American Girl

I was only stopping into the Que Sera Sunday to pick up a Weekly and find a place to go dancing (my lovely sister Sarah was not her usual sprinkle-of-pixie-dust self; she had suffered a heartbreak and needed a pick-me-up). But lo! We could journey off to the hazardous action at Live Bait, or we could stay at the Que, where happening hipsters were pouring through the doors. The boys of Brass Knuckle Voodoo were setting up (later, they would prove mesmerizing, as their go-go dancer twitched her ass adorably and unflaggingly and licked sweat from the singer's back throughout a long set; she should be made a full member of the band, with benefits, immediately), and then Ruby Diver's Handsome, Handsome Erik magically appeared, saying he had returned from his westside Santa Monica life to DJ good funk things come midnight. Long Beach seems to be returning to its juicy underground self following a fallow period where it might as well have been Huntington Beach, filled as it was with tattooed knuckleheads. People in bold: Wonderlovers Chris Pauland Maggie, Ruby Diver siren Paula, assorted groovy lawyers and young, hippy high school teachers, but not you. Freak.