Thighs Wide Shut

Sorry it has taken me so long to finish this woolly mammoth recap of my Coachella days. But I figure the week anniversary of my final day in paradise would suffice. Plus I have the added pressure to top myself (with whipped cream) after dearest Uncle Grambo’s gracious comments about Part II’s review. At least my wicked Uncle Ernie had nothing to say. And without further Freddy Adu, you won’t shout as I fiddle about, fiddle about, fiddle about…

Sunday May 2nd

Me after day one

After day one, I was covered in hipster crud and the aforementioned funnel cake powdered sugar, burned by the sun (not the website mind you!), and apparently sleeping with my eyes open. When I woke up on Sunday morning, I didn’t have much time to reflect on the previous day’s events cause the sweet Al Greens haze had completely clouded my brain. I couldn’t even think about which pair of Calvin Klein’s to wear on my behind (and as Run DMC would say, “he aint no friend of mine.”). I was so lazy the night before that I slept in my own filth like Pigpen of Peanuts fame. The shower I took that morning felt like a baptism. I hadn’t seen so much black stuff come off my body since that time I wrestled a dwarf in a giant ashtray. OK, that didn’t happen, but sometimes I wish it did.

Raffi would have been a better choice than Beck

Anywho, since me and the liz-adies had no interest in the early bands and wanted to avoid the center of our solar system for as much of the day as possible, we went driving around the Palm Spring area. I can’t imagine living out there. It’s filled with old people, country clubs, and the occasional cluster of strip malls. On the other hand, it did have booty cheap smokes, umcredible weather, and the best scenic views this side of Pittsburgh. After driving around this town and letting the cops chase us around (I’ll never quote the Gin Blossoms again, I promise), we stopped off at Ruby’s Diner. The girls were itching for breakfast, but it was past noon and I told em to deal with it or I’d leave them out in the desert, deserted, with no dessert. Then I was informed by Megbot that she really didn’t want to wear jeans in 105+ weather, which I questioned in the first place, and that we had to go back to the Ghettotel 6 so she could change. After some riff and raff and tunes by children’s music phenom, Raffi, we were finally off to the shiz-ho.

Turns out the only band we really missed was Pretty Girls Make Graves (one of the coolest names for a band, unlike Death Cab For Cutie… wtf is a Death Cab and who the fuck is Cutie?). I think I’ll live cause they’ll be in NY sometime playing for chump change in a tiny venue. But enuff about NY, we’re living it up Cali-fradgie-listic-docious-booty-titty-caca style. The bands playing at the time of our arrival were not that stellar or even stellastar* (they played the day before and I avoided them like SARS). We decided to check out the dumb free shit that we didn’t have time to explore on the jam packed day before. They have these crazy rides made out of old bikes. One is merry-go-round, another is a lawn-mower-type-thang, and another was a two-man Ferris Wheel. Megbot and Curious George’s mum got to ride it and likened it to that feeling of the 1st drop on a roller coaster. I was so jazzed to ride the ride meself until the ride’s operator informed me that I needed to find someone who weighed 20 lbs lower or higher than me. Well since all the obese people were obvs in line for funnel cake, I was left standing there with my cock in my hand.

I’ll bet you fitty bucks that The Thrills play The OC’s prom next year

The first band we took a long peep at was Muse. I never knew much about them cept that all the NYChipsters go gaga for them like Sonny going coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs, and 14 year olds going spew-spew for Hilary Muff. They sounded fab, but seeing them once was enuff for me. A-Muse-ing, but not my kind of Muse-ic. After dat, it was off to the smelly tent to see one of my new favoritish bands, The Thrills. Side note: why did they schedule superfly bands to play in a smelly tent? Get some of the crumb-bums off the two main stages (like Thursday and the (International (house of)) Noise Conspiracy) and replace them with the goodness that are the bands I think highly of. Enuff complaining cause The Thrills, they thrilled!!! They hail from Ireland (cept I kept telling people they were from Scotland), and sound like Brian Wilson, Grandaddy, and The Charlatans UK all rolled into one breezy-Cali funfest. These guys have a bright future and not just cause the have a “The” in their name. The big advantage to seeing los Thrills at Coachella is that their set time is limited, and since they only have one album, we pretty much got to hear all of it. They ran thru their oeuvre with the all the bases covered: “One Horse Town”, “Big Sur”, and what could pass as the theme song to The OC, “Santa Cruz (You’re Not That Far). Mmmmm, SoCal rock made by Irish people.

