So nobody did a Rosie O’Donnell on our show this week, we didn’t get our glamour shots taken with Danny DeVito at Coachella, and we ended up spilling more dance juice than we drank. But time, our pets, is precious. So, 3 second disclaimer: There’s a reason why you learned about satire in 7th grade. Just a thought for all you bitter hack types….

[Photo credit: Evan Grant]

This Shit Is Bananas!

Reason to live? The Cobra Snake will be at Click on Saturday. Sayinnn it.

What we saw this weekend after rolling out of bed looking ready for sex again: Lots of Hail Social, tons of WaWa, and Jay Simplefly popping up in some unexpected places, who assured us that Brandon Flowers didn’t have a meltdown at the sold-out Killers show. We felt like we could relax after that, so we knocked back some Red Bull and got back on the trail, which featured stops at Sal’s, Mom’s, and big daddy M Room.

Saturday was tricky math. Kelly made her way to Marathon for Diplo’s Mad Decent VS Unruly. Instead of battling the outta-control line, K made a call to Tommy Up, who got her in with a finger-snap. Thx neighbor! Inside, the crowd had her spellbound. Dear College Basketball Team 7-ft-and-then-some Thugga-Jocks, she did not mean to stare. A bevy of buff high-tops and rhythmic swankstas beckoned her to stay. Unfortch, she could not honor this hook-up for long, as her squad was en route to Medusa for Bleached Black.

Now that shit could finally happen, we met up with none other than Miss Lexie at the one and only Medusa. Like old times, we got to dancin’ up a windstorm of lumberjack flannel shirts, gold tights and oversized acrylic jewelry. It was 90s-tastic! According to Kelly, their style was downright flammable, but fuck her, right? Nobody passed out.

Conrad was not so much into DJ # 2′s determination to play house music and if it weren’t for the confusing fog machine and combat style dancing near the booth he might have found you to tell you that. Stick with DJ #1′s shit and you could run circles around a lot of these brand-stamped Philly nights. Shit, if you can remember the correct order of Bleached Black dudes who set us off that night, you’re either Lexie, one of them, or way too astute for a Saturday night. We’ll give you a free T-Shit t-shirt. We love being acid-washed.

Rumor has it that Red Rum is not left for dead. After surviving one bad week, things got better, and the madness refused to end this time around. Moving the party upstairs was key, leaving the Rittenhouse roadkill down below. LadyJs Jem and Jacci Stallone kept it poppin’ with no girls room breaks until they called one of the jam-slingers from Bleached Black to finish up the 6-hour grind fest. How many Sparks does one need to dance until 4am? (That’s more of a trick question, everyone knows that you should never drink more than 3…not even us. Not even Doyle. Never.) JemNJacci sounds like some kind of gourmet sandwich, right?

Then, just as we were cutting her from our long-term memory storage, guess who we were side-fucked to see shopping at Whole Foods on Monday? Philly’s own Jill Scott… You know, that girl whose songs all sound the same? (There’s a photo on the side, just try and remember for a second.) Bitch has done nothing in a minute, but can kill ‘dem high notes. Even though Kelrad (it’s our celebrity couple name, sayawwww) tends to lean towards the in-and-now we still like her, kinda…Maybe if she had better hair, blunt-cut bangs, and if she wore heels more often and donned jewe- toned onesies. Ok, ok, we want her to be an R&B/Soul Beth Ditto (The Gossip). Except it looks like Scotty McSameSongs, who was spotted buying lemons, maple syrup and cayenne pepper, is not interested in a Mo’nique-style take down. J-soul, are you on the master cleanse? (I guess its better than the coke and cigarettes diet that most Philly peeps adopt.) Good luck girl, maybe you’ll write a catchy melody using the time you’d normally spend munching!

Birthday Holleration

May 4th is a monster ’round here. Our boy’fo’life Conrad turns 22, and manny-man Doyle hits 13. Scratch, 31. In case you guys didn’t know, C-Rad likes ironic neckchains and the Doyle Machine enjoys fine liquor.

What Would Doyle Do?

In the words of Doyle, lovable keyboardist from The A-Sides: I don’t do too much that I’m proud of. Wiser words have never been spoken to us in a room full of drunk, attractive people. It was then that we decided Doyle had all of the answers, about life, and death, and what kind of beer to drink. Each week we’ll find out just what Doyle would do…

If a cab driver tried to take advantage of you?

I WOULD ASK HER TO PUT ON HIS FAVORITE RADIO STATION AND POLITELY REQUEST TO TAKE ME TO THE BONEYARD. SEEING AS THERE IS QUITE A LACK OF FEMALE CABBIES, I WOULD MOST LIKELY HAVE TO GET ALL PHYSICAL AND BLADE THE DUDE. I DON’T CONDONE VIOLENCE BUT SHIT I’M NOT SOME KINDA PETTING ZOO. LADIES FEEL FREE TO SAMPLE THE GOODS.

Confessions On The Dancefloor

He’s probably some big name Philly guy and you’re about to be all, Oh you can’t say that about DJ SLINANGOSIFOIJS he’s the best he spins at Making Knees and Fluid Clicked!

Diamond Girl Does Coachella

Wish you were there? Here’s what you missed:

The first day was Digitalism, Felix Da Housecat, Brazilian Girls, & Bjork. Saturday, I saw Mstrkrft, Busy P, DJ Mehdi, & Justice…I’d say the highlight was Bjork’s performance, which was like epic, grown men cried at that show. But my favorite part was Saturday, ’cause Mstrkrft & all those guys from the Ed Banger crew were all one after the other at the same stage. So I pretty much just jumped for 4 hours. I think there were about 10,000 people at the Mstrkrft set alone, which was incredible. Busy P & DJ Mehdi, though not as popular, are like hilarious to watch, cause they just kinda fuck around on stage while DJing. Then it was Justice’s turn, Busy P announced before their set that it was the first actual live set they’ve ever done, which I thought was pretty cool.

Hot fuck, lil’ mama, ya sure you wanna come back to Philly now? All of those bolds just blew our minds.

TrendFucking

The Wawa Cheese Hoagie

What is it about this almost mythical, nocturnal beast that we all love so much? Is it the Govinda’s-like wait in line that usually ends in yelling or being yelled at? Perhaps it’s that mystery ingredient that you’re pretty sure you didn’t hit on the screen but a combination of laziness and hunger convinces you to keep eating it. Maybe it’s that a cheese ho-ho can never really let you down. Like that guy you spooned last night who said he was going to text you today but didn’t. Did he even get your number? Or that fella you met last weekend who said he’d message you on Myspace about doing a guest DJ spot at Sal’s. I mean come on, they’ll let anyone guest there! Isn’t there an Alycia Lane night next Friday? Damn, we wouldn‘t even touch your life, actually. Maybe you should spring for the 10inch Classic, boo, we don’t think the Shorti’s gonna be enough tonight. We’ll call you tomorrow, let’s have a craft day.

Glow-In-The-Dark Kicks

We’re not the hiphoparazzi, but damn if we didn’t nearly follow this homeboy we saw on South St., with his fancy footwork. Because it was Sunday morning, we decided to double-check with him and make sure that his Nikes were indeed glow-in-zeee-dark and that we were not just having laser light flashbacks from our weekend bender. How quickly does he find his sneaks in the middle of the night? Jealous us. We’re dying to know how rad or sad this would look at a rave.

This entry was posted on Thursday, May 3rd, 2007 at 2:00 pm.