Matt on a carphone: February 2010

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

#1 The Hills

I feel like I can take all of my emotions and put them into writing and make them ache, or I could ignore them and make a really cynical and funny list of things I will miss about the geological idiosyncrasies in Hollywood. I'm just going to start writing. This is how I will miss the Hollywood Hills.

Technically, my neighborhood was called Whitley Heights. But the Hollywood Hills, the not-so-tall, not-so-beautiful change in altitude in between Sunset and Ventura was still one of the more majestic hills I have ever crossed. Everything good about Hollywood either owes itself directly or indirectly to the eastern expanse of the Santa Monica Mountains.

The Santa Monicas are the very little baby-sister to the giant transverse ranges to the very-near north; the San Gabriels and the San Bernadinos. As they travel west towards Santa Barbara, they grow and become a little more "mountainous," but in the city they really are just a series of hills. On the north side of the hills is the San Fernando Valley, flanked by the San Gabriels to the north and the Verdugo's to the east. The Valley is the suburbs of LA, a never-ending string of strip-malls, three-star dining, and inexpensive cookie-cutter apartments. On the south side of the hill is Hollywood, and the hills never let you forget that. Resting on the south side of the hill, Griffith Observatory, Runyon Canyon, the countless lit-up dots that the millionaires call home, and nine gigantic letters, cut and pasted to the hill as a giant letterhead reminding every poor speller in town exactly how to spell H-O-L-L-Y-W-O-O-D.

And everywhere you go in Hollywood, those hills follow. Whatever major north-south thoroughfare you pass—from Doheney to Vermont—they look over you. The lights of Hollywood, described very poorly in my previous entry, are strewn across the greenish backdrop of the Hollywood Hills and it is within that framework, that Academy Award winning lighting scheme that my Hollywood exists.

If you take all of these entries, all of my puff and romanticizing about a mythical place that only exists in my imagination, all of my love for a place known just as much for traffic, parking, and other nuisances as it is for movie stars and swimming

pools, all of my affection for the place that I made Hollywood in my head, all of that, it all goes back to those hills.

Part of me wants to go into the magic and mystique that the hills bring. Part of me wants to get into the geography of Hollywood and mention Los Feliz, Beachwood, Laurel, and Coldwater. Part of me wants to talk about the painted sky that the hills brush every evening as the sun goes down, or the names of the streets whose iconography outweighs their avenues. Part of me wants to talk about what it's like to bike north up the hills, or look down from them. But none of this really matters. You got all of this in my last twenty-nine entries. And that's the point. The point is that while I was talking about bars, and food, and hikes, and parking spots; while I was going on about lights, and homelesses and record stores, I was always talking about the fucking hills. I've already said it all.

OK, I'm going to get this out and then end this project. Hollywood really is a magical place that you can't truly understand until you embrace it. At the risk of turning this into a Travel Channel piece, I say without irony, that Hollywood is as deep and complex a city as you will ever find. It is layered and hard and very difficult to take in without and eye for subtlety, and appreciation for history and literature, and a very keen ability to experience. It can be dirty, dangerous, and pristine all at the same time, at the same intersection. People can be frightening, friendly, and crazy merely while walking by you. Everything I've mentioned in this blog has two sides to it, and I have merely chosen to appreciate the side I have chosen to experience. While I understand why people who live elsewhere choose to hate the archetype of what Hollywood represents, I resent these people for judging a place as complex and layered as Hollywood without ever truly experiencing it from the inside.

My new bedroom looks west towards the city that I have been writing about. I am high enough up, that I should be able to see about ten miles out. But I don't live in Hollywood anymore. My view is obstructed by buildings much taller than my own and my view stretches barely over six city blocks. Ironically, this is the view that I desired when moving here, it is the trump card that makes our new place, Bar 1207, great. But now, with my house, my job, and my view broken off from Hollywood in both literal and figurative ways, I am left merely to romanticize and remember the Hollywood I built in my imagination. I will always look back on the last eighteen months of my life as some of the best, I will always remember Hollywood fondly, but I will always feel as though there was more that I never got to. More fictional smoky bars, more dark and hard corners, and more crazy people that never got to open my mind. Thankfully, I've been able to chronicle exactly what created that reality in my head over the last six weeks. Thank you for taking part in remembering this adventure with me.

Now onto the next….

Friday, February 19, 2010

#2 Amoeba Music

staffer behind the info desk. "Bargain CDs under O, should be 3rd aisle on your right." WHAT??? Seriously? I don't know if he's a fan or not, but not only did he know who I was talking about, but that it was in stock and where? Are you nuts?

Or the "Music we Like" catalog that comes out every now and again. In it, staffers from all three Amoeba's (older smaller stores are in San Francisco and Berkeley) offer suggestions around things they dig. So if you find a staffer whose tastes fit yours, you can find new music in brand new ways. And because Amoeba is the greatest place on Earth, there is no better source to acquire new music than from the people inside.

Everything about Amoeba is my favorite thing the world. The free live shows that are there like every night, the music they play while you shop, the layout, the prices, the cheap-ass box sets, the crazy selection of amazing DVDs, the people inside, the FREE FUCKING PARKING, the hours (record stores open til 11 are awesome), the back room, the fact that I once found "Cleveland Browns Greatest Games" there, and then months later found "History of the Cleveland Browns," the walk from my house, the yellow paper bags they give you, the branding, and everything they represent about how great this country can be.

