By Gustavo Arellano
By R. Scott Moxley
By Alfonso Delgado
By Courtney Hamilton
By Joel Beers
By Peter Maguire
By Charles Lam
By Charles Lam
•In the girls' room at Mr. J's, boy strippers dance to multiple Phil Collins songs. One dangles his participle (it hangs down creepily in his participle pouch, and he wags it a lot) all over the young ladies who had paid $5 for a "hot seat" where the young men would simulate sex with them. For my part, I think the "hot seat" would work a lot better if you just picked the girls up and slow-danced with them, maybe breathing on their necks, rather than humping their legs like jackrabbits.
•I hate Wyoming.•I can't tell you the terrible joy of watching Todd Spitzer ready himself for an _on-camera interview. •At Quiksilver's Surf Cultureparty at the Royal Hawaiian, a self-important young man who arrives with artist Sandow Birk is denied entrance. "That's okay, dude," he tells Bill the Bouncer as he turned and stalked off. "I am so over you!" Meanwhile, a muumuued woman in her 40s who claims to be a reporter berates a youngish but weatherbeaten man who is trying to ditch her to talk to a pretty blonde smoking outside. "COME BACK HERE RIGHT NOW!" she shouts, her words whipping past us all. "I AM THE ONE GETTING YOU IN TO THIS PARTY! WE ARE NEXT ON THE LIST!" No, they never do get in.
•The folks with traumatic brain injuries at Integrity Houseshow me up fierce when I try to Power Jam. The joy is even fiercer than Todd Spitzer and that camera.
•Nashville Pussy's Ruyter Suys crotches on the back of a security guard's neck. She should be the most famous girl in the world.
•Goths at Release the Bats all dance like mimes. Help meee! I'm stuck in a box!Help the Girl: email@example.com.