Recently in Los Angeles Category

I love many things about Los Angeles, but I can't say I'm a big fan of the early-bird schedule. Once 7:30 rolls around, you'd be hard pressed to find anyone who hasn't eaten dinner yet (or at least already made plans to). Imagine my unhappiness then Friday night when dinner plans had fallen through, leaving me high and dry at the witching hour of 9 PM. In New York, this would barely be a problem. It's practically the norm to eat after ten. In LA though, I was S.O.L., which meant I'd have to scavenge my fridge for nourishment. It was looking like Friday night was gonna be spent alone with a slice of leftover quiche and perhaps some tears. However, I was saved in the eleventh hour (almost quite literally) by my friend Tony C (of Sinosoul), who said he'd be willing to dine with me if I gave him an hour or so to drive back from the depths of Fullerton, CA. Oh glorious developments. Not only did I have someone to have dinner with, but I knew I'd be in store for some fun Asian grub as well. And that's kind of my favorite grub.

My old friend IndianJones came into town this past weekend, and on Friday night, he announced that he wanted to try some of Los Angelee's banh mi offerings. For those who are unaware, banh mi are Vietnamese sandwiches that are revered for their bold flavors and simple ingredients. Best of all: the sandwiches can usually be purchased for not much more than $2. Cheap? Flavorful? Asian? I'm so there.

I'm something of a banh mi novice; so I turned to my foodie/Vietnamese friends for some recommendations. Pam (a.k.a. Daily Gluttony) at Rants and Craves suggested Banh Mi My Tho (which had strong reviews at Yelp), Cathy from gas•tron•o•my recommended Saigon's Sandwich and Bakery, and Jenny from, well, this blog insisted that we go to Lee's Sandwiches.

Ultimately, we decided on Banh Mi My Tho -- mostly because it was closest, and it had the highest Yelp score. I do plan, however, on trying the other two banh mi spots at some time in the future. In the meantime, check out the exciting trip IndianJones and I took in search of this mystical sandwich after the jump...

Last week I posted something about "Eat My Blog," which was a charity bake sale put on by a bunch of bloggers in the Los Angeles area. I'm proud to report that according to organizer Cathy Danh from gas•tron•o•my, the event raised over $3,000! That's kind of insane. I didn't think bake sales could even raise a fraction of that, but I suppose one should never underestimate the power of sugary baked goods. Nevertheless, the event was such a hit that there are already tentative plans for a second one in a few months. Will keep you all updated...

After the jump, a few pics from the bake sale.

This year, Disneyland has been running a promotion allowing people to visit the theme park for free on their birthdays. It just so happens that I turned a year older last week; so I happily took advantage of this offer and headed down to Anaheim for a day of whimsy and make-believe (which is not unlike my normal afternoon). Joining me on this adventure was Lil Grans and none other than IndianJones, who was back in the 'hood for the weekend. Jash and Sly were also hoping to make the trip as well, but work obligations kept them away from the Happiest Place on Earth (or "the happiest place in the world," as IndianJones mistakenly called it).

After the jump, some photos from our day at Disney.

To anyone living in Los Angeles -- especially the Hollywood / West Hollywood area -- check this out. On Saturday from 10 AM to 4 PM, a blogger bake sale will be going down at Zeke's Smokehouse on Santa Monica Blvd. Yours truly will be participating, as will a host of other bloggers such as Lisa Timmons from lisatimmons.com, Cathy from gas•tron•o•my, and Diana from Diana Takes A Bite. Also, word has it that bloggers from the LA Times and LA Weekly will be present as well.

There will be plenty of delicious items to buy (I'm contributing blondies), and all proceeds go to the Los Angeles Regional Foodbank. Please come by and support a great cause! At the very least, you can meet some bloggers, and who wouldn't want to do that?

WHERE:
Zeke's Smokehouse:
7100 Santa Monica Blvd
West Hollywood, CA 90046

WHEN:
December 5th, 10 AM to 5 PM

A full list of participating bloggers after the jump.

I spend a lot of time writing about TV and food, but every now and then, I like to escape the confines of my apartment and take in one of Los Angeles's many activities and offerings. Conveniently, my friends Jen and Hannah provided such an opportunity to me this past weekend. You see, Jen works for the The Recording Academy, and as such, she furnished a lovely tour of the new Grammy museum in downtown Los Angeles for Hannah and me. We'd been talking for months about organizing a trip, and at last, we put it on the books and did the deed.

