I remember it clear as day. I was sauntering past the movie billboards that adorn Sony Studios one sunny Sunday, iPod on blast, when a pale shape peppered with stubble hovered into view from the corner of my eye, looming unassumingly at the outer fringes of my peripheral then gradually becoming more insistent as I ambled closer. My neck swiveled my head marginally to the left then slightly upward to the sight of the blubbery jowls and nonplussed expression of Kevin James, the actor/comedian who plays the lovable schlub with the smoking hot wife on the TV show King Of Queens, hanging tall as four men over Washington Blvd. The sky was a summer blue behind his white uniform button-up, and beneath his face read "Paul Blart: Mall Cop", followed by the phrase "safety never takes a holiday". It took me all of several seconds to absorb this poster, and exactly that same amount of time to conclude that Mall Cop is going to be inhumanly fucking funny. Saying the name "Paul Blart" makes me laugh, every time. Shit, just saying "blart" does the trick. I can't look at Kevin James for too long without letting a chuckle fly. Never could. Whoever decided to cast him as a mall cop deserves a Pulitzer. And while it's entirely possible that my bar for comedy may be as low as my bar for food, I can't currently think of anything funnier than a mall cop. OK, a chimp driving a car is funnier than a mall cop. But that's about it.

I see myriad reasons to anticipate the viewing of Paul Blart: Mall Cop. So why do none of my friends share my enthusiasm? Ian professes to love Kevin James' standup material, which makes his staunch opposition to watching his first feature film all the more perplexing. Nzinga said she would gladly watch it for free as we pulled out of the Century City parking lot after watching Notorious. And everyone else I run the idea by just grimaces and shakes their head as if I just shit my pants in the middle of our conversation or something. Am I in some kind of alternate dimension? Do I have the wrong friends?

So this goes out to anyone who wants to see Mall Cop. Leave a comment and let's do this. Yeah, I read the bad reviews. But we all know reviewers love lame shit. This movie has been number one two weekends straight. And yeah, the American public loves lame shit too, but if the reviewers hate it and the people love it, that evens it out in my book. OK, awful argument. But look at it this way: if you're female and remotely attractive, I'll probably pay for your ticket and maybe a carton of overpriced confectionery, because we all know women need confection for their affection. And if you're male, hopefully you will know better than to respond to this.



GOT BACK YESTERDAY FROM DC. Would have posted this as soon as I got off the plane, but my goddamn suitcase ended up on the plane after mine and was only just delivered to my house this morning. The Continental rep says they had to put some bags on another flight because the plane was too heavy, but I think I know why my bag was one of them. The guy at the curbside check-in booth sprung this new $15-per-bag charge on me and then had the nerve to follow up with "we also welcome all tips..." Sheeeeit. Here's a tip: now that gas prices have gone back down, maybe you should press on Continental Airlines to do away with the baggage charge, and then you'll get your tip. I didn't tell him that, of course, but I didn't tip him either. So tip your curbside handlers. Especially if yours happens to be a short Central American man at the Ronald Reagan Airport's Continental Airlines terminal.

Far as the inauguration goes, I'll let the pictures tell it. If you wanna see more, you can go to http://www.theunfamiliar.com/ and click on the Photos link at the right. Sum is on a mountaintop in Virgina contemplating his navel for the next two weeks, so that means two straight Palms Weekends of ME. Mememememememe. And I am open to some chesty booth company. Squalor at your buoy.


The Feast of Fetus Listening Party

Yo, our buddy and long time Saints regular Jes (who we prefer to call "Mustachio"), also happens to be a madly talented and creative musician. I've personally been a fan of his music for a while now, based off of the few songs he's had up on his Myspace page under the moniker Feast of Fetus. But on some real shit, I streamed his album yesterday on FeastofFetus.com and was blown away. I'm not gonna ruin one bit of it for you by blowing my opinion wad all over this blog post. I'll just say that the album in its entirety is as balls-out insane, thoughtful and colorfully composed as it's creator.

So go to the listening party at Saints and keep on supporting that local shit.

