I live for Christian Dior. A gala reception at the South Coast Plaza store on Sept. 17 was so filled with champagne and luscious human props (“So, how does it feel to be a human prop?” “It feels great!”) that the marvelousness of it all was simply too much to bear. Perhaps some of you might be pouting that $1,260 is too much money to pay for a divine slip nightie in orange and raspberry sherbet (two colors that never go out of style!), but I'll remind you that the stitchery in the seams is the best to be had-maybe. And everyone knows the importance of a finely stitched seam, non? The question most of us were asking, of course, as we fingered $1,580 nightgowns (the matching overblouse was $1,680-but it was silk!) was, “For God's sake, who wears this stuff?” And as I watched Mr. Rogers talk on PBS on a recent morning about a little girl with cancer who was scared because she had to spend a minute in the radiation tunnel, and she didn't know how long a minute was, but her mom explained a minute was less than the time it takes to sing the “It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood” song, so her mom sang it to her over the loudspeaker each time she had to go in the tunnel, and the little girl felt better and wasn't so scared, and the mom wrote Mr. Rogers a letter about it, well, it was then that I realized who the people who go to Christian Dior openings and buy the $1,100 camisoles are: they're the ones who don't have a fucking clue what's going on in the rest of the world. What Would Commie Girl Do? She'd eat the rich! My contempt is boundless.The guitarist for The Church had some boundless contempt going on for the crowd at Doheny Days on Saturday-a day so perfect that adjectives have deserted me. He was pretty sexy (he looked like Bono), and when he smiled, it was beautiful. But why on earth would he sneer, “I've never played for so many bare chests in my life,” as though it were a bad thing? Dude, you were playing at the beach. But aside from that, I spent their whole killer set-most bitchenly, “Destination” and “Under the Milky Way,” which is one of the prettiest songs ever written, and I've owned the album since I was 12-staring and smiling at that sexy guitarist, only to have him smile at the two girls right in front of me and point backstage. And they didn't even know any of the words! It's an unjust world is what it is. The rest of the day was a sun-soaked, end-of-summer pleasure. It was beautifully organized, with one band playing as soon as the previous band ended, and replete with cute hippieish vendor booths. For some reason, I assumed there would be more homeowner types there, but everyone was young, pretty and happy. Sunchild was groovin' as always; Berlin was game, if perhaps better in the studio than live; Bow Wow Wow was kickin'; and the Beat Farmers-sans Buddy Blue and Country Dick Montana (because he's dead)-sounded surprisingly like John Mellencamp, but I like John Mellencamp, so that was okay. Um, I really didn't pay any attention to Dishwalla. Sorry.And then there was X. Now, I've never seen X before or even really listened to any of their songs besides the anthemic “Los Angeles” because I'm just not very cool. Oh, and I'm not that old. But I will be going out and buying an album-probably the one with “Los Angeles” on it because I'm comforted by the familiar. They were fucking great. Exene Cervenkova looked and sounded about 20 years old; John Doe howled; D.J. Bonebrake was apparently there, too; and Billy Zoom is my new secret crush. He has the most immaculate stillness when he plays, legs braced apart and head barely moving while chaos churns around him. And he looked so happy to be playing; he even took some pictures of the mosh pit (just like we hear he did at the fuckin' Hootenany; don't get me started). I was up on some guy's shoulders (I learned later that his name is John), so for the first time in my life, I was able to see everything around me.After the show, we were standing over by the backstage entrance when Doe tried to walk a bunch of kids back there without passes. He actually had to persuade the guard to let them in; the guard was trying to tell him he'd need credentials for them. Hello? He's John Doe. He just headlined the goddamn show! Rock stars don't get enough respect. Maybe if he'd claimed to be me . . .After X, we hopped over to Club 369 in Fullerton for Burnin Groove and Manic Hispanic because I have a secret crush on Burnin Groove's drummer. He's the dreamiest! Luckily, Burnin Groove didn't suck; I even sort of liked them! But Manic Hispanic was the bomb, playing all those familiar punk covers with their cholo-felon twist. And 369 was packed with incredibly cheerful drunk people oozing friendliness and camraderie all over the place. I'm liking that place more and more. We heard Doe was in the house, but we can't confirm that at this time.And Burnin Groove's drummer gave me a T-shirt. Sigh.We went back Monday for more Zoom, this time at Linda's Doll Hut, where he sat in with The Bleeders-which also features cute Doll Hut barkeep Greg Antista. (He said he'd pay me to write he was cute, but this one's on me, Greg!) That's when we discovered that Zoom (who looks a lot like Christopher Walken) is eerily silent. Throughout the night, we witnessed people attempting to chat while he gazed through them unnervingly. It was pretty funny after a while, though probably not to the friendly would-be chatters. The opening bands were Smogtown-whose clever singer had this clever question to ask the crowd: “So, how's the Anaheim pussy?”-and Seattle's Hai Karate. Friends who like really loud music appreciated them, and I trust their judgment. So, good they were!Friday, my friend Arrissia and I went on a gay date to see fIREHOSE's Mike Watt at Club Mesa. Not with each other: we tagged along on someone else's gay date. And I am here to tell you it was the best date I've ever had. The boys were attentive, bought us all our drinks, and kept telling us how incredibly beautiful we are, which is true. The place was stuffed with men; I wonder how many of them were on gay dates. But one of the new friends we made-while Watt played what turned out to be a funky, roots-rock-oriented set-kept surreptitiously touching my butt even after I asked him not to. I've got some issues about personal space.Luckily, would-be state superintendent of schools Gloria Matta Tuchman didn't have any issues with making the most outrageous, inflammatory slurs against one of my personal heroes, Superintendent Delaine Eastin, at the GOP Central Committee meeting on Monday. Like this one: Eastin wants Playboy Magazine distributed in schools! The FBI is investigating her! And she uses our children as “rungs” on her climb up the political ladder! Tuchman, resplendent in mauve, is associated with the Eagle Forum-Grand High Looneybird Phyllis Schlafly's ultraright-wing women's auxiliary to Satan's Army. One question that was asked of Tuchman twice during the central-committee meeting-what would she do about Goals 2000?-is a favorite of the wild-eyed Right. They say the essay questions on the standardized Goals 2000 tests are Big Brother's intrusion into your children's beliefs. Tuchman? She agrees. Me? I'm terrified.

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