Recently in PDA Category

"I came for the party to get naughty." - Digital Underground, Same Song [buy the album]

This actress was at Spider with her boyfriend but kept eyeing me on the dance floor. As I sang along to 1999, the grin on her face widened and she whispered something to her girl friend. I watched her boyfriend's eyes. He was smooth, unflinching as he noticed her being distracted by me and my good time but his eyes let me know he was pissed. I smirked and turned away. I wasn't trying to be in between Monday night lovers so I climbed up on the raised area and sat next to the DJ kid and his girlfriend that I met earlier and discussed the quality of Spider's 80s night Disc Jockey's cuts, scratches, and blends.

Wanna Be Startin' Somethin' hit the speakers and I stood up. Now is the time on Sprockets when we dance. I pointed at the crowd I was with and we dropped it like it was hot. I surveyed the crowd: Rosenbaum's shiny Lex Luthor head is roaming through the crowd as he talks to every woman that crosses his path. Hyde sits at the bar alone, no Bijou sighting for me tonight. Mila sits with the night's promoter and they clap together and, as usual, she's being as sweet as she can be. That other Mister JT is in the building and I'm downing Ketel Sodas in preparation for the mano a mano dance-off we must have. There can be only one.

But before I can jump off the stage and step to my nemesis like my last name was Federline, the cute little actress is looking up at me from the floor. She's a brunette with gorgeous doe eyes and a wide smile. She's tiny. I recognize her face but can't place her name. She's like some cross between the first and third Pink Power Rangers and has done commercials and played "the friend" in random shows I think.

"Are you a bouncer," she asked.

"No, why does everyone always think I'm a bouncer or bodyguard," I said.

"I don't know. You just seem, like, important or something. Do you know if I can dance on the pole?"

"Yes, you can," I said and took her hand and arm, helping her up on the stage. She stood slightly behind me and hooked her hand slyly between my elbow and my torso.

"Are you sure," she asked.

"I'm here practically every week. It's allowed."

"I don't know," she said and I turned and gave her my "are you serious" look. I decided to guide her towards the pole but before she could get there, one of the ladies in my party climbed up and took control.

"See, now you've lost your chance." Jessie's Girl was playing and my pole dancing acquaintance was making room for the actress to join her when the music stopped and the lights went up.

Fire Marshal in the house like what?!

We stood around for twenty minutes as they cleared the stairwells and made Spider safe for reveling. I helped ladies on and off the stage as they sought to get a better look. We sang Kumbaya to pass the time. I raised my glass to Shock G in the corner. He sucked down some Grey Goose straight from the bottle.

I turned back to the dark haired actress and her man was on the scene. She smiled at me, I winked back and then turned to my friends as we discussed leaving.

The lights dropped again and then the familiar funkadelic rhythms of Digital Underground blew threw the speakers as Shock G climbed up on his booth by the DJ stand and ripped into Freaks of the Industry. The crowd blew up. I was amazed to see this pack of hipsters know the words to Freaks. He dropped a quick verse from Same Song and then jumped right into Humpty Dance.

For three minutes, the cool veneer of Spider was broken. Scenesters, hipsters, hangers-on, and pretenders alike were crazy wack funky.

Sadly, though, that other Mister JT had slipped out before we could settle this.

And now I'm here trying to find a cassette player so that I can actually listen to this Kiss You Back maxi single that is covered in dust and grime instead of just reading through the liner notes.

Shock G claims that Digital Underground & the Luniz are performing at 14 Below in Santa Monica on October 21st but the aren't on the schedule.

IF they are there, though, Sex Packets will be required.

"I keep looking for a place to fit in where I can speak my mind." - The Beach Boys, I Just Wasn't Made for These Times [buy the album]

The thing you have to know about time travelers is that they talk funny. Something about temporal shifting convinces them that words like poncey and trainers are acceptable, that phrases like fair enough and good on ya are usable in contexts that make no sense, that a hot affirmative like "sweet ass" really is "sweet as" suggesting it needs a subject to be completed.

You will get used to this when they rejoin your time. In fact, you'll find it charming.

Time travelers love the little things. A good beer, a smoke free bar, a lack of mosquitos and mosquito nets will send them into moments of delight and ecstasy even as they attempt to scratch their swollen and bitten feet right off.

