I spent an hour staring at Karen O’s ass the other night. It was mesmerizing — swathed in silver hot pants, it reminded me of Jiffy popcorn. Anyone without a microwave knows the joy of shaking the aluminum pan over the stove till the silver balloon rises with crunchy, buttery goodness, andKaren O’s bubble just shook and shook and shook.

How did I have such a spectacular view of her rump? We scored backstage passes at the Palladium, which meant we could live out our collective girl crushes on Karen O right there on stage, in the wings. Next to us was a crouching roadie — or so we thought. Turns out he was just another fan who snuck back there.

In her second costume change, a purple body suit with yellow lighting bolts, our superhero came out looking like a female Thor armed with sex thunder, lighting rods of pheromones shooting out from her metallic Technicolor Chuck Taylors. As she thrashed and railed, I really wanted to dry hump her. But the most touching moment was when O rushed to stop the guitarist as he launched into a speedy version of “Maps.” O slowed things down so we could feel the intensity, the panic .?.?. “Wait .?.?. They don’t love you like I love you .?.?.” We swooned.

Later we headed to Beauty Bar, where Frankie Chan was spinning. My friends Alexis and Josh, a modern-day Fred and Ginger, had taken the “Let’s Get Retarded in Here” chant seriously and swung into action. We had no choice but to join them when Chan played Eddie Murphy’s “My Girl Likes to Party All the Time.” Then came Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’.?” But halfway through the song, the speakers went out. The crowd, which included Ms. Karen O and other Yeah Yeah Yeahs, didn’t let that stop the party. We sang the rest of the song together at the top of our lungs. Which means we inadvertently covered Journey with the Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

Now I could go home happy.

LA Weekly