Most stores become terrible in a directly proportional arc with how big they get. Things become homogenized, prices soar, branding becomes intolerable, and the staff becomes robots—Amoeba is the exact opposite. It needs to be big to be great, and it thrives. Prices remain, not only fair, but also the best; the staff is always cool, nothing is homogenized, and they seriously, and genuinely love music. Call me a fucking sheep, but I trust them so much as to say, their mission is not about cutting profits (which I'm sure they do at a remarkable pace) but about loving music. I really believe that.

I have spent close to two grand there in the last two years. As soon as the move and my trips are behind me and I have money again, I will continue to spend it there. I love Amoeba, and despite it being a few red-line stops away, I will be dying that I can't walk there. Amoeba is the greatest thing about LA.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

#3 Village Pizzeria

#30 Hollywood Walk of Fame
#29 Yamashiro
#28 Hollywood Billiards
#27 Genghis Cohen
#26 Piano Bar
#25 Shmutzville
# 24 Loteria
# 23 The Griddle
# 22 Proximity
# 21 Hollywood Freeway
#20 Kitchen 24
# 19 The People
# 18 Sushi Eyaki
#17 Raymond Chandler
# 16 Jumbo's Clown Room
#15 Skooby's
#14 The Arclight
# 13 The Well
#12 Runyon Canyon
# 11 Canter's
#10 Hotel Café
#9 Body Factory
#8 The Troubadour
#7 Barney's Beanery (The Real One)
#6 Thai Food
#5 The Jukebox at Café 101
#4 The Lights

#3 Village Pizzeria

"There's no good pizza in LA." Seriously, everyone that lives here will say this. In case you were wondering, there's also no good Chinese food. I have a hard time believing this. I have a hard time believing that with all of the people here, we cannot get pizza as good as New York. Traditionally the response is that the water in New York is so much more accommodating to pizza than the water in LA. Excuse me if I have a hard time believing that. It seems like this is one of those things like "Macs don't get viruses and PCs do" that one person said and then everyone started believing. (I had PCs for 15 years and never had a virus, my mac has worked on and off for three years with the consistency of an epileptic drunk) Water DOES play a role in the texture of the dough. In the beer world, water plays a role in the texture of the beer as well. Beer and dough have several similar qualities, and like every ingredient that goes into making a beer or a pizza, difference in water plays a role. However, despite Germany and California having very different water, they both manage to make very good beer. Somehow, despite differences in the texture of the water—I assume much more drastic than that between New York and LA—both regions make great—albeit different—beer

So I cannot buy the water is different hence good pizza is an absolute impossibility card. I just can't. I think a lot of it has to do with the main goals of restaurants in both cities. By-the-slice places in New York are fucking amazing, but they also have four billion people walking by every day. LA by-the-slice places have 1/50th what New York has, so the best pizza chefs see no reason to put money into a corner pizza place when they could make fifty times more money harnessing their skills in a nicer environment. New York will always have better street food, and it doesn't end with pizza. Why are New York's falafel, hot dogs, and pretzels better than LA's? It's NOT the water.

Which leads me to Village Pizza. The original Village is on Larchmont, and I personally think it's better. No, I don't think it's a different recipe, I just think more time and care goes into things over there. The second Village is on Yucca right by our place. It is the best New York style pizza in LA. It is. No, it is not as good as the places on every single NYC street, not even close, but it has nothing to do with the water. As far as LA greasy pizza goes, I'm yet to find a subtitute.

Despite the fact that I swear the other location makes better pie, we have spent a shit ton of money at the closer one. We get delivery almost once a week, and until I started working the twelve-hour shift on Fridays, I ate lunch there every week. I ador

e pizza. I live for it. My next tattoo is a pizza. And Village has been my pizza place for two solid years.

I'm hoping that downtown offers some sort of pizza solace. Yelp! lists 176 places with pizza within walking distance, and I will attempt to plow through all of them. But I just have a hard time believing that one will somehow eclipse Village. Despite not having New York's water system, they manage to make a damn fine pizza, and I will miss it.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

#4 The Lights

That's really how I'll remember Hollywood. Coming north on the 101;, the Capitol Building, the city lit up like Times Square, it just felt like you were entering something important. And coming in the other way, from the Valley, when you round that corner and pass the "Hollywood – Next 8 exits" sign mentioned earlier, it really is a special experience. There is the Capitol Building, and all the other 1940s era "highrises" lit up and flaunting their oversized billboards to oncoming traffic. There are huge swaying spotlights spinning from the El Capitan that can be seen for miles, there's the Patron billboard on top of a building that flashes and turns from one message to another, it's fucking breathtaking.

And off the freeway, the lights don't stop. Driving down the strip you are inundated with giant billboards lit up as though they were LCD televisions. Giant advertisements draping the bigger buildings reminding you to watch the new season of True Blood, the upcoming Academy Awards, or anything that might be new. It's both dangerous and moderately offensive in spirit, but in essence, it's a one-of-kind sight that reminds every commuter that they're not back home. There's something special about it, I insist.

And there are other lights that dominate Hollywood. From almost anywhere below Sunset, the natural compass of the Hollywood Hills directs you north. And those hills are lit up like a starry sky. Million-dollar homes dot the hills like a movie set model. From Melrose, and from Beverly, and Wilshire and 3rd, the lights of the hills guard the northern sky like a really, really expensive and gaudy sentry. They flicker, they remind you that you're not nearly wealthy enough to live up there, they implore you to enter the industry, but most of all, they dominate the northern skyline and constantly tell you that you are in Hollywood. The observatory is lit up like a castle and can be seen from all over the city. The bigger houses are like landmarks along the way. And somehow, all of these lights, these actors in nighttime urbanism work together to light up a city as unique as Hollywood.