Time travelers leave bad reggae shows in clown cars with American lawyers.

Really. They do.

Time travelers will break out their le box for any reason. You will marvel at it's compact size and attractiveness. They will tell you how their le box costs more in other lands than it does here. You will ask to see their le box again and again because it is so mesmerizing.

Something about the future brings about a change in the time traveler. They appreciate the simpler things in life: a hammock, clear water, hermit crabs, a smog free sky. Time travelers might enjoy a brief respite at home but they dream of being off on adventures at every moment. In the future they are at Mardi Gras, in the mountains of Tibet, meeting other sliders at a bar in Scotland, in secret European enclaves plotting to overthrow the German and Swedish sociocultural maladies that make them terrible tourists and guests.

You keep your eye on time travelers when they are in your presence. You expect them to shift at any moment, dissapear just as unexpectedly as they arrived, leaving a hole in the space-time continuum...and in your heart.

While watching this time splitter in particular, though, you notice something that wasn't there before: a brighter smile, a brilliant glimmer in the eyes, a spark.

It is the agitated restlessness of someone truly living. She is with you, present in the now, but she is also reveling in her recent past and her amazing future to come.

Time travelers are timeless.

Sharing moments with them are a gift.

Welcome home, HSW.

Or as they say in the future...konichiwa, bitches.

Peace out.

"Feel like a king cuz I just kissed my baby." - The Meters, Just Kissed My Baby [buy the album]

More often than not, when a woman leans in to kiss me for the first time she goes for my bottom lip. More round and full than the upper, it's like a homing signal to the uninitiated. She will lean in, eyes closing as she's locked on target and place her mouth on that one lip.

There's also a tendency for this first timer to head directly to the sucking of that lip. Now, in the heat of making out, lip-sucking is divine. You can nibble on it if you like. We're having fun and passion and hot lip on lip action.

But on this, our maiden voyage, can't I actually get my mouth on yours and not have your teeth snagging on my upper lip and give me a little time to learn the contours of your face, to learn the rhythm of our breathing and get in tune, to have my eyes closed wondering if the pictures in my mind are matching the images in yours before you start literally sucking my face?

Why does kissing you, first timer, so often make me feel like my mouth has been in a heavyweight fight?

Be easy, my dear. I know we are in this bar and we have had these drinks but let's take it slow. My kisses aren't sprints. My lips run marathons.

And, i'm just sayin', I'll bad kiss you here all you want but I don't think you're making the after-party and you sure as hell won't be here for breakfast in the morning.

My mouth has standards.

"The memory keeps me calling me back, to our love when we once had it." - Roy Ayers, The Memory [buy the album]

It's always weird going to a wrap party or crew party for a show you don't watch. People are throwing out nicknames like "Cowboy" and "The Twins" and "The Horsemen" and I'm all "Who in the what now?" The Big Brother 5 Wrap Party was fun, though. The food was decent. Most of the people weren't lame, I spent it with a friend I hadn't seen in a million years, and I painted a chocolate pig that is the cutest thing ever.

But as I was painting my pig, I kept feeling these eyes on me. Considering me. Sizing me up. Trying to figure me out. I know those eyes. I use them on others a lot. I thought I recognized the face but it seemed unlikely. I know the reality tv world like I was Rain Man and it was The People's Court so I cut glances at the person every once in a while but thought it was just that tendency in LA to run in circles where you see the same faces all the time even if you don't know them by name. After a while though, the goateed gentleman approached me, asked me my name, knew where I worked, knew I had this site! After having spent all day talking about my new desire to photograph bloggers all Celebrity Uncensored style, my eyes darted from bush to bush, shadow to shadow, expecting heavyset photogs to jump out and scream "Blogarazzi!" as they snapped pics of me with my hands over my eyes, shying away as ceramic pigs crashed down around me.

Alas, it was Afsheen, who I had just emailed with the night before and who I will work with in the future -- like Monday the future -- But who knew who I was because there are now a few select pics of me on this site in a prominent fashion.

I've inadvertently Blogarazzi'd myself. I should put black bars over the eyes of all my Blogarazzi pics to ramp up the salaciousness. I'm not very good at my stalker photography though. I didn't bring my camera so no pictures of Afsheen running uncomfortably away from me or the TVGASM people who I didn't even know were there til this morning but who I must've kept looking at because I was noticing the signed ceramic pigs being carried like running backs hold footballs.