How Goldenvoice does it’s band research

It was feeding time once again. I can’t go too long without junk food or I’ll start twitching. I was all set to have like 17 frozen chocolate covered banananananas, but sadly they were already sold out of em!! Note to Goldenvoice (the peeps behind the concert): next year overstock on the frozen c.c.b.’s cause the Thigh Master demands it. I settled for my second funnel cake in as many days and a pina colada smoothie… so Nathan Lane-ish, but c’mon, I’m hanging out with two fly liz-adies. After the munch a bunches, it was off to see Belle & Seboring. On the way over, I heard a familiar tune echoing out of one of the smelly tents (no, not the one Beck left a musical diarrhea in). I couldn’t place it at first, but then realized it was the Cooper Temple Clause playing “Promises Promises”, which is included on the soundtrack to my most belovedededed video game of the moment, EA Sports’ FIFA Soccer 2004. Come to think of it, many of the artists who lended a tune to the game were also at Coachella (Radiohead, Junior Senior, and Paul Van Dyk). So if you want to get a jumpstart on the bands for Coachella 2005, wait till FIFA 2005 is released this fall. Annie ways, back to Belle, Bovs, and Sebastian. I caught them at 2002’s Coachella and was as unimpressed then as I was on this day. Their sound is tight like Kate Beckinsale in Transylvanian leather, but the music doesn’t do shit for me. I need fast, hard, and loud. Think White Stripes, not Yeah Yeah Hellz-No. Peeped a lil Sparta, and that’s about all I want to comment on that topic.

Who wouldn’t buy a phone from dat ass?

Around this time, my T-Mobile phone actually started functioning. My faith in Catherine-Zeta-Jones-Douglas-MacArthur and her phone pimping abilities were restored. I finally got a text message thru to the Zeus of the blogosphere, Uncle Grambo. We picked a place to meet right before Air was to take center stage. Good thing I was stalking Doc Grambo online for months leading up to this day and found some pictures of him (which hang in my locker), cause otherwise I wouldn’t be able to pick him out of the crowd o’ hipsterinos. With the liz-adies in tow, I approached the man and simply asked, “Mark?” He replied with, “Mike?” Phew, that was a close one. He turned to a fair-haired gent standing next to him and said, “Peabs, it’s the Thigh Master.” Woooh. This was too much for me. Mees gots to meet the gregarious Grambo AND the passion of the Peabs (+ guest appearances by Dirty and their babes) in a span of 43 seconds?!?!? God blesseth that Al Gore invention, the internet. A week ago we were email pen pals and today we’re humping each other’s legs! We broke into simple chit chat, praising each other’s cocks and blogs, discussing Lohan’s thighs, and then me got all geeky on both of em an asked for a picture of the three of us. (Curious George’s mum has the photos, so when I get em, you’ll see em.) I muss say, I never heard the words “obvs”, “bovs”, and “schmobvs” used so much in conversation since The Uncle Grambo & Peabs’ Kwanzaa Spectacular that aired on QVC last winter. With my drooling subsiding, it was time to stop humping each other’s respective legs, go our separate ways, and catch some Air. Not the shit you breathe, but the breastest band of the past 6 years. So I missed Dizzee Rascal’s tent song and dance, but big whoomp there it is, I got to meet the Detroit Rock City crew. So best!

Air, the greatest French thing since the LeCar

The Thigh Master and Megbot AIRed it out in mid-April, but I was ready for an encore. I couldn’t have pictured a better setting to see Air: al fresco, al dente, the sun was setting behind the purple mountains, and my swamp-ass was finally beginning to cool down. The lights went up and the French duo worked their magic. For those who had never heard of them, they would walk away from this night as Air fanatics. Sorta like when Pak-Man walked out of Mean Girls and wanted to lick LL’s toes (more on that in the full LL MG review to be posted sometime this year). They started off with some slow stuff like “Run”, but quickly picked up the pace with rousing renditions of “Sexy Boy” and “Kelly Watch the Stars”. Side note part IIXXCCML: who was the genius who allotted only 50 minutes of AIRtime? They should have played for 6 straight hours. Their sweet sounds make me want to be French. They make me want to get in my LeCar with my LeBag and le bang Ludivine Sagnier. Anyjew, Air didn’t play their new breast song ever, “Cherry Blossom Girl” and apparently still have no love for playing tunes off their Kid A-esque masterpiece, 10,000Hz Legend. Even with Beck in town, they didn’t attempt to play “Vagabond”. But after Beck’s pepto-A-Bismol Saturday performance, he would have ruined everything (think USA in Iraq). After they announced that they had only one song remaining, I wasn’t too worried cause they picked one of their longest and one of the most soothing songs to end their set, “Femme d’Argent”. Good info: if you’re ever in a bar and you want to maximize your jukebox monies, play the longest songs you know and can tolerate. “Femme d’Argent” is a perfect choice and “Born Slippery” by Underworld off the Trainspotting soundtrack aint no slouch either. Post script: go buy all of Air’s albums, NOW.