My new neighborhood will have a new kind of lights. The downtown skyline will dominate our view, and provide a true urban experience. But what I've learned from living in Hollywood is that those lights that I pined for from my front porch in Silverlake don't just end with the tallish buildings, and aren't just patrons of capitalism. They are the life of the city and they are constantly changing and offering different perspectives. My new urban skyline is in every city in the world. Skyscrapers, theatres, and arenas aren't unique to LA. But the lights of Hollywood aren't found anywhere else in the world, and every time I make my way down the 101 into Hollywood, those lights—all of them—will remind me of how special a place this is.

Friday, February 12, 2010

#5 The Jukebox at Cafe 101

On the eastern exterior wall of the place, there is a giant mural with a cup of foamy coffee. The copy reads "Last cappuccino before the 101," as if the 101 represents the end of humanity and cappuccino represents a universal need before passing. Inside, the décor has changed a bit since Swingers but I think it's perfect. Combining googie elements with modern Hollywood, there are very few places in the city that say "welcome to Hollywood" the way this does. The walls are large rocks, the countertop is old-school kitsch, the servers are just cute enough to be in Hollywood, but still normal enough to be servers at a coffee shop. The booths have that tattered coffee shop feeling that makes you feel like you're sitting talking to George and Elaine, and the crowd is self-aware enough to make Swingers references without overdoing it and drunk enough to be up for some hijinks. Then, in the corner, is what has to be the best jukebox in LA.

The jukebox rotates, and this is not a music blog, so before I start naming all of my favorites on the jukebox, let me just say that there is enough on there for me to put in a fiver, and from the moment we sit down, to the moment we get up, the soundtrack is perfect. From old Pearl Jam, to James Brown, Funkadelic, and The Flaming Lips, the jukebox represents everything that is right about Hollywood. Let me try to explain this in better, snobbier, more cynical terms.

I have a theory that my generation is unique because while college attendance—and hence the amount of educated people—is at an all time high, we are in one of the worst job markets in the history of this country. So there is a surplus of over-educated, underpaid, kind of lost 26-33 year olds running around bartending, collecting useless graduate degrees, playing in bands, giving acting a really long shot, and refusing to grow up in the traditional sense. We don’t have real jobs, we can't afford families, so there's no reason to latch onto societies norms and start playing along. This is comforting to me because recession or no recession, I'm not working a bullshit job, so this just means more people for me. I have argued that this phenomenon is responsible for the popularity of seemingly inaccessible intellectual type music that has been a little too popular for traditional American music in the last several years. There's no reason that bands like the Arcade Fire, the Shins, Wilco, or the Flaming Lips should be as popular as they are now. Evidence to this is the fact that Wilco and the Flaming Lips put out their best stuff fifteen years ago, and no one noticed. Only now, with a surplus of neo-bohemians does this music work.

And to bring this back to Café 101; the reason that a jukebox, serving young, drunk, Hollywood-types is able to be so good, is because we're the ones eating the gross French dips and tuna melts. We're the jerk-offs coming in, being loud, acting like teenagers. And for us to be happy, we need some good 90s shit, some classic 70s shit, and some cool new shit to distract us from the rubbery eggs we're eating. Go hop over to Swingers in Santa Monica, tell me how many neo-bohemians you see there. The answer will be none. But in this corner of the city, we are the majority; actors, writers, bassists, and other assholes without real jobs, need real music to get us through shitty drunk meals. And so yes, I will miss all of Café 101, but it's the jukebox that represents everything I will miss about Hollywood.

The jukebox at Café 101, to me, is a big fuck you to the young professional set. I know you think I'm reading way too into the meaning of a jukebox, and perhaps in several years I will look back at this entry from my desk in some office with a boss looging over my shoulder, and I will laugh about this, but as a self-proclaimed native anthropologist, I insist that the jukebox at Café 101 is our New York Armory show (look it up), and that we, like the young professionals, need a place to eat late at night. Even if the food is garbage. So, in closing, yes, I will miss Café 101, a lot. Ok, fine I'll ask, excuse me, do you know where the high school girls hang out? Oh, I'm the asshole…right…I'm the asshole, you know I would never eat here anyways.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

#6 Thai Food

#30 Hollywood Walk of Fame
#29 Yamashiro
#28 Hollywood Billiards
#27 Genghis Cohen
#26 Piano Bar
#25 Shmutzville
# 24 Loteria
# 23 The Griddle
# 22 Proximity
# 21 Hollywood Freeway
#20 Kitchen 24
# 19 The People
# 18 Sushi Eyaki
#17 Raymond Chandler
# 16 Jumbo's Clown Room
#15 Skooby's
#14 The Arclight
# 13 The Well
#12 Runyon Canyon
# 11 Canter's
#10 Hotel Café
#9 Body Factory
#8 The Troubadour
#7 Barney's Beanery (The Real One)

#6 Thai Food

This entry is not about any particular Thai restaurant. Nor is it merely about the several stops in Thai Town a short drive from my house. This is about the never-ending supply of incredible noodles, curries, and rice that has been showing up at my house far too frequently for the last year and a half.

My apartment is towards the eastern terminus of what you might call "Hollywood." As you cross over the 101 and go east, you'll pass through the relatively boring East Hollywood, and then come across a stretch of roads known as Thai Town. Furthermore, to the west, as Hollywood turns to West Hollywood and eventually Beverly Hills, the streets become chic, wealthy, and noticeably high end. Here, Thai restaurants are in high demand as well. In fact, Yelp! lists 495 Thai places within a five-mile drive from my house. Of these 495, we've probably eaten at about twenty of them. They're all insane. Fucking insane.