Photos from this random jaunt after the jump.

There's nothing quite like Halloween on a Saturday, especially in West Hollywood, CA, where over 500,000 people convene to show off their costumes and check out everyone else's in what usually proves to be the people watching event of the year. And as you all know, if there's anything I love, it's people watching. In 2008, I got all arts & crafty and built a Price Is Right costume that I was sure would wow the masses. It was certainly well received, but I must confess that it really didn't elicit the rapturous response I was really going for. And yes, I'm very shallow about these things. I won't mince words: I wanted attention.

This time around, I decided I'd go with a sure-fire strategy. If I wanted my costume to be a rousing success, I'd have to a) walk around in as little clothes as possible, or b) engage in some '80s nostalgia. Guess which option won out? A few trips to some thrift stores later (not to mention Michael's in Burbank and a wig shop in Hollywood), and I had all the essential items needed to make my very own Zack Morris costume. Cheap '80s nostalgia, here I come!

Warning -- somewhat NSFW. Buttocks, bare chests, and tranny areolas (not in that order) after the jump...

This past weekend, Tony C from Sinosoul gathered several food bloggers together for what promised to be an epic paella feast of massive proportions. I'm not a huge paella person, but the experience seemed random and fun; so I threw caution to the wind, recruited Sly to be my partner in crime, and headed down to the rather industrial trappings of Harbor City for an afternoon lunch of golden rice and savory proteins.

Photos of this adventure after the jump...

You know what's annoying? Having THIS helicopter hovering over your apartment ALL DAY LONG. Yes, it's one of many Michael Jackson Grief Helicopters (a.k.a. the local news) that are hovering over Hollywood, capturing images of people flocking to the aforementioned unflockable Michael Jackson star. I'm all for the mourning process, but the choppers have to go.

Yesterday, I tried to visit Michael Jackson's star but found it unfortunately covered up by Bruno premiere scaffolding. Today, I decided to give it another go. My gym is conveniently located half a block away from it on the Walk of Fame; so I made a little detour to see what I imagined would be a sizable shrine to the King of Pop. Some photos after the jump...

With the new of Michael Jackson's untimely passing today, IndianJones and I decided to trek on down to the King of Pop's star on the nearby Walk of Fame. Sounded like an easy enough endeavor, and thanks to Jash, we knew exactly where the star was located. But things are never as simple as they seem...

Earlier this week, B-Side Blog reader Sisofjash sent me an email urging me to go to the nearby Huntington Botanical Gardens in Pasadena to check out the very rare and supposedly very malodorous blooming of a "corpse flower." This exciting event only happens once every few years, and apparently, it's been witnessed by humans less than a hundred times EVER. I'm not a big flower person, but I always like an adventure, and I hadn't been to the botanical gardens in several years; so I thought, why not? I wrangled my friend Lorie, and the two of us headed East to Pasadena.

Pics of our afternoon in the gardens, culminating with the corpse flower, after the jump...

Via The Los Angeles Times

It was gay pride weekend in West Hollywood, and in an effort to educate the public on what to look forward to, the L.A. Now blog at The Los Angeles Times posted a description of the festival's scheduled events. I couldn't help but notice the juxtaposition of these two offerings:

"Crafts and playground games will be available at the Children’s Garden, while an adults-only 'Erotic City' will host an outdoor dungeon and erotic art show. "

Fun for sex slaves AND their kids! Well done.

Last night, my friends J-Unit and IndianJones headed into the Valley for the Grand Opening party of The Painted Nail, a nail salon owned by our friend Katie, who many of you may remember from the old days at TVgasm. Of course, The Painted Nail isn't just any nail salon, and Katie doesn't throw just any old party. This bash was chock full of beautiful people and quite a decent number of celebrities — enough at least to warrant a red carpet and some paparazzi at the door. And here I thought there'd just be some champagne and few spanikopitas going around on trays. How wrong I was.

Photos of the event as well as a run-down of the celebrities present after the jump...

I don't know how it was for the rest of the country, but the weather in LA this past weekend was fantastic, and what better way to enjoy the sunshine than by stepping out and taking a hike? Inspired by a recent post in LAist about hidden staircases in Hollywood, I recruited two fellow hoofers — Lisa Timmons (of Socialite Life) and Bets — to join me as we explored the nooks and crannies of Beachwood Canyon, an area populated by mansions and hidden paths. The journey covered 2.1 miles of territory and over eight hundred stairs total; so as you can imagine, we worked up quite the appetite (not to mention sweat). Pictures of the adventure, including our delicious post-hike lunch as well as a significant double celebrity interaction (ooooh!) and a car wreck (ahhhh!), after the jump...