We then took an extended bathroom break, which was conveniently located next to the stage where BRMC (BlackDildoMotorcycleClub) were performing. I don’t think the outdoor confines were suited for the roaring noise that is BRMC’s music. Plus I’ve sorta been there done that with them. On their first album they asked “Whatever Happened To My Rock’N’Roll?” Well, they say if it aint baroque, then don’t fix it. But after hearing their second album, which sounded a lot like their first, I had to ask the question, whatever happened to branching out musically (see Moby’s 18 and the Strokes’ latest)?

I don’t think Wayne Coyne got a lot of attention as a child

Then it was time for some Flaming Lip service. I saw them open for Beck twice, before he was so f-in Beck, and lemme tell you, los Lips put on one phenomenal live show. The music sounds perfect, there’s people dancing in plushie outfits, and Wayne Coyne lets the crowd know how much he loves himself. After a delayed beginning, Wayne came out and explained to the crowd that he was up to something special and hence the delay. But none of us were ready for what happened next. They opened with the crowd pleasing “Race For the Prize”, as Mr. Coyne inserted himself into a giant plastic bubble (sorta like John Travolta or Jake Gyllenhaal) and walked into the crowd. That was so f-in mint. But then Coyne-head talked and talked and talked us away from the stage. We’d had enuff. Seems like we didn’t miss much either as they only played a total of 5 or so songs. I’ll catch em at Lollapaloser, where such hijinks will be toned down.

Corn dogs: one of the four food groups of a fat person

My stomach said no, but my brain said corn dogs!! It’s Coachella, so anything goes. Ask yourself this, when was the last time you had a good ole corn dog? I bet it’s been ages, right? Well the next time you see a corn dog stand at the beach, and amusement park, or after watching an egomaniac climb into a giant bubble, stop and order yerself up one of nature’s finest treats. Aaaaaaaaah. If only the Atkins diet consisted of funnel cakes and corn dogs!

Next on the nights docket was Basement Jaxx. The only time I saw them was their free Central Park show a few years back and I had to listen to them outside of the venue. So I pleaded to the liz-adies that we had to watch their entire set. Plus the four seconds of Mogwai that we saw wasn’t enuff to keep us at the smelly tent. Sure the Jaxx are just two guys, but when they travel, they bring the whole gang with em: a band, a soul diva, and dancing monkeys (not real ones, just men in monkey suits… no, not dress suits, but actual monkey suits.). Unlike some bands I know, the Jaxx dipped into each of their albums to keep the hipsters toe tapping from the first song to the last one. And as predicted by the Thigh Master himself, the Jaxx imported Dizzee Rascal for a magnificent live version of their collaboration, “Lucky Star”. The crowd was thin that we moseyed on up to the front of the stage. It was “Where’s Your Head At?” time. So f-in manic. Even more manic than The Bangles’ “Manic Monday”. Everyone was jumping up and down and all around. Then I asked myself, where was my head at, cause we could have been standing right by the stage for all of the Jaxx’s set.