This is not a forum to discuss my favorite dishes from my favorite restaurants. If you've been following this entire countdown, you'll know it is about what all of these things mean to me. Because this entry is about an entire ethnic cuisine, it's hard to pinpoint exactly what it is that I will miss, but the easiest way of saying it is that close to once a week for the last couple years, we have ordered Thai delivery, or gone for Thai food so many times, that it has become an absolutely integral part of my life that will be impossible to replace. The standards: Sunset Thai and Pimai will be seeing noticeable dips in their revenue next month. Delivery drivers will be wondering why their tips seem for be five bucks a week lighter. And Olsen and I are going to have to work our way through a new checklist of Thai places without the access to Thai Town or any of the more chic Hollywood places.

Also, I'd be remised if I didn't mention Toi here. Shout out to one of the weirdest, most authentically awesome 7 out of 10 restaurants on Earth. Toi is open til 4 AM and after 1 is an absolute zoo. The food is pretty good, but the décor, the atmosphere, the weird ass movies, the crowd is fucking insane. I'm going to miss Toi.

But most of all, I'm going to miss being able to type in seven random numbers on my phone, and having a good chance of dialing a Thai delivery place that comes to my place. I won't lie, my indulgence is Thai cuisine has not been 100% natural, as I have indulged in PEDs so to say. Taking advantage of my cities loose greenery laws, I have realized that very few things in life satisfy my cravings as well as spicy garlic noodles, spicy bamboo shoots, or chicken prik king.

Living in Hollywood has been a god damn pleasure thanks to Thai food. This next statement is bold, but I think it's fair to say that, despite an upcoming entry being ranked higher, I will miss Hollywood Thai food—not just the food, but the accessibility—more than any other food. I seriously cannot imagine having better access to my favorite kind of food anywhere on Earth outside of Bangkok. 6615 is the nexus of the Hollywood Thai universe. I'm going to end this now before I get weepy. Goodnight LA Thai world.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

#7 Barney's Beanery

#30 Hollywood Walk of Fame
#29 Yamashiro
#28 Hollywood Billiards
#27 Genghis Cohen
#26 Piano Bar
#25 Shmutzville
# 24 Loteria
# 23 The Griddle
# 22 Proximity
# 21 Hollywood Freeway
#20 Kitchen 24
# 19 The People
# 18 Sushi Eyaki
#17 Raymond Chandler
# 16 Jumbo's Clown Room
#15 Skooby's
#14 The Arclight
# 13 The Well
#12 Runyon Canyon
# 11 Canter's
#10 Hotel Café
#9 Body Factory
#8 The Troubadour

#7 Barney's Beanery (The Real One)

Before this one gets going let me set something straight. When I say Barney's Beanery, I don't mean all of the Barney's Beaneries. I have no problem with the one in Pasadena, I've never been to the one in Burbank, and despite my patronization of the one on the Third Street Promenade almost every Tuesday during the 2009-2010 Cavaliers season, I despise and loathe that location. I wish nothing but the worst for the staff, the clientele (except me), and the structure itself. As long as it can wait until a Tuesday Cavs game is over, I wish for bad things there. This entry is about the real Barney's Beanery: the legendary, mythical, historical Barney's Beanery on Holloway and La Cienega. (because I don't have footnote capability on blogger, let me explain why I even set foot in the last one: I work until roughly 3:00-3:30 PM on Tuesdays in Santa Monica, and then again from 6:00-1:00 AM. So from 3:30-6 I am free, and there are often Cavs games on at that time and Barney's on the promenade offers a cheap, REALITVELY unobtrusive viewing experience, as long as I can survive the meathead/retard beer conversations that go on at the bar, and the countless assaults on the last three-hundred years of social advancements that seem to occur during every encounter between the half-breeds that hang out on the Promenade. And I implore to you, that Barney's is the best of the worst.)

Anyways, (why do I feel like every entry starts with a paragraph of disclaimers that end in rambling digressions before the second paragraph, without fail, brings us back to focus) the real Beanery is a fucking special place. The food is juuuuust above average. The service is just below average. The clientele is as diverse as Hollywood can offer which can be both a blessing and a curse depending on who's sitting next to you, and who the Lakers are playing. The beer selection is a few steps above standard bars and a few large steps below new gastropubs. (my MS Word doesn't recognize the word "gastropub," probably because when I bought this computer in 2006, the latest version of Office available for Mac was MS Office 1964) On paper, Barney's doesn't really have a lot going for it, but it's the intangibles. It's like Barney's is the Tom Glavine of bars; 89 M

PH fastball, four or five quality pitches but no "out pitch," nothing flashy or special, just comes to work every five days, hits its spots and gets people out. That's what Barney's does.

By saying Barney's excels at intangibles (a sports allegory with no clear-cut explanation) what I mean is that it's kind of hard to describe exactly what makes this place awesome. I'll try, but I think that my abilities as a writer are too limited to fully appreciate Barney's. It's historical, meaning it used to be a stop on the old Route 66. It's more recent history includes stars like Jim Morrison and Janis Joplin drinking there. They got an air hockey table, a pop-a-shot machine, and to quote Garth Algar, they got a pool table, too. The music is always played at a reasonable volume, the ceilings are adorned with license (single hardest word to spell without spell check, narrowly edging out "judgment" and "consciousness") plates from the past, there are TVs in every corner, and the bar is broken up into several rooms. The patio has two TVs and a plethora of people smoking cigarettes (cigarettes at a bar? My word!!) and watching the Hollywood traffic roll down Santa Monica and Holloway. Like I alluded to before, the crowd is pretty diverse, but the atmosphere, casualness of place, and accessibility lends itself to a pretty laid back group. People tend to get along there, not get in each other's way, and exist together unlike most places in Hollywood.