There's been scandal brewing in IndianJones's apartment building. First a letter went up from the manager Tatyana complaining about a bunch of irascible gay youths in the pool after hours. Then a second letter went up from Tatyana, saying that the first letter was a fake and that her name should not be used in vain. So which cold and calculating person could possibly be setting up Tatyana for the fall? Meet Suspect A: an oiled-up lass in a candy cane (!) bikini that IndianJones spotted by the pool from his window. Sure, she looks all innocent and melanoma-ready, but I'm starting to think she could be at the heart of this scandal. Take a look at the evidence:

1) She's got the motive! Clearly this woman likes her pool time. The last thing she needs is a bunch of loud gay guys ruining her peace. Besides, what if they spread their AIDS in the water? Not cool.

2) She and Tatyana are clearly enemies. It's basic girl principle: heavyset older women simply cannot be friends with younger attractive women. Tatyana most likely resents this girl for her youth and figure. The girl resents Tatyana for charging her rent and giving her nasty looks.

It's all so obvious: scare the gays off, claim the pool for herself, and let Tatyana take the blame. A perfect crime.

Or, of course, there's the other explanation: she's just a girl by the pool who has nothing to do with anything. I choose not to believe that. Either way, IndianJones got his jollies today, and that's all that really matters.

A few days ago, I posted a letter from IndianJones's landlady to all the tenants, complaining about a bunch of "jack ass" (sic) gays who had besieged the pool late at night and had made loud, unsettling gay noises — clearly a result of having been thrown out of local gay bar The Abbey. Well, turns out the note was NOT from the landlady, who posted the above statement.

So who in IndianJones's building is pretending to be Tatyana? And will this impostor be caught?

Developing...

Spotted in IndianJones's building this weekend: a memo from his land lady that strikes just the right balance of hilarity and offensiveness. Well done!

Feel free to discuss — but keep it mature. Juvenile behavior is unacceptable on MY blog.

A new supporting character has played a prominent role on this season of The Hills, and her name is Stacie — or as Stephanie Pratt has been prone to calling her — homewrecker, slut, whore, etc.. To me, she's just "bartender" or "that girl from The Hills" or "that girl from The Hills named Stacie who I pretend like I don't know her name but clearly I do." Anyway, I had some friends in from out of town last week, and when I asked where they wanted to go out to, they admitted that they really wanted to check out The Dime, which just so happens to be where Stacie works and where Spencer had his big brawl with Cameron and where Heidi had her jealous girlfriend moment. Needless to say, with all this excitement, my friends understandably couldn't resist checking out this epicenter of pop culture drama.

Well, we all arrived at the bar, and I was fairly shocked to discover that Stacie was actually working at The Dime. I just naturally assumed she was an actress cast to play the role of a bartender on the show. But lo! She's a real working woman. Naturally, I acted as if I didn't even know who she was when she took my order (even though in my head I was quietly planning out the blog post word by word). I'm sure she realized, however, that we were ardent fans of the show because on more than one occasion, she literally snuck up out of nowhere and cut through our group as we were saying such choice things as "Yeah, she really does look pretty in person" or "We should call her the homewrecker" or "It's so funny that the girl from The Hills is actually here." We were very smooth.

Back in October of last year, I detailed a particularly enjoyable yet sweaty trip to Jitlada Thai Cuisine, a restaurant that is widely regarded as one of the best Thai eateries in Los Angeles. This is thanks in part to its unique Southern Thai menu whose famously delicious (and notoriously spicy) offerings have been well documented by Chowhound, Yelp, LA Weekly, and just about any enclave of the Internet prone to discussing such things. Needless to say, it's an experience.

Well, after having checked out my perspiration-filled adventures at Jitlada, Tony at the food blog SinoSoul contacted me about getting together with a bunch of discerning bloggers for a full-on feast at the storied Thai restaurant. It sounded very exclusive, and as one might expect, I thrive on exclusivity. Throw in the opportunity to sample the sundry items of Jitlada's menu, and I was sold. Little did I realize that I would soon be spending nearly four hours in a chair, stuffing my face with seventeen different courses of food, the majority of which were spicy enough to send my regulatory system into overdrive on at least three or four different occasions.