Huey can’t handle the loudness that is LeTigre

Thanks for reading this far folks! I’ll buy you one White Castle burger the next time I see you if you did. So in the best interest of my beauty sleep and your interest in this article, here’s a qwik attempt to wrap up the rest of the night’s proceedings. I aint a The Cure fan and after listening to their soft-goth melodies, I still aint a The Cure fan. It was expected boringness, unlike Beck who should be umcredible every time out. We den moved on over to see Le Tigre with much anticipation. Couldn’t get too glen close to the stage cause as Huey Lewis said in Back to the Future, “I’m afraid you’re just too darn loud.” I mean, we could have been 2 miles away from the stage and STILL heard them crystal clearly. Next time I see them, I hope the sound is crystal light. They rocked though. Screaming chicks with thumping beats, a deadly duo. I hope their adventures in major labeldom lead them to stardom. With time winding down we rushed over to the dance tent/ecstasy den to catch Paul Van Dyk. Then off to see Ash in the smelly tent. I felt bad cause there was only about 50 people there and I don’t even think that’s an exaggerated head count. For their final song and my final Coachella song, they played the eggsalad, “Burn Baby Burn”. The show was basically over, cept for The Cure kept boring the legions of fans. So on and so forth, we rushed back to LA Monday morn and I was NY bound (Big Fish and Megbot were the in-flight entertainment). The new cab fare hike went into affect the day I came back and my ride back to Upper Siberia, Manhattan cost $49, not including tip. Death to cab fare hikes, cutie!!

First Annual Thighs Wide Shut Coachella Awards

Best Day:

Day 2

Best Performance:

Basement Jaxx

Biased Second Best Performance:

Air

So F-in Beck:

Beck

Gawd Bless The Early 90’s:

The Pixies

Mostest Boringingest:

any band that plays slow or fluffy music

(Cure, Beck, Belle & Seboring)

Worst Scheduling of Amazing Bands Back To Back To Back:

Day Two from 7:30 ‘til midnight

My New Favorite Band:

The Black Keys

How Many “The” Bands:

8

Are They The Same Band?:

stellastar* and Whitestarr

Pissed I Missed:

Pretty Girls Make Graves, Danger Mouse, more

of Junior Senior, and comrade Shady Harrison

Best Junk Food:

(three way tie! would have been 4, but I didn’t go churro crazy this year)

funnel cakes, corn dogs, and frozen chocolate covered banananananas

Worst Thang About Coachella:

missing LL rock on SNL

Who Should Be There In 2005:

everyone I missed in 2003 (Ladytron, Primal Scream, White Stripes, Polyphonic Spree) + The Raveonettes, Franz Ferdinand, OutKast, Supergrass, The The (the ultimate “The” named band), Neil Diamond,

and of course, Lindsay Lohan

See you in 2005 bizatches. The churros are on me.

Where did we leave off? Oh yeah, I was balls tired and passed out with a belly full of In-N-Out Burgers. And away we gogh gogh!

Saturday May 1st

Don’t you just love vacation? All you end up doing is waking up earlier than you normally would, you spend a shitload of money, and you’re always running around, never relaxing. Nonetheless, this is Coachella time, and mees gots to get my groove on.

The cigarette that’s for ghetto hipsters

Woke up round 8 am, walked outside to smoke a chub and to check the weather. How is my cigarette already lit without me lighting it? Oh yeah, that’s right, it’s 123782183 degrees and it’s only 8 AM!!! It tasted like burning. With the liz-adies asleep, me hit the road and picked up some water, a $28.99 carton of Parliament Menthol Lights and some water. What’s that smell? O lord, I’m not getting swamp ass already, am I? Got my first useless “What’s Up Coachella” text message. It told me it was going to be hot, that I should drink a lot of water and wear sun tan lotion. Jeez. If I wanted motherly advice, I would have called mumsy. Any-haze, the gals finally woke up, took 14 hours to get ready, cause they girls, and we wiz ready to rock steady.

Wees stopped at some dumpy-ass place that served cheap breakfast. This eating establishment was right out of David Lynch’s head. It also doubled as a Budget moving store. There was mad people up in that bitch and the only people working was the cook, one sloppy waitress, and some sweaty-ass dude who kept forgetting to get me OJ and the check. Although there were mad flies abound, the food was top notch. Top notch as in it sure beats starving! Off to the show.

Richie and Julia Gulia can’t decide whether to czech out Howie Day or Erase Errata

Quick background: The event is called Coachella, which is the name of a town, but the event actually takes place in Indio (also the name of Robert Downey Jr’s child). It’s held at the Empire Polo Field, which is where they filmed the polo scene in Pretty Woman and one very special episode of 90210 that I can’t quite remember too well. This is Coachella’s 5th year and my second tour of duty. I went to 2002’s shebang, which included Bjork, Oasis, The Strokes, The Chem Bros, Charlatans UK, and Jurassic 5. There are two outdoor stages, 3 tents, a film festival, strange bikes you can ride, shit to buy, and every food imaginable (plenty more on that later). This is the closest thang to the original Woodstock for us hipsterinos, but it’s staged every year… and they keep topping themselves with the f-in lineup. This aint no Warped Tour, no OzzFest, no Limp Biszkskit poop-a-thon, and this isn’t your daddy’s Jim Croce concert. This is fucking Coachella. Hellz yella.