NEXT TUESDAY before ipod night
january 27 2009



AS YOU PEE-DUB READERS NO DOUBT KNOW FIRSTHAND, I've recently made it a point to collect the email address of every person I meet who a) I enjoy talking with and b) doesn't strike me as a complete tard, for the purpose of adding them to our email list to receive our weekly web flyers. I don't consider the two criteria mutually exclusive; I not uncommonly enjoy conversation with tards, but I enjoy them for all the wrong reasons, and ultimately, tards tend to sour up what might otherwise have been a rollicking good night out. So I embrace those magic moments, then throw them to the wind. No point staying in touch with one tard when another is always around the corner.
Alas, some people are more low-key about their 'tardiness', and end up getting waved into the Matrix, the sly foxes. But they never last past Wednesdays. Wednesdays are a bloodbath of tards. Wednesdays are the days when any and all tards that may have erroneously made it into my Blackberry then into the database are exposed and weeded out, because Wednesday is the day I do our weekly web flyer blast, and am always - always - rewarded with one or more badly-spelled, question mark-laden replies from tards I met the previous weekend responding to my email with some variation on "who is this???" or "how did i get on this list?????" or "i dont remember giving out my eamil to any Palms Weekend place", each imbued with an air of panic that one might expect from someone who has just had their baby stolen from them.

Since I will from now on respond to all such emails simply with a link to this post, let's answer each question one by one so there will be no more confusion. A "how did I get here?" FAQ for tards, if you will. Here we go.

"who is this???"
I am Malkovich. I DJ Thursday nights at Saints & Sinners and The Arsenal (yes, two places in one night), Friday nights at Saints & Sinners (yes, again), and Saturday nights at Stinkers. Here I am.

"how did i get on this list?????"
Well, it's pretty simple. We had a conversation last weekend, probably at one of the above three bars, during which I asked you if you'd like to get on the email list for The Palms Weekend. You accepted. That's how I managed to email you right now.

"i dont remember giving out my eamil to any Palms Weekend place"
Oh, but you did. Again, if you hadn't, you wouldn't have received this message. I understand you were probably drunk at the time and therefore don't remember much about the evening, but trust me, I was more drunk than you, yet I managed to type your email address into my phone - correctly, at that. Yet, people such as yourself have trouble even remembering which bar they were at over the weekend, or whether or not, in fact, they were even at a bar at all. I find this intriguing.

If you've received a link to this specific post in your inbox, chances are you've already been deleted from our database. Though you may not realize it, I appreciate you exposing your true tardiness. You save me having to find out after you've done some real damage. But I never understood the kind of people who go apeshit over mysterious emails. Maybe I think about all the headaches the average day brings, and I consider that a few extra shapes on a screen isn't worth expending extra confusion into the world over. Or maybe I just like being kept in the loop regarding cool places to go at night, even if I don't necessarily go - especially places I had such a good time at that I gave the DJ my email address. Jackass.


Taurus on geetawr
X-Man on the tables
Pudge on computerized madness
Computer Jay on keys
Lil Mis & Vocabutrois of Sno Leopard on backup vox
Sir Ian Dangerous on drunken presenter duty
Burnie Nowax a.k.a. Babak Bennett on camera.


What Happened to Rog from "What's Happenin'?"

Yo, thanks to all you Palms Weekenders who came out to Silverlake to check out The Milky Way, The Popular Fans and Mad Planet. 'Twas a grand olde time, and we finished all right with karaoke at Stinkers. Many a memory was made....stay tuned, and we'll make some more. As a token of my appreciation, I give you this clip from a new G-Unit film called "Paroled", which is the funniest shit I've seen since the James Brown/Michael Jackson/Prince clip in James' post below.

Bone Apateet:


This Sunday in Silverlake...

It's gonna feel like another four day Palms Weekend. My personal favorite bartender, Cooper, just so happens to be part of a slick outfit called Mad Planet. We're rocking with them and local Silverlake/Echo Park heroes, The Popular Fans at Spaceland this Sunday.

My band, The Milky Way, will make its debut appearance on stage, and it promises to be at least a little bit fun.

The show is FREE. So come on out on Sunday, we'll show the east side how we party in Palms, then bring it all back for a victory dance at Saints...sound like a plan?



SEE, I'M PERCEPTIVE. I'm all about details. That's my thing in life, apart from hair and whistling. I can already hear some of you scoffing, and granted, I spend a good portion of my time at Saints & Sinners too drunk to do anything but press buttons and drink more. But then tell me why I'm the only person who noticed the typo on the new sign that the dry cleaners across the street had installed last week?

Maybe I should apply for a job with the company that designed this sign. They obviously need someone on their team who will keep his eye on the little things. Apparently, someone else eventually noticed, because this is what the sign looks like now.

I think they should have kept it the way it was. After all, you've got to plant on your promises, because that's how they grow into love and happiness. Ah, I kill me.

The Dramatics, "Ocean of Thoughts & Dreams" [songaday]

This is the sound of a man serenading his ghosts, and I cannot stop listening to it.
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