blackrimglasses

Friday evening was very LA. We all (meaning most of our office) went to a big thing for Filter magazine at MOCA that also happened to be a Basquiat exhibit and a Sigur Ros listening party. Imagine: a magazine, obsessive art and intricate Icelandic wailing all in one place, coupled with the work crew ready for a night out.

It was fun as fuck in other words.

Also planned for the evening was a trip out to Silverlake to see Kennedy, he of the awesome ly fantastic “You’re Mama” video, which has been eating up the charts in our office playlist. So good it hurts.

Between Moca and Spaceland is 101 Cafe, which we went to with Maria, and Ian Cripps, of the magnificent… Ian Cripps. His dad was in LA Guns. He is that cool. And his mom is cool too. I’m using cool an awful lot in this entry, and I think that is ridiculously.. cool. Shit.

OK, so Kennedy was great. They started way late, and halfway through his set he climbed onto the bar, stole a bottle of whiskey and drained most of it. My lord. In between, it was funk to the back beat of his iPod and awesome Kinks style Garage RAWK.

Saturday was too hot to recount, but it involved trying to sell my old car. Sunday was again too hot to matter. But it did have the VMA’s. Let it be known that I have never seen a more cluster-fucked VMA’s in my entire life. It was so brilliantly bad. The highlight I think had to be R. Kelly going insane while lipsyncing badly to a weird song that involved a gay love triangle. Brilliant.

Green Day won many awards. MCR did not. I will be yelled at in the AM.