After taking some ghetto-back ways to avoid traffic, we arrived in the grassy parking lot. 3 lots and one smelly ass horse stable later, we arrived at the gates. This was it, the moment I’ve been anally preparing for since January. Soon as we got in we had to use the port-a-potties. The show barely started and the toilets in a box reeked worse than microwaving fish. Hot rotting poo aside, it’s time to f-in riz-ock.

The Sounds were the first band we peeped. And lemme tell you, the sounds of the Sounds sounded great. They played their three breast songs, “Seven Days A Week”, “Dance With Me”, and “Living In America.” Then it was off to watch 2 seconds each of The Sahara Hotnights, The Evens, and 5-time Coachella alumnus, Peretz (aka Perry Farrrrelll). After that we were stilled by the sounds of The Stills. I didn’t know much about em, but still, they put on a decent enuff show to watch most of their set. Still-rific!

“Joyous”? More like BOOOOORING

Beck was up next in the tiniest of all the 5 stages. We knew there would be a crowd so we made camp as all the hipsters with the ironic tee-shirts began to fill up our surroundings. It all started off fine with “Cold Brains”, but it went straight down the toilet like a goldfish from there. He started playing boring-ass music and putting me to sleep. He was so quiet and boring that the ghetto-blasting tunes from the “dance” music tent overshadowed him. Mees seen the Beckster before, but this was horrid. Is this what happens when you marry a Ribisi? To the heeezey. And I aint the only one who was disappointed. Uncle Grambo likened it to a, “back alley abortion of a performance.” So f-in durst.

I should have followed my heart and checked out more of Junior Senior. When we did hear em in a smelly tent, they were covering “Twist and Shout.” I felt like I was at a Bat Mitzvah and “We Are Family” was up next, so it was time to bolt. Walking around we heard the Hieroglyphics singing “Clint Eastwood”? Why? Whooops. I found out later that Del the Funky Homo (a Gorillaz member, for those of you living in a cave) joined them onstage. A few Death Cab For Cutie (by far, the lamest band name I have ever heard of) tunes later and it’s off to another smelly tent to czech out the Black Keys. Megbot used to work at an Akron record shop with Key maestro, Dan Auerbach. It’s been awhile since they’ve seen each other, so backstage humping was out of the question. Anwyho, the Black Keys f-in rock. It’s not like their sound isn’t crazy original (think White Stripes meet Led Zep blues), but its miles away butter than most of the Jimmy Eat World shit out there. By the way, wasn’t JEW supposed to be there? Maybe Beck and his lame-ass-ness scared them off.

I dare you to name one thing that’s fried and covered in sugar thats awful

With a bunch of crap that I didn’t want to see, it was lets eat junk food time. Why eat a complete meal when you can eat crap. Sure they had healthy shit like fruit and hippie-vegan garbage for hippies, but I aint having it. It’s vacation and I’m packing on the pounds (sort of like any other day for me). While the liz-adies waited in the huge smoothie line, I opted for a funnel cake covered in caramel and o course, powdered sugar. As I was wolfing that down like a champ and joined the liz-adies in line, I noticed they were selling frozen chocolate covered banananananas… my Achilles heel, my kryptonite, my secret lover. Life is good, and my belly agrees!! During the break in the action, I also attempted to meet up with Uncle Grambo, ole IU pals Shady, Pfife Dawg, and Busta Hayman the II, and Lindsay Lohan via text massaging, but my cellie-cell was on the fritz lang. I guess when you pack 50K + peeps into one place, techmology breaks down. Oh well, the liz-adies are all the company I need…

Checked out kibble and bitz of Sparta as everyone awaited the most awaited band that everyone awaited to see: The Pixies. I’ve been waiting for this moment for all my life. I used to rock out to Doolittle and Trompe Le Monde while I played hours of Nintendo’s Dragon Warrior. I felt like everything was coming full circle. So how did they sound? PERFECT. F-in mint. And they played EVERYTHING. “Debaser” was debomb. “Here Comes Your Man” made me come on my hand. “Wave of Mutilation” was a wave of awesomenesssness. Sounded better than when I first heard it in the 2nd best Christian Slater movie of all time, Pump Up The Volume. Towards the end of the set, Megbot really had to pee and dragged me along. When I got back, I found out I missed “Where Is My Mind?” I was about to ask Megbot where is her mind for making me go with her. Oh well, there’ll be plenty of chance to hear it again when los Pixies comes to NY later this summer and winter. It’s hard to describe how a band really sounds… especially if you have a limited vocabulary, so why don’t you just download their whole Coachella set for yourself. Link via Burned By The Sun.

