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City Gritty 

Unfulfilling Sex; sex and the porn star; art Hopping; N.E.R.D. night

Wednesday, Jun 11 2008
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Like most females with a full roster of relationship-challenged friends — and an even fuller closet — we’ve loved Sex and the City since season one. In fact, we’ve always thought of this column as kinda Carrie-like, only with more city and no sex. (The stuff we could write about our gal pals’ love lives would definitely rival hers, though: rock-star trysts, MySpace stalkers, cougar wars, baby-daddy dramas ... hell, that show didn’t go far enough!) Last week was actually an exceptionally sexy one for Nightranger, the tamest event of which was in fact a screening of the movie and preparty at the ArcLight theater with 20 boozed-up BFFs for a friend’s bachelorette bash (get the package deal that includes tix to the film, free drinks, plentiful passed appetizers and a Sex-themed goodie bag, all for $60). Quickie review: The film is stylish, fun and sweet, but ultimately not as fulfilling as we’d have liked. Kinda like the Cosmos we downed beforehand.

Lina Lecaro

Dennis Hopper gets Raw at G-Star.

Lina Lecaro

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CUM ON, FEEL THE NOISE

click to flip through (2) LINA LECARO - Dennis Hopper gets Raw at G-Star.
 
 

Maybe we were a li’l desensitized after our raunchy romp earlier that night at the L.A. Convention Center. Popping into Erotica L.A. Friday evening to buy some bridal booty for later and to check out the lay of the land, we were greeted by fetishy femmes humping stripper poles, faux-tanned/-tittied “actresses” signing autographs in front of graphic videos of their film work, and penis-inspired paraphernalia like organic dildos (“keep your snatch natch”) and erotic chocolates (white, milk and dark). Contests for free merch included the obligatory fake-orgasm bout, during which a bunch of blondes in stripper wear shrieked their loud and lascivious best only to be outdone by a conservatively dressed brunette’s almost-restrained moans, climaxing with a single “ay, papi.” Another exotic beauty amid the sea of peroxided porn chicks, adult star Tera Patrick had the lion’s share of fans lining up. Hubby Evan Seinfeld (Biohazard, that VH1 supergroup Damnocracy) was in the vicinity though, and while most fans were excited to chat with the couple about their film company Teravision (titles feature rocker types in front of and behind the camera — Dave Navarro, who signed stuff at the event Saturday, directed a goth grinder called Broken), we were more interested in hearing about axes than asses. Seinfeld’s Sabbathy new punk group, The Spyderz, marks a new musical direction for the tatted bassist/actor, and the material — heard on their MySpace page — definitely has bite. The now-lead singer tells us his band will be joined by a bevy of XXX video babes, including the wifey, when they crawl into House of Blues on June 17.


IN-BETWEEN GIRLS

As Erotica’s imagery quite vividly reinforced, gal-on-gal couplings are an ever-enduring male fantasy. Perhaps this is why the question “Are they or aren’t they?” is suddenly on everyone’s lips in regard to a certain celebutart and her club-DJ cohort right now. We don’t really know or care if the pair are platonic or more (things aren’t always so black and white, anyway), but we think it’s dubious that the tabloid media won’t touch this topic when it comes to many obviously gay male stars but has no problem milking it when mammaries are involved. So yeah, we hit up three packed parties last Wednesday night, and Samantha Ronson deejayed at two of them. ... That gal from Mean Girls was at both of ’em too. We were more interested in the libations than the ladies though. In Beverly Hills, a dapper-looking Dennis Hopper curated the event called L.A. Raw Nights, which featured awesome art from his personal collection and a bizarre trash-heap-like installation in the parking lot, which guests such as Tarina Tarantino, Pink, Bai Ling and Sex Pistols Glen Matlock and Paul Cook seemed to avoid as they sipped champagne and nibbled miniburgers to Ronson’s spun grooves. The merch inside the boutique, cutting-edge jeans store G-Star, was artistic too, showcasing some amazing “raw denim” clothing, plus intriguing sculptural stuff like denim chain saws and stuffed buffalo, the latter reminding us it was time to roam to the next rager.


FOUR-LETTER FACE-OFF

Equally chic pieces, but with far less coverage, were being spotlighted that night at Avalon, where Billabong’s Design for Humanity held a benefit for the Surfrider Foundation with a sassy swimsuit-fashion show (guest designers: Amber Valletta, Lisa Kline and Joy Bryant), a set from MGMT and deejays Steve Aoki and Paul V (his Bootie L.A. marked its third anniversary the next night with a surprise appearance from NYC diva Lady Gaga). As always, L.A.’s multitude of megamashes make for tough decisions. MGMT were set to perform at the same time as N.E.R.D. down the street at the Roosevelt for an Alliance-hosted Zune bash. Which would we choose: the abbreviation (“management”) or the acronym (“Nobody Ever Really Dies”)? Feelin’ dancey, we went with Pharrell and co., but not before catching the bodacious bikini brigade on Humanity’s runway, and bumping into the blond surfer dude from TMZ, the ubiquitous Bai Ling, Entourage’s Adrian Grenier and Juliette Lewis. ... Ten minutes and a $6 cab ride later, we were Seeing Sounds off N*E*R*D’s latest along with Snoop Dogg, Nicole Richie (who jumped onstage), a couple of gorillas (seriously) and, of course, DJ Sam and LiLo — both of whom make an appearance in the hip-hop group’s Cobrasnake-ish new video, “Everyone Nose (All the Girls Standing in the Line for the Bathroom),” a not-so-subtle club banger about coked-up club chicks that’s as addictive as it is asinine (think “Smack My Bitch Up” meets “Lapdance”). As our long waits for the toilets all night suggested, this one is a little too spot-on for its own good.

Next week in Nightranger: Look for a scenester scoop from MOCA’s Target Video screening and Gay Pride in WeHo (no room this week!), plus pending Nightranger engagements at the Houdini Mansion and the swanky new SBE boîte Foxtail, both scheduled locales for two of our most fabulous girlfriends’ b-day bashes. Carrie Bradshaw, eat your heart out.

 

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Reach the writer at llecaro@laweekly.com

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