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Why does aging Cali club kid Steve Aoki always seem to be everywhere all the time? He's like some kind of superhuman funhouse mirror, multiplying his slick indie-slouch image a million and one times throughout the mediated universe. It's kinda creepy ... Wherever I look (music mags, dark alleys, The Cobra Snake, etc.) there's Mr. Kid Millionaire reflecting himself right back at me. 

According to the Yacht Manifesto #1: "Yacht is a Band, Belief System, and Business conducted by Jona Bechtolt and Claire L. Evans of Marfa, Texas and Portland, Oregon, USA." Also, Yacht "seeks to explore frontiers and to expand awareness of extraterrestrial Intelligence" and "believes in an Afterlife," but "does not believe in 'Heaven' or 'Hell.'" Moreover, the manifesto screams: "YACHT IS NOT A CULT."

Hmm ... Now, I don't know about you, but when somebody reassures me that whatever weird shit they're into isn't a cult, it's usually time to assume that the aforementioned weird shit is indeed a cult. And that goes double when the statement is made in italicized capital letters. It's the typographic equivalent of crazy eyes.

Really though, who cares? Cult or not a cult, so long as Yacht keeps pounding out art-pop party hits -- such as "See A Penny (Pick It Up)" -- and giving them out for free at TeamYacht.com, this thing seems to be all about good tunes and good times. That said, if there's so much as a single mention of castration, carving swastikas into human flesh, or Kool-Aid, I am so fucking gone.

Saturday, November 14. Electric Pickle, 2826 N. Miami Ave., Miami. Doors open at 10 p.m., and tickets cost $10 through Epoplife.com. Ages 21+ with ID. 305-456-5613; Electric Pickle at Facebook.com

By the time you reach a non-trick-or-treating age (i.e., whenever the candy-giving adults start asking for your cell number) it's easy to get all jaded about Satan's birthday. And why not? As a grown-up, your Halloween future sucks. No more free candy, no more shitty-awesome psycho slasher costumes, and no more petty acts of delinquent mischief. Sometimes it even seems all us over-aged fright night revelers are doomed to a lifetime of spooky-slutty bummerfests, like this weekend's Tera-Ween, Vivid's Porn Star Ball, and Strip-O-Ween.

Maybe it's bad taste to get on some kind of eulogy bender before the corpse is even cold, but the diagnosis is terminal and it's only a matter of time ... Your favorite hipster bar, PS14, is dying. So say goodbye, Miami, and make amends for all the wrongs you've committed against this party spot that's done you so right on so many nights. 

You know, media mogul and notorious big baller Ted Turner was totally right when he said: "Sports is like a war without the killing." And that's why our Miami Dolphins should immediately suspend their punk-bitch-porpoise-in-a helmet logo in favor of Last Rights' Mac-10 redesign. For one, this murder weapon with eyes looks certifiably badass on T-shirts, both teal and black. And, for another, I think it sends the right message to opposing squads, basically: "We've got a sense of humor and everything ... But right now you and I are mortal enemies and I'm gonna chop you in half with my super-cheap, black market machine pistol."

Like a hipster boy who just got dumped by his admittedly too-perfect girlfriend, White Room's having a tough time bouncing back from its recent breakup with local queen of cool, Poplife. Especially harsh was the fact that the bitch (er, Poplife, in this case) immediately shacked up with that new, glossy motherfucker down the street (the Electric Pickle) and got right down to business having a whole bunch of pretty little party puppies.

Anyway, I ... uh, White Room, rather ... finally figured shit out and decided to fuck away the pain with a different party every Saturday night. Or, at least, that's the plan until another long-term girlfriend comes around to fill the gaping hole at the heart of my ... uh, White Room's ... weekly lineup.

In that spirit, tomorrow night's gonna be a group thing. Providing the foreplay, there'll be five Miami-based bands, including Arboles Libres, DorksMoronsGeeks, Aria Kamikaze, Saga High, and Diego Val. Then later, the truly hardcore action will come courtesy of disco punk crew Old Wives' Tale. All in all, it should be a very satisfying one-night stand, proof even that White Room's doing just fine without you, Poplife. Slutting it up and loving it. Sorta.

Saturday, October 3. White Room, 1306 N. Miami Ave., Miami. Doors open at 10 p.m. Ages 21+ with ID. whiteroommiami.com.

A victim tells his story: Thanks, In Flagranti. I just checked out your new-ish album Brash & Vulgar, released back in March on Codek Records, and I have to tell you ... I can't stop dancing! Whenever I close my eyes, it's a crazy party in my brain. There are naked ladies, mustachioed dudes, and a bear skin rug, all thump-thumping each other's rumps to your non-ironic retro groove. Then, the waterbed bursts and there's water flowing everywhere, but the thrusting doesn't stop! Party time just got wetter! Hahaha! 

The pitfalls of teen stardom are legend -- sex, drugs, burnout, overexposure, the dreaded 20th birthday, or even a simple case of the incurable crazies la Wacko Jacko. Way back in '79, Leif Garrett hit the 'ludes, crashed his car, and almost killed his friend while, more recently, we've seen Britney tumble pantyless down the wrong path too many times to bother counting. Really, it's almost inevitable: The pop machine will eat its virgins for breakfast. 

The untimely demise of DIY venue Goo has left Miami's young punks without an official clubhouse. Stepping into that void, there have been several semi-permanent and one-off party places -- House of Pain and the Warehouse, for example -- that ended up welcoming an orphan show or two. But, for the most part, those were quick fixes to immediate booking problems, not permanent solutions. These days, the only real, consistent presence on the all-ages scene is the Dugout, a squat little bunker out in the wilds of Doral.

That's not to say the Dugout has straight-up inherited the crowd that populated Goo. While there has been some migration since the latter shuttered near the end of July, the Doral spot doesn't really trade in gritty hardcore and thrash as much as a certain kind of metal-punk with a suburban edge. It's a brand that centers around a regular roster of local bands, many of them ganging together next Saturday -- including Behold the Ruins, Great Divine, Bell Towers Fall, Powa Kord, and Fuel the Flames as well as Faithscar, Zealot, the Perfect Defect, Handgun, and Murder at First Sight.

Now, show up and pay your ten bucks, but mind the underagers, meaning: "no smoking, no alcohol, no drugs, and no fights."

Saturday, September 19. The Dugout, 7413 NW 54th St., Doral. Show starts at 6 p.m., and tickets are $10. All ages. myspace.com/thedugoutmiami

?These days it has become exceedingly rare to see a show flyer that's been produced entirely without the aid of a computer. (I mean, we as a people are so obscenely wired that it seems the next logical step should be embedding a Bluetooth into my skull and/or seamlessly interfacing my laptop with my crotch.) Thus, whenever one of these endangered, graphite-on-paper, straight-from-the-notebook gems -- that one to the left, for example -- crops up, it's a thrilling discovery, like finding the Paleolithic doodlings of some mosh-manic caveman.