It was funny, though. I was there with a friend who works for Endemol USA and it appeared that I knew at least as many people at the event as she did and possibly more. I chatted with Dennis from Average Joe who shows up at many a party and who I've talked with several times before. Old school people I knew from shows like Bug Juice and Tough Enough (back when every show featured staffs splattered with strong connections to our Mothership) and folks from work who I didn't even know would be there.

Good times.

Afsheen says this was his first Cewebrity sighting. I don't know if I'm amused by that title or frightened. I still struggle with the real world and the virtual world crossing paths unexpectedly.

I'm also fascinated by it.

Blogarazzi!

"Gonna rise in the morning with the sun/and live each day like it's my last one." - Jazzanova w/ Vikter Duplaix, Wasted Time

As George explains, Hiatus is such a strong word.

As Michelle emotes, I'm so fucking sad and so fucking angry.

As Jen so simply and accurately states it, Aaron is gone.

I miss my friend.

We joked regularly that he was the Malcolm to my Martin, the Magneto to my Xavier, the Huey to my Caesar.

Until I can figure out how to stop wanting to hit something, I'm going to post some of the better conversations between our two journals over the past two years.

I just wish the last time I said "later for you" to you that I had known there wasn't going to be a later.

One love.

And peace be with you.

"I'm not betting on the afterlife." - Jenny Lewis, The Big Guns [go buy Rilo Kiley's More Adventurous]

How can I not drink, get home relatively early, not get caught up in any drama, avoid getting caught in the background of some random Paparazzi photo looking stupid, and still wake up feeling like absolute ass?

Somehow I think I've turned some odd corner where in order to ward off the evil cooties of c-list celebrities and their hangers-on I must embalm myself with vodka. Otherwise, I'm sitting here at home in my comfortable makeshift pajamas (basketball shorts and a pink godzilla sushi tee) attempting to eat some oranges and some soup and cursing this wicked headache and it's unfriendly cousin, the stomach churn.

It's official, 80s Night is the place to be on Mondays. Two weeks ago, we had the run of the place. This week, we're pushing our way around girls in ultra mini-skirts and the c-list celebrities they want to get the attention of. I love it anyway because, really, where else am I going to go on Mondays? You could stand on the balcony listening to people discuss how they were on exstacy and how some creepy old man grabbed their boobs all while watching the steady stream of pretty and sexy walk from the bitter club rival over to our locale.

The best person to make that transition last night was the father of Trip-hop, Tricky. The doormen didn't know who he was. They denied him access. A friend of his stood with us as we watched it go down. "They aren't going to let him in," he asked, the sweat and X pouring out of him. "They don't know Tricky, man. You're going to have to go get him," I offered.

As if that was the most brilliant thing anyone had ever said, he rushed down the stairs wiping the sweat from his brow with his handy arm band and got a musical master in da club.

As Tricky walked by and nodded, I turned to my friends and announced that I'm dubbing the end of 2004 "The Winter of Mo". "Mohawks, motorcycles, mo-hair. We're doing it up like Tricky. He dated Bjõrk. I need that kind of juice."

I'm not sure they believed me. I don't know that I believe it myself. This awful bellyache is trying to convince me that I shouldn't be Mo' Adventurous on Monday nights.

"You may not understand why there's a smile on my face/It's 'cuz this world could be such a wonderful place" - N*E*R*D, Wonderful Place [buy the album]

Who goes out on Monday nights?

Who drinks gimlets and dances to eighties music with young and even younger hollywood and scenesters galore on Monday nights?

Who loves the fact that you can park for free and drive the streets of hollywood with no congestion in the wee hours on Monday nights?

Who hurts like the dickens on a Tuesday after doing the above on a Monday night?

I do.

"Money's all gone but you need some/Lover's on the phone but they got none" - Scissor Sisters, Music is the Victim [buy the album]

A friend is making her debut as a singer doing back-up for a very new, very up and coming alt.country outfit called Jody Jones and the August Sons. We're at the M Bar, a place that when I'm driving towards it, I feel like I've been to far too often, but once inside, I feel as though it's not often enough. Trapped in a mini-mall, it's lush velvety interior is like an oasis from the grit and grime of lower Vine.