In other words, it was awesome. Pictures and details after the jump...

Spotted on Sunset Boulevard in Los Angeles today: a license plate that seems to sum up Aunt Linda's outlook on life.

Anyone who watched last night's episode of 24 here in Los Angeles witnessed the local news team on Fox 11 promote a Very Important News Story about students on Spring Break being forced to relocate from Mexico to a new hotspot in California. Naturally, this intrigued IndianJones and I, and so we fast forwarded through the news to learn more. We just assumed the story would air thirty or forty minutes into the broadcast but never underestimate Los Angeles local news. This report was the #2 story of the telecast, edging out other fluff pieces such as stem cell research under the Obama administration and various international crises of the moment. Way to go, Fox!

Nevertheless, if you ever want to get a sense of what local Los Angeles news is like, be sure to check out the clip above for some high quality journalism.

Favorite quote of the segment, courtesy of a drunk co-ed: "You know what? When anytime, like, you have a risk of, like, being cut open and drugs shoved in you, I say no."

One of the many perks of my new apartment is that I'm just a few blocks away from the Kodak Theatre, the famed venue where the Oscars have been staged for the past five or six years. In honor of my easy access to the festivities, I decided to take a jaunt down to Hollywood Boulevard to snap some oh-so-touristy photos. The results of my adventure after the jump...

One of my favorite/disturbing tools to use on the internet is the LAPD Crime Map, which lets you chart all the recent burglaries, assaults, muggings, rapes, and homicides in any given neighborhood. Naturally, when news broke about Chris Brown's attack on Rihanna, I immediately headed to the crime map and sought it out. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the exact location of where the scandal went down!

When Schadenfreude Runs Wild.
Pic courtesy of LAist

Last night here in LA, a Bentley with Illinois plates led police on a chase that lasted over three hours, ultimately climaxing with a two hour standoff just north of Universal Studios. Early reports indicated that the event was spurred by a possible assault with a deadly weapon on the driver's girlfriend, leading many people to speculate that this could have been Chris Brown, a.k.a. Chris Breezy, in full career meltdown mode. As you can imagine, this piqued many people's interest, which in turn translated into a flurry of Facebook activity.

I'm not one to republish online conversations as I usually find reading other people's discussions a bit annoying, but nevertheless, I'm doing it here to give you a sense of the excitement, thrill, and eventual disappointment of the chase...

Of the many things that happened on tonight's Survivor finale, the least expected was not The Suze's near upset for the million dollars but rather Sugar's reference to this here blog on NATIONAL TV DURING PRIMETIME. Yay! Granted, she didn't state the site's name, but unless I'm mistaken, I'm the only one who has blogged about "Suga" in traffic. I must admit, I kind of feel bad because she seems somewhat self-conscious now about wearing makeup out of the house, but honestly, the issue wasn't that she wasn't wearing makeup at the time but that she was, and that was what confused me. Eh. Oh well. Anyway, sometimes when I blog, I forget these people actually read it, and considering that I called her and her actions "dumb" and "stupid," I do feel a smidgen guilty. I mean, I'm not a monster, people. (But I still do stand by my belief that she was not a good player, and her cringe-worthy responses to the jury tonight pretty much proved me right, I believe.)

A little birdie told me that Sugar actually thinks I'm psycho — because apparently being in traffic on Franklin Avenue is a psychotic thing to do — and if that's truly the case, then I'm sure she'd be most frightened to know that just last night, I was mere feet from her again. That's right, I co-mingled with the Survivor: Gabon cast this weekend, and I have the pictures to prove it.

Party photos of the cast after the jump...

Sometime last week, while I was procrastinating from my writing, I came across a fateful piece of information: Ina Garten, star of The Barefoot Contessa, would be doing a book signing here in the Los Angeles. In general, I'm not much of a book signing person, but I knew I this was one event I had to attend. When the day came, I hopped in my car, braved my way over to the yuppie-tastic West Side, and stood in line for two hours, all in the pursuit of a GOOD picture and autograph. The adventure, including two surprising celebrity cameos, after the jump.

At 10 AM PST, upwards of 5 million Los Angelenos will be participating in the cheerfully named "The Great Southern California Shakeout." To the unsuspecting, this event sounds like nothing more than a wacky dance contest, but in actuality, it's an all too scary earthquake drill that aims to simulate a 7.8 seismic event — should one happen (and apparently it will). To help people get in the mood, shakeout.org has released this drill video, which allows people at home to get in on the fun. And by "fun," I mean "the petrifying realization that this city is on borrowed time."

