop before moving into my serious dance repertoire. There are ladies and fellas nodding to the beat and breaking into a move every once in a while but they won't commit. I come harder and there it is. A girl in the corner can no longer contain herself. She breaks from her friends at her table and inches her way on to the floor gyrating her hips and closing her eyes and letting her head sway. The fellas head to the DJ booth and give Jamie a pound then turn and start dancing. A dark skinned fellow dressed like Pee Wee Herman drags the ladies he's with out and they join in the fan.

And Wannabe Dave Meyers is still over here fucking it up. I wish he would step to me so I could school him on the art of poplocking and how to really get down to Erotic City.

But not this night. Despite Valida's super hot set and Raul Campos much more engaging spinning on this night than he does on Nocturna during the week (although I'll freely admit that might just be some residual haterade from losing Chocolate City as a nightly show), I did not go toe to toe with any of the pretenders in the crowd. I simply drank shots and vodka like they were water and danced until I couldn't dance no mo'.

We left before the gift bags but it was a perfect evening nonetheless.

I really don't know what's better than dancing.

Maybe sex.

But that's just a dance, too, innit?

And I'm still dancing.

"Maybe I'll get some chinese, I'll have the dumplings. No MSG please." - Nellie McKay, Toto Dies [buy the album]

I was underdressed for the launch party of Mona but it was okay. The crowd was mostly people I know and just a few I know of and I don't like ending up in pictures anyway. Mona is a new antique furniture shop owned and operated by a friend of mine. She has the most gorgeous couch but it's well out of my price range right now. I'm going to have to settle with buying Iced Tea Decanters, Wall Mirrors, and Accent Pieces from her for now. I do well but I'm not rolling large like many of her clients.

I brought Felicia with me, though, and after a couple Red Bull and Vodkas, giggly discussions with Hov, real estate talk with The Shoe Man and 10 15 20 minute (okay, i might still be in the midst) crushes on cute girls with cute toes and haircuts, we made our exit.

To the delight of all, we received gift bags. Now, the ones for press included earrings amongst all the goodies (which is a nice touch for those trying to grease the wheels on positive reviews, take note, it never hurts to give gifts), the gift bag for the standard man in attendance included the following:

One free shopping session from Little Lady Red. Now, I'm biased as the Little Lady in question is one of my closest friends and Michelle and I did her cute little website (well, mostly Michelle but I'm finding my skills as a business matchmaker are pretty darn good) but this is a good one. I'm going to be using my free session to figure out gifts for the rest of the execs in my company and my staff. I just wish Red would've called me before hand because I would've loved to design a gift certificate for her.

One Sacred Waters Soap. Mine is peppermint pickup and I kind of wish it was a candle, it smells so lovely. I might just sit it on my desk and let it freshen.

One Private Pilates Session from Jennifer Evans, Certified Pilates Instructor, New York Method.

One Private Pilates Session & Mat Class from The Center Studio in Burbank.

One 30 minute Life Coaching Session from Electric Kites, Los Angeles' Premiere Life Coaching Company, which is incredibly funny to me considering I deal with this every day of my life and we just got picked up for the complete season. Who needs Electric Kites when you've got 165 one hour episodes of Life Coaching craziness at your disposable. Is it a gift or a curse? I haven't decided yet.

One Waiting for Baby Pregnancy Memory Album. Damn. Whatcha trying to say, gift bag? It's alright that I'm 29 and don't have a wife or a child. There's nothing wrong with that. Shut up, gift bag. Get off my back!

One complimentary greeting card from Warm Tone which I'm going to use to write to my very neglected grandmother.

Gift bags rule. I actually think I will probably be re-gifting a lot of these to other folks because I'm not a Pilates guy but it's nice to receive every once in a while, you know? It's special.

The best thing of the night, however, was that the party had valet service from Valet of the Dolls. That's just the most awesome thing ever. In a male dominated industry, the best valet service in Los Angeles is run by women.

Rock on, ladies.

Loves it.

"I know somethin' about love" - Dean Parrish, Tell Her [the number one songs in heaven]

7pm. I'm all dressed and ready to go. What to do for the next hour? Why L.A. Insight, of course.

1. What's the best venue in Los Angeles for live music, and why?

Viper Room has excellent acoustics for a small venue. The Greek is nice but a pain in the ass to get to. When you have good seats, Universal Ampitheatre is lovely. The best place to hear music though, hands down, is the John Anson Ford. Open air, not a bad seat in the house, the sound is wonderful and, in general, it's not hell to get in and out of. Plus they have a great concession/bar area. And the crowd is always the sexiest.