"Young liars I said Thank you for taking my hands and burying them deep in the world's wet womb where no one can heed their commands where no one can heed their commands except young liars" - TV on the Radio, Young Liars (Live at Gate City Noise) [Buy the album]

It finally happened. Sometime in the past few months, as we've spent more time together, my sister, who is twelve years younger, and I transitioned from our abnormal, but expected, uncle/niece style relationship into a truer sibling thang. As I drove towards our lunch destination in Studio City earlier today and we talked about things it popped into my head, "Wow, we're friends."

Now, I'm sure part of it has to do with the fact that as she gets ever older (she's 17 now), some of my friend circles seem to be getting younger and that she swallows whole my abridged tales of my Hollywood exploits as if I was the audio version of US Weekly but it also has to do with her maturation. And I couldn't be happier.

We sat down at Mexicali and talked about the great things in her week -- auditioning for a role on a tv show, being mentored by a serious casting television show casting agency -- and the bad -- not being able to go take her driver's license exam, fighting with our parents over her crazed and rash desire to get emancipated so she could work as an adult. I listened and offered advice. We discussed politics (She has to read Chris Mathews' Hardball for AP Government this fall, I'm still slowly getting through Fanatics & Fools) and cracked jokes. We've hardly ever done that before.

Truthfully, we've both been raised as only children. I went away to college before she was in the first grade and spent every summer in DC, I lived at home for only 6 months after returning after school and then set about making my place in the world which, for many reasons, hasn't always meant I've been the most available brother and son. I've worried that we might be like my dad and his siblings, rarely interacting or seeing each other.

I didn't want that. I don't want that. Now I don't have to worry about that anymore. We trust and respect each other. We're friends. We're siblings. We're family.

Even though she's crazy, I'll claim her with pride.

Especially if you see her on TV soon playing the spunky bisexual girl on a corny series set on the islands.

The entourage starts with family first.

Get in line behind the brotha.

"Kick it wit' me I can mold yo life, you lookin' good girl show you right/Dre told me you tha proto type, I can make you a celebrity overnight" - Twista, Overnight Celebrity [buy the album]

Cody's spinnin' club bangers and, of course, I'm dancing. I kept it easy as my dance partner did several versions of the same move, hitting none of the beats as she smiled and fumbled around, ever a threat to bump into those around us.

She leaned over and whispered in my ear, "I know you're thinkin' to yourself that this white girl can't dance."

Yup. Exactly. But that doesn't matter, ma, I can dance enough for the both of us.

We're at Vermont. I've been here before. It's a LA kind of birthday party. Expensive drinks, sexy clothes, nose candy in the bathroom, excess everywhere you turn. After drinks and laughs and conversations I've tired of, I'm in my own world on the dance floor. Dancing with no one, everyone, the world.

I was all set to break it down to the breakadawn when I glanced up and saw her. I'm sure the smile on my face was ridiculous. We locked eyes for a moment and pointed, I cocked my cap to the side and made my way to the table. We hugged like we'd known each other forever even though we've only hung out once before.

I took her hand and brought her back with me to center stage. She's the partner I've been waiting for. Her hips rocked in the same time as mine. We mouthed the words to every song. I hugged her again as she said, "I like you so much I don't even know what to do."

Her friend joined us and hugged me as well. "I've been thinking about you all week. I've been watching your show. You know, Ja totally reminds me of you."

"You know why," I asked. She looked at me. "Cuz we both got that ism." She laughed. I raised an eyebrow, kicked a hemp shelltop back and returned my attention to her.

We all retired to the Mondrian and continued our night of decadence. Spin the bottle, making out in the bathroom, political discussions, emailing dirty limericks to Oz, doorbell ditching with European tourists, drinking copious amouts of red bull and vodka, all while alternating between The Grey Album and Get Rich or Die Tryin' on the stereo. In between, she and I sat side by side on the bed clowning people while discussing her current love/hate relationship with the culture of celebrity.

She wore my hat despite my warnings that it was sweaty. We promised to make plans to hang out soon.

And, at some point, I became a little smitten.

I don't even care that she's just 23, has a boyfriend, and is going to be trouble.

There's something about Marilyn.