Be warned: this video is slightly horrifying. Granted, there are no visuals (save an epilogue by Rosario Marin, Secretary State and Consumer Services Agency); however, the rumbling sound effects and the narrator's soothing yet cold description of the quake might leave you, well, shaken (rimshot!). Now excuse me while I purchase a hardhat to wear FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE.

Via LAist

While I was at Macy's this weekend shopping for a belt, I came across this interesting mannequin display. It seems as though someone certainly got to indulge in their S&M fantasies a bit. For a moment I wasn't sure if I was in Burbank or Silver Lake. This would never fly in Real America.

Well, I just exercised my constitutional rights. And it was glorious.

Actually, it wasn't. I stood in line for an hour, which was fine and expected. The only problem was that the woman behind me would not. stop. talking. I'm telling you, she chatted incessantly, oversharing her entire life to virtual strangers. Thankfully, she wasn't talking to me, but still, what could have been a pleasant, meditative hour of people watching instead turned into one of the longest sixty minutes of my life. It got me thinking: what will I be happiest about most once I've cast my vote? Well, now I have a list, and I hope you'll relate.

The top 5 — plus more on that woman — after the jump...

Every year, half a million people descend on the West Hollywood Halloween Carnivale to drunkenly cavort and show off silly costumes. The looks range from simple and innocent to elaborate and bawdy. It's nothing short of an eyeful. And it's super fun. This year, a group of us headed down into the fray, and of course I brought my trusty camera. A large assortment of photos after the jump.

BE WARNED. There are a few pics that might not be very safe for work (partial, disturbing nudity!!!!)

Halloween is just around the corner, and this year, I'm proud to reveal my costume: a Price Is Right contestant. I've actually wanted to do this costume for quite some time. Initially, I had grandiose plans of gathering a group to portray a family on Family Feud, but I never was able to drum up five willing participants. Failing that, I moved on to something a bit more manageable: a lone player standing at Price Is Right's fabled "Contestant's Row." I actually thought of the idea about two years ago, but a spate of laziness undermined my efforts back then, and I wound up scrounging up a costume from a random mullet wig and an old vintage cowboy shirt. I called it "Johnny Amusement Park." It was lame.

Last year, I also procrastinated too long and was unable to procure the supplies to make a decent Price Is Right getup. Instead I went to American Apparel, bought some tube socks, found an old white polo, and became a retro tennis player. It was pretty good, but sadly, I couldn't find a wooden racquet, and thus my costume was a bit lacking.

This time around I was a bit more judicious. I went to America's favorite crafts store, Michael's (said preferably in Will Arnett's voice), and purchased all my necessary supplies: foam board, poster board, ribbons, glue, etc.. Then, with some assistance from my friend Jash, I spent my Saturday afternoon diligently assembling my costume. I'm hoping that it makes a splash on Friday, at least more than Johnny Amusement Park. Although, truth be told, one never knows what will spark the interest of people on Halloween. One year I cut a hole in a box from Costco, slipped it around my waist, and proclaimed myself a box of crackers. To this day, it still remains the most popular costume I ever wore. People literally stopped their cars and yelled out their windows, "YOU A BOX OF CRACKERS, AREN'T YOU!!!!" Yes, ma'am. Yes, I was.

So who knows what will happen. In the meantime, check out a few more pics after the jump.

Last week, my friend IndianJones made a random pop-in at my apartment and expressed a desire to consume spicy food for dinner. Where else to go but Jitlada Thai Cuisine, a local Thai restaurant that has made a name for itself as being one of the spiciest — if not the spiciest — restaurants in Los Angeles. I had only gone one prior time, and that visit ended with me literally emerging from the restaurant looking as if I'd just run a half marathon. Yes, I was a sweaty mess, but it was quite delicious. I'd been hankering to go back ever since, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity. But would the second time bring beads of sweat anew? Pictures after the jump...

If there's anything I like more than kids getting hurt, it's kids getting a proper education. That's why my ice cold heart melted just a little when B-Side Blog reader Rachel emailed me to let me know that a bunch of her students from a public middle school in Crenshaw just got accepted into several elite private schools in the greater Los Angeles region — all on full ride scholarships. Now Rachel and her fellow teachers are starting a nonprofit to aid these students as they move onwards and upwards in their new schools, which I wholeheartedly commend (if only for the potential real life Gossip Girl implications). Great job, Rachel!