Any venue in Anaheim. I'm not coming out, fools. Also, I'm not a fan of the Key Club. Why are hip hop cats always up in that joint? It's wack.

I have a tendency to rotate. Temple Bar, Genghis Cohen, The Mint. Right now, I'm digging on Hotel Cafe.

I tend to feel like once an artist blows up we can't really lay claim to them anymore. And probably shouldn't. That's some small town bullshit that makes people identify with a band because they lived up the street. We're bigger than that.

That said, Beck and Jurassic Five are probably the artists that I most identify with LA and that I'm always geeked to see. Locals creeping on a come up like Rilo Kiley and Burning Star are also currently on the must list.

Zap Mama's Ancestry in Progress and DJ Green Lantern's Beastie Boy Mixtape A New York State of Mind can't seem to leave the car stereo. They rotate depending on whether I want to sing or if I want to put my mean mug on and scare the neighbors.

The ladies swoon for Pete Yorn and while the cat's alright, he ain't god's gift to music just because he can wear those jeans.

I'm not down with Phantom Planet, either. There, I said it.

Tough call. Beck is up there. Madlib is the beat conductor. Ice Cube, in the day, was kickin' rhyme consciousness. I think, though, that the true LA master is Dr. Dre. There is no better behind the boards hip hop producer than Dre. None. Neptunes have the "skateboard beats" on lock and Timbaland kills it with his pro tools rig but at the big board? Dre is the Chronic.

I'm going to limit this to the most impactful on my music listening life. N.W.A. and all it's offshoots was huge for me growing up here...especially in post-riot Los Angeles. Garth Trinidad was my music tour guide for the past 4 years. Having Chocolate City on only once a week is murder. Oingo Boingo, and most of Danny Elfman's soundtrack work, still makes me smile and did so today when I went on an Elfman binge after some Nightmare Before Christmas tracks showed up on shuffle.

And I still think that the Boingo album was way underrated.

"You could live in the sea, I could be a bird. We'd be together,lovers forever." - AIR, Venus [buy the album]

While I was sitting in traffic trying to get to The Standard for some poolside drinking, eating, chatting, ogling, & sidekicking everyone else was actually going to the show.

"The way we want to go is where we have to go." - Zap Mama, Show Me the Way [buy the album]

I'm a couple days late -- a brotha has thangs to do, them thangs -- but here's a little LA Insight!

1. When you can only get out of LA for a weekend, where do you like to go?

I'm always dreaming about Santa Cruz and a whirlwind run up there for some breezy walking along the pier and main street and eating at Pink Godzilla Sushi. Always. Where is my ultra-bitchin' roll? Where is it?

Lately, though, when I can actually find the resilience to get away, I head up to Ventura and see The Trues.

Well when The Trues lived there I stayed with them. The last time I was in SC, we rocked the University Inn.

Hmmm. I don't know. I revel in the lifestyle so I rarely need to get away from it. I do like the stark contrast between the bay area and here, though. Gosh, three questions in and I haven't even left California.

I don't vacation nearly enough I don't think. I went batshit crazy the week I spent in Omaha. New York stresses me out but I'm probably going to spend a week there in November.

Greece, Rio, Japan, Senegal, South Africa, France, Amsterdam.

The east bay. Seattle wasn't bad, either...although the vibe wasn't really me.

Hmmm. Any time I get to the other side of LAX, I feel like I'm in a completely different world so Redondo Beach, Manhattan Beach, all the beach communities in the south.

Universal Studios/City Walk. Citywalk is so much better when all you freaks aren't there and the theme park isn't really worth the price in my opinion.

"The highest high, deep inside." - Brand New Heavies, Highest High [buy the album]

I wasn't feeling hollywood enough this morning so when Jillian Barbarie flashed her sidekick 2 on good day LA this morning I knew what must be done. I hopped on the T-Mobile site and with that web only 50 dollar off deal I made it happen, made it happen. Now I'm just like Paris and Lohan (who so should star together in a buddy cop movie) except their's are bejeweled or bedazzled or something. I think mine will need a tattoo when it arrives. So best. So hot. So excited.

This is how hipster I am. Instead of going to see Saul Williams at Amoeba Records and then going to his after-party at Tokio, I'm going to go to Mexicali and get drunk on margaritas and taquitos with friends because while I like Saul and appreciate the label invite, I'm not about going out in H'wood on a Tuesday night. Apparently I'm getting old.