There's another element that makes Barney's special to me, and that's sports, and in particular NFL football. Anyone that knows me (or at least is facebook friends with me and hasn't already pressed ignore on me) knows the only thing I hate more than the NFL, is NFL fans. This is true for every corner of the world except for beneath the roof of Barney's Beanery. Here's what I love:

As alluded to earlier, Barney's is divided into separate rooms. Furthermore, the ceilings are abnormally low, creating an even cozier feeling to each corner of the pretty-large bar. No matter where you're sitting in the approximately 3500-4000 square-foot bar, you feel like you're in a small room. And because there are TVs in the strange, yet incredibly viewable places, you can watch your game from several different places. So on Sundays, small packs of five to fifteen fans of each team congregate somewhere inside the bar and watch their game. The result is a cacophony of cheers and groans immediately following every big play. A first down will be greeted by a shriek of cheers coming from one corner, while a chorus of groans will come from another. And because each part of the bar is so intimate, you can't really see all of these people, there's just an anonymous approval or disapproval of every major event in every major game from all corners of the bar. It's as if each fan's entire fan-base is spread sporadically through one bar, and those cheers represent the fortunes of an entire city. It's incredibly special, and something that only gets better as the playoffs begin. I don't generally like to watch sports at a bar but Barney's is my favorite place in LA to watch sports, hands down.

I'm going to miss this place. I'm going to miss mornings there, and lunches. I'm going to miss eating there, and drinking whiskey there. I'm going to miss one of the best crowds in Hollywood (or WeHo depending on if you work for Rand-McNally or not) and the most comfortable atmosphere at any bar I've been to since I left the Winking Lizard on Miles. I'll miss the drunkards hanging out on the patio on weekday afternoons, and the anonymous cheers after football team A does something they approve of. You can probably tell, this is a tough one for me; I really love this place. Via con Dios Barney.

#8 The Troubadour

Secondly, it's been around since the dawn of rock and roll and has always featured some of the best acts in music. Upstairs there are pictures of Tom Waits and Carly Simon backstage. The Strokes played there. Metallica played there. Guns n Roses played on a stage that could be confused with someone's living room. This isn't your father's small venue . . . wait maybe it is—My mom fucking saw James Taylor there. JAMES TAYLOR! As far as legendary venues go, there's CBGB which is gone, and the Troubadour, which is not only still there, but hanging onto everything it was forty years ago.

And finally, it's just one of the most Hollywood experiences you can have. That stretch of Santa Monica features two of the most famous restaurants in town: The Palm and Dan Tana's; both of which are primo celebrity "they're just like us" places. The outside of the venue looks like what an artist would draw if you said to him, "do me a favor and draw me a picture of what you think an awesome concert club would look like in Hollywood." The ticket prices—usually around 15-25 dollars—means that the crowd is fans, not bullshitters with tickets, and the line outside is always a group of people just like you, which dealt with parking just to see the same band you like. And the inside is just as perfect. Exposed wood all over, a small balcony, the front bar, the back bar, the upstairs "backstage," the legendary photos all over, that combination of beer and sweat in the air that is a cloud of cigarette smoke away from being utterly perfect, the sound, the band, the people, the not-to-overpriced drinks, everything just comes together at the Troubadour.

Again, this is hard, because in reality, I won't be missing it. In fact, come March 4th, a mere two weeks after I have moved downtown, I will be going to see Mike Doughty at the Troubadour. Nothing will have changed except the commute, which, though significantly longer, will not really have an effect on the night. So instead of harping on how much I won't miss the Troub, I'll let you know that whenever I do leave LA, the Troubadour will always have a special place in my heart. It is one of a kind, and the greatest place on Earth to see a show.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

#9 Body Factory

they're house special and don't ask the ingredients. Ok, I won't. It's the tastiest fucking smoothie ever created. I think there's pineapple, maybe? Maybe coconut? But let's just think about how weird this is: a store, selling soaps and candles and bullshit, playing stranger than strange work-out music, showing non-sequitur bullshit on their two plasmas, selling me a smoothie that may or may not contain gasoline because not only do they not tell you what's in it, but they throw weird powders and things in it and then it tastes better than Filet Mignon and is supposedly the healthiest thing on Earth. To quote Lance's wife in Pulp Fiction "That's fuckin' trippy."

I'm not exaggerating when I say I devour these things. Rough estimate says that in eighteen months, I've had close to one hundred of these things, and I've never bought anything else at Body Factory. Oh, so there's another weird thing about Body Factory. Every time you go in, they ask you if you're a member. Apparently there's some membership that costs money to get, and you get nothing other than discounted smoothies. Like the membership costs twenty, and the discount is one dollar, so you have to think, "Will I have twenty smoothies from this place" before you sign up. I assure you, I never paid a dime, but for some reason they think I'm a member. But why the membership?!?! It doesn't afford you a newsletter, or special access to things not on the menu—it's just a fucking discount. You have to pay for a discount. Everyone breaks even! What the fuck is going on here?