A qwik stop for the Rapture and DJ Laurent Garnier, and we had to scurry back to the main stage for a lil Radiohead. Me love the Radiohead, but I still don’t understand why they are SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO huge in America. I’m more baffled about Coldplay, but they aint playing, so lettuce not speak of them ever again. Why is Radiohead so popular? This was their only North American stop of 2004 and it basically led to the 1st Day selling out. The set was pretty much the same as when I saw them at MSG in Rocktober. Everyone went wild when Thom Thumb and his epileptic dance style were kicking it to “Creep.” That isn’t even a good Radiohead song people. Qwik side story. I won tickets to see Belly (“Feed the Tree”) back in the early 90s. Radiohead was the opening band. Yep, the opening band for BELLY (who suffered the Rolling Stone cover curse)! I was young, dumb, and filled with foam. I was crowd surfing during “Creep” and got to touch Thom’s hand. I never did wash that hand… until that day I was trapped in a closet and had to wipe my ass with my left hand.

Mischa, let me buy you a funnel cake

After dat, there were 3 bands all on at the same time that I wanted to catch. At this point, my eyes were going to fall out of my head and I was too stoned to even spell “Agrarian Socialism.” Phantom Planet played in the cursed Beck tent, so that was already 2 strikes against them. And by the time we got to the tent, we just missed “Big Brat.” Since I didn’t want to hear Mischa Barton’s O.C. theme song, it was time to pay a visit to Electric Six. That lasted about 4 seconds, and Kraftwerk ended our noche. I don’t really care for their “music”, but I do like the Flea/Peter Stormare ripoff group, Autobahn from The Big Lebowski, and for that reason alone, I had to peep them.

Day 1 in the can. A 14 mile walk in the dark back to the car. I felt like a zombie. I wish I felt like a mummy. That way I could at least sleep in a sarcophagus and live at the Met. I was covered in dirt and sweat, but I was too friggin’ tired that I couldn’t even take a shower. I think I scared the liz-adies, cause they said I passed out with my eyes open. But were my thighs wide shut?

Kwik cool sightings on the day: Joan hotness of Joan of Arcadia fame and a dude wearing a Cutters shirt. BIG UPs!!

Sorry, I didn’t have the balls
to take a pic with Joan

As I write this, I’m still covered in covered in dirt, my own melted skin, the smell of hipsters, and powdered sugar from the 2 funnel cakes I ate. But worst of all, after spending two straights days in 105+ degree weather, I am without a killer tan. A lot has transpired since I last left you all. Here’s me best attempt to remember, although my brain is still on West Coast mode and my eyes are going to fall out of my head from watching so much amazingnessness stuff. Please note, all pictures will be posted at a much later date as Senor Thigh Master is too ghetto to have a digital camera…

Friday April 30th

Does masturbating in a bathroom count as initiation into the Mile High Club?

Woke up at the booty crack o’ dawn and started the longest day in my recent memory. I took the transportation of tomorrow, the AirTrain to JFK airport. Gawd deng is JFK one bunk-ass airport. Plus its so far away, I feel like I’m flying out of Siberia (the part of Russia, not the bar where you can’t cus or hit on women). On-flight entertainment: my smelly feet, NY Daily News’ two crosswords, and watching the unwatchable Paycheck (its like Total Recall with none of the fun, effects, or action, but with John Woo’s doves!). Come to think of it, the AirTrain station was more futuristic than all of Paycheck. This ben-affleck-shit-pic continues my track record of never seeing a good movie on a plane. Sure I had everwood when I saw LL in Freaky Friday on the way to Jamaica this past New Year’s, but I’ve been cursed with The Legend of Bagger Vance, Ollie Stone’s shiterpiece U-Turn and the ultimate ruinerer of flights, Uptown Girls. U-Girls‘ script must have been written on a napkin while someone was taking a dump. However, since lil daring Dakota Fanning was in it, it was predetermined that I was going to cry at some point. I am such a loser.