This is how scenester I am. For the last two weeks, I've been obsessed with Bijou Phillips. She's been showing up in random paparrazi photos and has been talked about doing random stuff at private parties and, well, I'm just curious. I want to know her deal. She's currently dating someone and I don't even think that's what I'm interested in. I just want to know what's her crazy? I want to go all Existentialist Detective on her and find out about her world. Well, I think that opportunity is on the horizon. The concentric circles of our mutual friends are intertwining and it's only so long before we fall into the shared area of our venn diagrams. Be ready. I promise to spill all the beans here. Unless she's totally cool and then she'll get a cool nickname here and all the juicy tidbits will end up on my LJ.

I'm in love with Livejournal so much right now, I can't even tell you. And that's how ironic geekster I am.

And, finally, here's a fashion tip. Tiffany Brown mentioned the chinese slipper trend on her site yesterday and I'm here to tell you -- I hate them. Ladies, much like the awful ugg boot, they just aren't cute. It makes whatever pants you're wearing them with look like they are pajama pants and that you just walked out in your house slippers. Your feet look like they are trapped behind chicken wire and it drives me crazy watching your feet always appearing precariously close to flying out of your shoe. Maybe they are comfortable, I don't know. I just know I hate them. Trend over. Put them away.

Thanks.

"I need food to satisfy my hunger." - Sia, Drink to get Drunk (Different Gear Remix) [buy the album]

I'm always on the search for great places to have breakfast. It is my favorite meal of the day. Eggs, a good breakfast meat, fruit, and an excellent baked good are always on my mind. I'm sure I've regularly touted Jinky's in this space. It's my favorite valley breakfast spot and their morning quesadilla with the pea-based guacamole is divine.

This weekend, however, I have been to two even better breakfast meccas. First was Toast on third. The wait is a little long and there's a running contingent of pretty hollywood hanging outside. Once inside, though, mmm mmm good. Get a side of fruit and marvel at the star fruit, the blueberries and raspberries, the fresh watermelon, and the persimmon. Persimmon people!

At least I think it was a persimmon. It was exotic and tasty and something I'd never had before whatever it was. And I can't remember what else I had but it was delicious.

But then this morning on a Sunday visit to Ventura, I finally made it to Allison's. The Trues, The Lovely Miss Anna Baby, and Felicious have been raving about the small cafe that's only open for breakfast and lunch, 7am to 2pm daily. I'd seen the biscuits but never had tasted the food until today.

The biscuits are the size of a small saucer plate. They are warm, light and airy. They glisten like they have been kissed by the heavens. The butter melts as soon as it touches the perfectly baked inner realm. You get two with your breakfast. On the table there sits homemade raspberry jam. It both sticks and drips off the spoon. Not too sweet. Not too seedy. When it drips down the side of your hand you lick it off. To daub it with a napkin would be a sin.

I hadn't eaten dinner the night before so I went big ordering the Big John's breakfast featuring chicken fried steak and gravy, three eggs and I had country potatoes instead of fruit. I devoured everything except the potatoes and only failed to eat those because there was no room left in my stomach.

My belt needed to be adjusted but I was satisfied in a way that a breakfast hadn't done in a long time.

I love you Allison and your sweet, tasty buns.

I'm gonna eat 'em up girl. Eat. 'Em. Up.

Damn.

"you're tuned into the radio station that plays the best music in town" - DJ Slave, Original Beats [buy the album]

Two weeks off, now I'm back in the driver's seat again.

1. How many hours a week are you stuck in your car?

I don't even keep track. It's been about 25 minutes to and from work lately so that's an hour each day. If I'm doing the scenester thing and going out a few nights a week that adds another hour 40 minutes 2 or 3 times a week. So maybe 10 hours all told.

a CD mix of some recent hot shit (a lot of which you can find at Time Wastin'), Clara Hill's Restless Times, RJD2's Since We Last Spoke, Rilo Kiley's More Adventurous, The Harder They Come Soundtrack

I am a big sing and dance in the car man. I also start profiling all the other drivers creating vivid details and stories about them based on their in-car activity.

The Cell phone drivers are the bane of my existence. And the uber reckless people that like to sidle all up in my lane, stop whereever they feel like it, or try to squeeze into where there is no where to squeeze forcing me to utter "Settle down, Sporty!"

If every freeway was like the 170, I'd be a happy camper.

The 405 can bite me. Always and forever.

You know, I can't really think of anything right now but everyone that enters the sepulveda/victory intersection seems to go crazy for those few brief moments turning and stopping with no rhyme or reason.

I'm always thrown by socks. How did your socks get there?