As you can tell, Body Factory makes no sense at all to me. If you want to pay by credit card you have to pay fifteen dollar minimum for a five dollar smoothie, so they have a thing where if you pay fifteen bucks for a smoothie, your next two are already paid for, so sometimes I roll in, several weeks after my last smoothie, with a five dollar bill in my hand and they refuse it because I've already paid. So strange.

However, they are the best smoothies on the planet, they are supposedly healthy, and they are five dollars after the membership I never paid for. I could walk to Body Factory and did quite often, and now the pain-in-the-ass parking situation could mean no mas Body Factory para mi. This is mildly depressing but could be a good thing if they are putting fucking benzine in my smoothie. Anyways, Body Factory, I will miss the fuck out of you.

Monday, February 8, 2010

#10 Hotel Cafe

So Hotel Café is a place that many—even those of you in Hollywood—may not be 100% familiar with. You may have seen it mentioned in LA Weekly or on a band's website or something, but Hotel Café is as secret as secrets can be in this town. Hotel Café is neither a hotel nor a café; it is a very small concert club on Cahuenga that attracts some of my favorite musicians and is as romantic in it's own dark Hollywood way. Nestled between boom-boom clubs on Cahuenga and sporting the always-cool back door entrance, Hotel Café is dark, the décor is red velvety, there is a bar in the front of the house, and then a double door into a hall that houses about 100 people and a barely-raised stage that fits three uncomfortably. The ceiling is low, the acoustics are surprisingly good, the atmosphere is a thick layer of smoke away from having a speakeasy vibe, and the music is top notch.

I have seen my main man, The White Buffalo, there several times and every time has been better than the time before. Maybe the reason I love Hotel Café so much is because the White Buffalo's crazy-amazing voice works so well in that room, and I have great memories of seeing him there. Seeing him lose his mind in that venue is about as great of a memory as I have about living in Hollywood. If anyone ever gets a chance to see the White Buffalo, jump at the chance, it's so worth it.

But the HC represents a little bit more to me. It represents the club I have been looking for my whole life: A small venue with great singers, a dark, romantic feel, the back door entrance, the front room with a bar and a private room, just a perfect place to go see music. You can always see the band on their way to the stage, share a drink with them afterwards, meet cool people who are into great music, and then walk home. I can't really write anything more about Hotel Café other than that. It is where I want to watch music for the rest of my life. It is the

bar I want people to associate me with. Is that weird?

You know how people tend to construct their personalities by what they like? Like "I'm the kind of person who likes Magnolia" or Donnie Darko, or Tool, or 311. You know, people that like 311 identify with other people who like 311. Like "you know Tony, he's that guy who's really into Tool…?" That's how I want to be with Hotel Café. "Hotel Café, that's that place Glassman likes." Yeah…it is.

# 11 Canter's

u know it too. The menu is fucking huge, the front bakery display is pretty standard, and the crowd is an amalgamation of Hollywood that is so unique to this part of the country that I already devoted an entire entry to it. Depending on the time of day (or night) you're there, you'll see old Jews, rich kids with their daddy's Benz, bands, families, young couples, drunk couples, gay couples, movie stars, contestants from the Price is Right still wearing their name tag, or even myself, my roommate, or my girlfriend. It's just Canter's.

Now, there are two extra elements that make Canter's unique: full bar, open all night. Here's what this means. It means that the Kibbutz room off to the side is actually a pretty cool place to hang out, see bands, and get a drink. Like legitimately. Usually, trips to a Jewish deli are Sunday afternoons, parents in tow, enjoying the atmosphere and mellowing out. But here, it can be different. A trip to Canter's can be pre-going out. It can be after the bars, drunk and hungry. It can be an evening drink and matzo-ball soup. Or it can be like the time Olsen and I played poker at Commerce until 5:30 AM and left and went to get hash at Canter's. It just changes the entire meaning of the entire place.

Then of course there's the location. Canter's is arguably the center of LA. To me, LA revolves around the strip of Beverly from Fairfax to La Cienega. That's the middle, and as you move away from that nexus, you are moving away from the center of the city and towards the ocean, suburbs, desert, or mountains. So Canter's located just above Beverly on Fairfax is right at the center of the city. What this means is that everyone in LA—everyone—has eaten at Canter's. It's just part of the city, and part of the experience. No, Canter's isn't knocking down any walls in the way of deli or rugula, but it is simply one of the most unique and iconic experiences that Hollywood has to offer.

Look, one of the things I'm most excited about moving downtown, is that I will be 1.7 miles from the best deli I've ever had at Langer's. That's a ten-minute bike ride. 7 out of 10 corned beef, is about to be replaced by 15 out of 10 pastrami. But that doesn't mean by a long shot that I'm done with Canter's. Canter's IS Hollywood, and next time I pick a friend up from the airport, and he wants to experience LA in two hours or less, I'm rolling into Canter's; free parking, decent food, and all of LA under one roof.

#12 Runyon Canyon

Because faux-fitness people in this town believe that this short, paved trail is "hiking," there's a resentment factor from the snobbish true hiker in me. (This is not unlike my feelings for when someone ordering a Budweiser, or a Heineken says "I don't drink light beer") How can I not naturally feel some resentment for them, when I have scaled mountains and slept in backcountries that make Runyon look like Beverly Hills?