To read more about Rachel's students and their journey thus far, be sure to check out this Los Angeles Times article which ran earlier this week.

Huzzah!

Local Los Angeles dining institution Canter's Deli celebrated its 60th Birthday today, and in honor of this milestone age, the owners scaled back prices to 1948 levels. Specifically, that meant lucky diners could get a corned beef sandwich, pickle, side of potato salad, and ruggelach for a meager $.60. That's right. Sixty cents. Never one to turn down such cheap food (especially from an establishment whose sandwiches can be shockingly pricey), I happily sauntered down to the Fairfax district to partake in some discount eats and Los Angeles history.

I kind of expected a long line, but much to my surprise, there were only about twenty or people queued up, pining for entry into the vaunted delicatessen. Even better, it turned out all these people were in the to-go line. I moseyed on up to the front, spoke to the host, and promptly nabbed at seat at the counter, all in a blink of an eye. Near free food and speedy service? Sounds like the perfect way to spend the afternoon.

A few pics of the experience after the jump.

If this blog seemed particularly quiet on Friday, it's because I spent half that day getting in touch with my inner farmer. That's right, in a shocking departure from my usual urban adventures, I headed north to the San Fernando Valley and visited Forneris Farms, a random outpost in Mission Hills, CA that's home to a pumpkin patch, a market, and most importantly, a corn maze. The experience was aggressively wholesome, and even better, there was not a single child in sight. Actually, there was one kid, but she was cute and relegated to the safe environs of an inflatable bouncy pumpkin.

The motivation for this trip actually stemmed from a strange mixture of childhood yearnings, pop culture wish fulfillment, and general boredom. You see, ever since I was a kid, I've been obsessed with mazes. I always dreamed of going to a hedge maze, and while I've been to some, they've always tended to be quaint things that are less about a challenge and more about good gardening. In recent years, my friend Meeshie and I have tried in vain to go to various corn mazes, but scheduling tended to always get in the way. The one time we did manage to get ourselves over to a maze, we were shocked to find that it didn't even exist. We were confronted with nothing but an empty field. It was horrifying.

Recently, news popped up of a David Archuleta corn maze in Utah. It seemed like the perfect opportunity. I could fulfill my corn maze fantasies, indulge in some kitschy pop culture, and get a beautiful road trip out of it to boot. Unfortunately, I had no one to go with me. The only person who was interested in such an adventure was Jash, and since he actually has a real life job, he couldn't just traipse up north at the drop of a hat. Sadly, this perfect union of American Idol and corn would not be happening, but I still had the maize on the mind. After doing some research, I discovered that we had a corn maze right here in the Los Angeles area. I called up my friend Sawgee and convinced him to join me as I finally embarked on my very first corn maze experience.

Photos of this adventure, including our disorienting journey through the corn maze, after the jump...

Stocks for Blackberry fell 20% last night and continued to plummet an additional 25% today after engaging in a risky investment in smartphones. Why do I care? Well, because last night I was on the list for a Blackberry party in Beverly Hills, but when I showed up with my usual cohorts of Jash and IndianJones, we were denied entry because we were three dudes with no girls. True, I should have thought to bring some of the fairer sex, but it was all very last minute, and furthermore, if I just want to go out with my buddies, why should I be penalized? Sure, we're three guys, but we're not three douchebags. Big difference.

We probably could have stood around for an hour and maybe gained entrance, but it simply wasn't worth it to us. Instead, we let the Valley trash fight it out in line while we headed off to the nearby Hotel Avalon. Our choice turned out to be a great one as sitting poolside at the hotel was both relaxing and fun, but I can't lie that I still felt perverse joy in watching RIM's stocks plunge today on Wall Street. That's what happens when you deny all-powerful bloggers. Take heed, party planners. Take heed...

I've had quite the run of exclusive experiences of late: a meet and greet with Julie Chen, a visit to The Soup, a stroll through the Gossip Girl set, and of course, back to back infiltrations of the Big Brother finale and wrap party. Am I bragging? Indeed. (Somebody's gotta drum up traffic around here). With all this access to the glitteratti, I'm starting to feel like Perez Hilton (except funnier, I hope); so why not add one more event to the list: the Fox Reality Channel "Really" Awards.

