THE BLOCK IS (about to get) HOT(ter)

I HAVE A HISTORY OF JINXING SUMMER BY CALLING IT EARLY. It's like a fucking raindance: I can usually squeeze out "summer's" no problem, but "here" is invariably drowned out by thunder and lightning. But this year, Palms called it for me. I'm just the messenger. World Cup season - a.k.a. watch Brasil kick ass all over the world - in a neighborhood full of Brazilians. Add yesterday's double whammy - Mexico's trouncing of France and the Lakers barfing on Boston - and L.A. is in a pretty damn good mood right now, and nowhere more than Westwood Block, home to me, my administrative staff, Cafe Brasil, and Bamboo Restaurant, which I will now be deejaying at every Thursday night. It's these instances of divine coincidence that almost make me believe there really is a bearded white man in the sky. You now have two invitations to come experience one of Los Angeles' most vibrant corridors. Below is a handy-dandy map for your convenience.

Most days this week went something like this:

7AM: Wake up to vuvuzelas, Jesse the Parking Lot King's Seal tape, catch the soccer party at Cafe Brasil [story]
11AM: If it's a Brasil or Mexico game, celebrate their inevitable win with a sidewalk dance party and cacasa/passionfruit juice at Cafe Brasil
1PM: Retire home around lunchtime, attempt to work while Cafe Brasil manager Rodrigo sleeps it off in the office
6PM: Mojitos at Bamboo [video], shots at Saints & Sinners, or rap songs at the compound studio [listen]

I've signed up for the 2014 Brasil trip with Josh and the Cafe Brasil squad to catch the next World Cup. I had to, or my balls would have disappeared. I'm not a sports guy, but the World Cup/NBA fever is kinda contagious. It's always gratifying to see the Lakers sock L.A. haters in the mouth, especially when half of them are talking shit while tanning at Venice Beach. And I welcome any excuse to see eses throwing up LA signs backwards on TV. I don't know about the Lakers kissing the trophy after Magic Johnson's HIV hands have been all over it, though. I know he looks healthy and all. Soccer ultimately beats basketball in my book, first because it's kind of like World War, and secondly because you have to watch the entire game or you might miss something. You can turn on a basketball game ten minutes before it's over and catch the climax, because you know that the previous three-and-a-half quarters went like this:

TEAM A SCORES.
TEAM B SCORES.
TEAM A SCORES.
FOUL. THREE THROW.
TEAM B SCORES. [repeat for game's duration]

Excitemente, as the French would say. Just before they lost.

Saints & Sinners tonight! I'm testing my one-drink-per-hour rule in hopes that it'll keep me off the bathroom floor tomorrow morning. Beers I can do every 30 minutes though. And if I have two glasses of water after every mixed drink I may allow myself the next drink 45 minutes thereafter. My rules have rules. And check out soulpublicradio.com Saturday and Sunday 3pm-4pm PST for the newest installment of The Palms Weekend Radio, recorded live at Saints a few Fridays ago. It's shuffle in a perfect world.