But on the other side of the coin, Runyon serves as one of the most unique places in the city, and the payoff at the top is—for an urbanist—breathtaking. It is NOT a hike, it is a beautiful, kind-of-natural urban nature walk that LA cynacists loathe for the hip, young, dog-walkers chatting about their sides on the way up. I am not one of these people. I feel like a non-native anthropologist making the climb, studying the ways of the Hollywood good-looking set. "So this is what it's like to be rich and beautiful…"

Runyon is walking distance to my house. The west trail is a fairly good workout, and the people watching is just as good as the spectacular cityscapes. It really is a unique "hiking" experience, despite my feelings of resentment. There is an off chance I will never get to the top of Runyon again, and that's a little depressing. Even though it is ranked near the bottom of trails in all of my guidebooks, I have a special appreciation for Runyon because it is in the center of Hollywood. It is visible from all over the city, and it has been a major part of my life for the last eighteen months. As I climb mountains 8 times the size of Runyon's modest peak, I will look down on the paved road, beautiful people, and countless dogs and laugh at their idea of "hiking," but inside feel a little envy.

Friday, February 5, 2010

#13 The Well

in eighteen months, downtown bars that—at least in my imagination—currently stand for the bars themselves and the experiences I've had there will be subject to this same iconic filing-cabinet mentality. However, one bar, more than any other, has eluded this filing away, so far: The Well.

I can't quite categorize The Well. On one hand, it is a sleek, loungy-type bar with hidden status. ("All the cool bars in LA need to be hard to find so that when you tell a girl you've been somewhere it's like you're bragging that you know where it is.") But on the other hand, the crowd can be dramatically down-to-earth (which is a relative of "amazingly average"), the jukebox is world-class, and it may be the most comfortable bar in Hollywood. While I like going to other places a little bit more (you'll see), The Well may be my favorite bar that I like merely for itself. It's the Lost in Translation of bars: no gimmicks, no games, no bullshit; a great jukebox, incredibly hot women, and a super-cool vibe. Furthermore, like I mentioned earlier, it's just avoided being pigeonholed. There's no doubt that it's a chic lounge, but without the arrogance, the hassle at the door, and the attitude, it's just a cool place. What's not to like.

Even the location is cool: right off Sunset east of Vine and across from the Palladium; it's walking distance there, cab distance home. A few months ago, I rolled in there with a few friends. We were well-dressed and eager to forget our hammers at the bar. As we walked in, the aforementioned jukebox was singing the Cold War Kids' "Something is Not Right with Me." Honorable Ebright pointed out that this was akin to a fictional movie (a movie that doesn't exist, as opposed to a movie that tells a story that is not true) scene. The guys, walking into the well-lit lounge, wearing their Friday best, strolling through the doors with the perfect soundtrack. That could only happen at a super-chic place that, admittedly are abundant in Hollywood—but how many are playing cool music and are within walking distance. Fucking great.

And of course, I'd be remissed if I didn't mention the bartender. When talking about a rating system that I mentioned in a previous entry, I noted that an LA girl's rating is multiplied by 1.1 and added to 1 (a 7 in LA is an 8.7 in Cleveland). However, at 8.18 that scale stops as they all become Cleveland 10s. Essentially, the hottest girl in Cleveland is by-law no hotter than an LA 8.18. The bartender at The Well (she knows who she is) is a fucking LA 10. She is the standard by which all other girls should be judged. I have even gone as far as tried to clear it with Katy to make her my celebrity freebie" under the assumption that a girl that hot in this town has at least done some commercial work, if not a feature that I just haven't seen. (This request was denied)

So essentially, you have a cool bar, with great music, good drinks, a rad location, and the world's hottest bartender; and this bar did NOT make the top ten. Hollywood is a good place my friends.

#14 The Arclight

new experience. Movies like No Country for Old Men and The Dark Knight were fucking sick thanks to the awesome sound quality of the theatre.

Secondly, and this is the big one for me, the pre-buy your assigned seats thing is great, but its even better thanks to the nice bar/restaurant in the lobby. To know you don't need to get to your seat until the opening credits and still have a great seat is a great luxury, but to be able to show up forty-five minutes early and have a cocktail and some calamari is even besser. The food is surprisingly pote, and the bar is always dotted with celebrities seeing their own movies.

Lastly, I'd be remised if I didn't mention the parking. I have a thing about parking lots in LA. I have them ranked based on several factors, but the Arclight is really good. Considering the location, the amount of people that park there every day, and the price, it is one of the best in LA. I never feel anxiety about parking when going to the Arclight and that's more than I can say about a lot of places in LA. [cough] Katy's office [cough]

But there's more to the Arclight then just the experience. There's the huge and historic Cinerama dome that sits right on Sunset and is visible from all sorts of elevations. There's the strangely-engrossing gift shop, the high-end snack bar, and of course the best smoothies on earth right out side at Body Factory (which by the way you can bring in). I also love seeing celebrities at a movie theatre. It's strange. Seeing a TV-star at a movie is like seeing Josh Cribbs at a Cavs game. Seeing celebrities at Gelson's or at my job is kind of normal, but at a movie theatre? You mean you have to pay to see these? I love it.

The Arclight is simply one of the nicest movie theatres in the country. It's in a bunch of movies, it is a famous LA landmark, and again, the parking is just lovely. Having the Arclight has just been a pleasure in the back of my head whenever the idea of seeing a movie comes up. My new neighborhood has a brand new, state of the art Regal within walking distance, so I will have that to fall back on, but I'll miss the Arclight. Even for 14 bucks a pop.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

#15 Skooby's

e on the corner of Melrose and LaBrea that has been serving chilidogs since before California was granted statehood. Pink's predates the gold rush, and I think opened around the time the Lincoln was born in 1809. There is constantly a line extending down the street from Pink's. It is a historic landmark and an LA rite of passage. Only problem with Pink's is that it sucks.