Avid readers may remember that I attended the first ever Really Awards two years ago at Les Deux. Back then, it was a smaller, more casual affair. The network was young, the stars didn't know what to expect, and in my studly prime I was able to actually walk the red carpet. Man, those were the days. Cut to this year and holy moly, the Really Awards have gotten big. According to the brass I spoke with, there were about 300 celebrities (or rather, "celebrities") present, which meant my anonymous ass did not get to walk the carpet again, which by the way was totally cool. I completely understood. It was a zoo, and the last thing the organizers needed was me clogging up the carpet. Honestly, I was just happy to get in. This year's ceremony was apparently a hard ticket to get. Rumor amongst the partygoers was that even recent reality stars like Jessie from Big Brother 10 were denied entry. Ouch/haha.

Nevertheless, I may not have dazzled the paps awkwardly this go-around, but I certainly had my fill of reality stars. I took pictures with as many as I could, but honestly, there's only so much one man can do. Pictures and stories after the jump.

A few weeks ago, I headed off to local Middle Eastern restaurant / institution Marouch for the first time to enjoy some hummus, pita, and various other delectable treats from the Fertile Crescent. Joining me in the fun was my old friend and Metromix contributor Katherine Spiers, who for the past two years or so had been goading me into trying this fabled eatery. It was worth the wait. Photos of our culinary adventure after the jump.

Last Thursday, I had a whirlwind day. First I had the pleasure of attending the penultimate Big Brother episode of the season, then I got to meet Julie Chen, and then I hopped into my car and drove from the Big Brother house directly to the E! Studios to catch a taping of The Soup. Needless to say, it was a long but fulfilling afternoon, and I can think of no better way to end a hectic Thursday than by settling into Joel McHale's audience and spending an hour or so laughing at pop culture.

My experience after the jump...

Happy Birthday, Los Angeles! According to LAist, this fine city reached the ripe old age of 227 today, which means that for the next year, we'll be allowed to make as many Jackée, Lester, Pearl, Brenda, and "Oooooh Mary" puns as we want (assuming they pertain to Los Angeles). What glorious potential!

With today being the seven year anniversary of me moving to Los Angeles, I decided to browse nostalgically through my old iPhoto library, and much to my surprise, I came across a series of photos that I never published back at TVgasm. If memory serves me correctly, I refrained from posting the pics because I had been put on the VIP list for some party (that's how I roll), and then when I arrived, the organizers forced me to pay a $20 cover to get in. It was kind of bullshit, and I really don't know why I didn't turn around and leave right that moment. Nevertheless, my petty revenge was to not post anything about the event and deprive the organizers of valuable publicity (I think they were hawking some calendar), but as a result, a minor trove of D-list celeb pics fell by the wayside. Until now.

After the jump, the long lost photos as well as two bonus pics from the Playboy Mansion (I told you. That's how I roll, yo)...

Recently, my friend IndianJones and I dropped by local watering hole Cabo Cantina for a few beers and encountered that most glorious of Los Angeles events: the child star sighting! I quickly whipped out my camera and very subtly snapped a few shots. Only one turned out well though.

So who was the mystery man? Answer after the jump...

When it comes to celebrity gossip, other blogs specialize in Brangelina or Nicole Kidman or Tom Cruise. Me? I specialize in former stars of Picket Fences. Or at least, that's the trend I'm hoping to start. That's right, over this past weekend, my friends and I came smack-dab, face-to-face with none other than Costas Mandylor, former cast member of the beloved '90s drama, Picket Fences. Normally, such a B-List sighting would barely get a mention, but in this case, there was a bit of hubbub around the actor, thanks to my friend Meeshie, who coincidentally happens to be Costas Mandylor's biggest. fan. ever. Well, actually she's only his #2 biggest fan ever (the #1 spot is reserved for Meeshie's mom).

ME WANT FOOD.

This past Sunday, the Lametourage (a.k.a. me, J-Unit, Jash, IndianJones, and our out-of-town friend Dan) all hit up local Chinese restaurant Genghis Cohen, and while yes, Jash and I had a very disagreeable incident there on Christmas of last year, the truth is that GengCo is too damn good to be ignored. How good is it? Well, as you can see from these pictures, we attacked the food like a pack of ravished hyenas. It wasn't until after the dust settled that we realized we had made such a huge, huge mess. It's a thin line between civilization and barbarianism, and we straddled it on Sunday.

A few more pics of our boorish feast after the jump...