Arrive at LAX. Palm trees abound. I finally satisfy my nic fit. Inhale. You’re the victim. Exhale, exhale, exhale. Off to Alamo car rental. I find out there’s no basement. Madame Ruby was wrong!!! With my liz-adies (Megbot & Curious George’s Mom) in check, it’s off for some LA daytime fun.

We meet up with ye olde palsy of mine/favorite New Iberian, Big Worm, aka DJ Worsmer, aka Wormsey (Yes, I actually do know someone named Wormser). I force him to play tour guide/MapQuest bitch as there were many a missions on the day’s tight schedule and I don’t know shit about LA’s byways and hobags. First up…

Roscoe’s House of Chicken ‘n Waffles

Fried chicken makes mouths happy.

I don’t know who the funk Roscoe is, but may the good lord bless him and his house of grease. Guess what’s good there? Fried chicken and/or waffles. obvs. I declined the waffles and decided to get fried chicken smothered and covered in gravy and onions (perfect gas material for long car rides with woman). With a side of buttery grits, that shit be the shiz-niz-fliz-kiz. Any trip to LA is not complete without a visit to any of Scoe’s 5 locations. Check it out. It’s so f-in MINT that it’s posted in our Places To Eat B4 U Die section.

He’s the dog now man!

Then we had to meet up with Busta Hayman to see his wedding ring and take a qwik whirlwind tour of his office. Next stop on the tour was the uber-posh-spice/future residence of mine, The Sunset Marquis Hotel to pick up a ticket for Saturday’s show. Drugs were needed, so we hit a… drug store. Loaded up on some drugs, shady aviator glasses, candy, Orbit gum, smokes, and even more candy. With all these missions impossible accomplished, Big Worm lead me and the liz-adies to da Hollywood Hills. Next to Queen Latifah’s abode lived his friend and a fellow ex-Rocvilleian, Perry. Perry had a droopy dog name Bert that had inverted eyelid, but he was the coolest dog ever cause he was a Redskins fan. After some shenanigans the Coachella Crew was off to the desert for my just desserts.

You pay for what you get

After a few tiring hours of driving, we checked into the Four Seasons of ghetto, and our home for the next three nights, the Motel 6 of Palm Desert. I was a little disappointed in the room. The towels they gave us couldn’t even cover one of my thighs (wide shut). There wasn’t a clock. And there were no complimentary motel staples like a pen and paper, shampoo, or tissues. I thought the 6 was supposed to be a classy motel peoples!

Makes cotton mouth disappear in seconds

It was late, but I still wanted to eat. I always want to eat. Traveling with two girls doesn’t allow a lot of fast food eating. You take what you can get and I didn’t want to push it after forcing everyone into Roscoe’s FC and Wafs. But I had to get my burger fill. Since there was no Fatburger in sight, I had to settle for second best, In-N-Out Burger… more like burger goes in and out of your system in 4 seconds. Like my good pal Tom Bodett promised, Motel 6 left the light on for me, and now it was finally time to shut it off. I’m f-in tired. Time to get this party started.

Stay tuned for Part II where we review all of Saturday’s hot ass hotness of Saturday. Saturday.

Besides giving us Lady Liberty, some hot actressessses like Virginie Ledoyen, the le Bag and the le Car, the French really haven’t done anything for us lately. But alas, one of the greatest bands to ever walk the face of the earth calls the land of frogs, fries, French bread, and French’s mustard, home. And that band is:

Air

As my friend Megbot would say,
“I just want them to play [a concert] in my bedroom all day.”
You and me both sista.

I just saw them play at Hammerstein Ballroom in NYC (April 13). Over a rip-roaring, Rip Torn, hour set + 2 encores, they ripped through Moon Safari classics like “Sexy Boy”, Andie McDowell’s Loreal Theme Music, “Femme d’Argent”, “Kelly Watch The Stars” (the song I always wanted to hear live) and many of the standout tracks from Talkie Walkie. They fucking ROCK! Ever more than LL. Hearing em outdoors at Coachella in two weeks is gonna be straight off the meat rack!

Any band that rocks 10 keyboards
AND a keytar has got be um-credible.
Note: dude with keytar is not in the band Air.