The other hot dog haunt that legend has it competes with Pink's is the freestanding train car on the Sunset Strip: Carney's. Carney's is a really cool place, with a good crowd, and you get to eat in an old train car. A few years ago, Carney's put a big billboard right above Pink's that said something along the lines of "the best hot dogs in LA are at Carney's." This is a bold move. The hot dog wars were on. However, Carney's has a problem too, it sucks.

There are other hot dog ventures around the city, from Oki-Dog to Let's Be Frank. They're all pretty good. But the jewel, the winner, the champion for the crown of best hot dog in LA, is Skooby's. Skooby's caters to mostly tourists on Hollywood Blvd. It is a very small alcove in between a weird electronics store and a tattoo parlor (the Tattoo Parlor that lends it's sign to Jeremy Piven's credit in the opening sequence of Entourage). It is kind of hard to notice, and very few Angelinos have been there. But to me, there is no doubt whatsoever it is the best hot dog in LA.

The hot dogs are grilled, the buns are toasted, the French fries are fucking incredible, the chili is perfect, and the lemonade is the best I've ever tasted. There is seating for about 8 people, but that's ok, because our apartment is a five-minute walk away. In fact, when moving here, Skooby's was one of the few places we were familiar with, and don't think that wasn't mentioned when selecting this place.

Speaking of moving in here, Skooby's is also the source of one of my all time favorite stories about moving, a story I warn everyone using U-Haul day laborers to remember. We picked up two day laborers from the local U-Haul to help us move. The English was sparse, but their work ethic was long. The move would require two trips in our small truck. As they were unloading the first load, we decided to buy them lunch. Olsen walked down Cherokee to Skooby's and picked up about forty dollars worth of chili dogs and chili fries. We all smashed. That was essentially the end for our two heroic workers. After smashing their own weight in chili cheese dogs, they became lethargic and unmotivated. The second packing session was filled with broken-english pleas like "does this come too?" and "how much more stuff?" The second half of the trip doubled the first half in time. So lesson to those of you getting day laborers: NO SKOOBY'S!

Skooby's is probably the unhealthiest thing I have eaten in the last year, so I've tried to limit myself, but sometimes I have no choice. It is perfect. There is nothing like a Skooby's chili dog, and I can assure you that I will be making red line trips just to smash the hot dog perfected at Skooby's. And then maybe walk back downtown.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

#16 Jumbo's Clown Room

tiny, and I cannot stress that word enough, bar in East Hollywood on the border of Thai Town. It is in a strip center on a very unassuming stretch of Hollywood Blvd. that to the average west sider could appear sketchy or even, dare I say, dangerous. It's not. I think.

Inside Jumbo's is a small stage with a stripper's pole. There is a small bar with a maximum of eight stools. Maybe four pub tables, and a booth against the wall. It is kind of dirty, the drinks are strong, and the crowd requires its own paragraph later in the entry. The dancers generally work in rotations maybe six or seven deep and come out with some sort of wrap on at the start of each song. As their hand picked song goes on, the wrap comes off revealing a bikini-clad woman below.

The dances are sexual in nature, and they do work for tips, but because the clothes never come off, they are forced to play up the dancing a little more. The girls are diverse as all hell, ranging from 5s to 8s and everything in between. There is a starlet type, the leather type, the aggressive ones, the passive ones, really there's no rhyme or reason to the type of girl dancing at Jumbo's. Because there are no private dances (at least that I'm aware of) the girls work purely for dancing tips. Hence, the stage is the main focal point of the entire bar.

The bar creates this incredibly original and kind of weird dynamic. It's kitschy in the best ways possible. There is nothing overly offensive by the dancers, in fact it's actually quite the opposite, it is not unlike a carnival attractions, so, unlike traditional strip clubs, women generally have no problem patronizing Jumbo's. Subsequently, men are there not purely for the sex thrown in their face by the dancers, but because there are actual girls there, and girls that are at least intrigued by erotic-style dancing. Essentially, everybody wins.

This dynamic works for the strangest crowd you'll ever see in LA. On one hand, the East Hollywood location offers many of LA's finest sleazeballs a haven for drinking and looking at girls. On the other hand, the kitshcyness of it, combined with the dynamic described above, offers several members of the Hollywood in-crowd an awesome alternative to the tiresome schedule of lounges, boom-boom clubs, and high-class restaurants. In my visits there, I have seen several celebrities, and not low-levels either, pretty good ones. There are good-looking women, and good-looking men at the bar. It's weird because the 6 on stage is bringing in the sleazeball, and the sleazeball is brining in the CBS procedural star. Kind of backwards.

Essentially Jumbo's represents all that is unique about Hollywood to me. I mentioned earlier that Hollywood produces authenticity by embracing its inauthenticity. Jumbo's is inauthentic in that it is not a strip club, it is not dangerous, and it is not even dirty, but because it represents these things in an inauthentic way, it becomes purely authentic. A jewel of Hollywood in a relatively desolate neighborhood where all sorts of Hollywood denizens come for one reason or another. And here are two more facts about Jumbo's that I won't argue about:

1. If you asked anyone who's ever been to Jumbo's to describe it, you would get completely different descriptions from everyone. Everyone gets something different and special out of Jumbo's.

2. Jumbo's Clown Room couldn't exist, the way it does, in any other city in the world.

It is purely Hollywood, and I will miss that pure, unadulterated, sweaty Hollywood, clicking its heels together to the beats of a Black Crowes song. A lot.