How can you tell you're in West Hollywood? Well, for starters, the yard sales are all FABULOUS and the license plates are, well, gay. Literally. Above, a sign my friends and I encountered on the street. After the jump, a license plate you really can't argue with...

I just felt the earth move under my feet, but nothing came tumbling down, thankfully. Like a good citizen, I immediately sprang from my chair (which was already swaying) and firmly ensconced myself under a door frame for a good ten seconds while everything rattled around me. Nothing fell or broke though. I didn't even lose power. Huzzah! Still, kind of scary.

This just in: it was a 5.8 5.4 magnitude quake. More info here.

Last night, a Big Brother dream nearly came true. I came thiiiiis close to meeting the Chenbot. How? Well, I went to the Big Brother live eviction show, and needless to say, it was amazing. Not only was it super fun, but it was incredibly fascinating too. I can't describe how surreal it was to be right there as the evicted player walked out of the house and into Julie's studio. It was kind of the equivalent of watching any reality competition and having the eliminated contestant step out of the TV and into your living room. I'm telling you, it was a bit of a trip.

And speaking of trips, what a night to see the Chenbot — or should I call her the Tangbot? Julie was aflame in an orange pantsuit that at times made her look like a utility worker and at other times a prisoner. As bright as it might have seemed on TV, it was all the more iridescent in person. And thank God. If Julie had worn one of her classy black gettups, it wouldn't have been nearly as fun.

In a way, Julie's Vitamin-C wardrobe summed up the entire evening: nothing short of eye-popping.

This past Saturday, I had to make my first ever visit to Apple's Genius Bar (a.k.a. help desk) as my poor little iMac seemed to have come down with the vapors. While I waited for my name to come up in the queue, I couldn't help but notice a strange young man standing nearby, aimlessly perusing the Apple Store's wares. What caught my attention was that he was wearing feminine jeans and a long, blonde wig. How odd, I thought. He sort of reminded me of YouTube sensation Chris Crocker, of "Leave Britney Alone!" fame, but as far as I knew Chris Crocker had short, streaked hair. I don't know why the thought of him wearing a wig was so out of the realm of possibilities — especially when this person was so obviously wearing a wig — but my mind wasn't thinking straight. I had an ailing computer to tend to.

Well, sure enough, the Apple people called out the next person in the Genius Bar queue.

"Chris C.? Chris C.?"

And just like that, the peculiar little ladyboy perked up and moseyed on over to the counter. INDEED IT WAS CHRIS CROCKER! Now, I don't want to say I was star-struck — it's more like the exact opposite — however, I couldn't help thinking how hilarious it was that I was basically standing at the Genius Bar next to one of the internet's biggest curiosities. If only Tay Zonday could have shown up too. It would have been like the Weezer video all over again. Anyway, I knew I had to capture this bizarre encounter; so I busted out my camera phone and did one of those "I'm on the phone, but not really because I'm TAKING A PICTURE OF YOU" moves. I don't think anyone noticed. The downside is that the image turned out to be pretty bad (you can only see his wig), but trust me, 'twas him.

I love Los Angeles.

The Sunset Strip gets a lot of unique billboards, the most recent being this one advertising the upcoming Judd Apatow posse movie, Pineapple Express. As you can tell from my camera phone pic, the pineapple actually emits smoke. Kind of cool. Unfortunately, just as I snapped the photo, a gust of wind blew the smoke over, making it look like a passing cloud, but trust me, it's smoke (or rather, fake smoke).

Of course, it probably won't be too much time before confused drivers think the actual billboard is on fire. My friend, IndianJones, revealed yesterday that he almost crashed his car when he first gazed upon the ad. Then again, an errant leaf could cause IndianJones to crash; so that's not really saying much.

Anyway, the point of the story is that if you see this billboard smoking, don't worry. There is no fire. Just good old fashioned marketing.

The best part about being a full-time writer is that I get to make my own schedule (most of the time); so when my old friend IndianJones proposed going to the beach on his day off from work, I was more than happy to accept the offer — even if it meant abandoning my bedroom/office in the middle of the day. However, just because I was away from my computer didn't mean I was away from my blogging. I of course brought my camera with and documented all the excitement that ensued. One word: seagulls.

I realize that a lot of people who read this blog don't necessarily live in Los Angeles, but that's no reason why we all can't simply adore this restaurant review which absolutely eviscerates one of the city's oldest establishments, Gladstone's of Malibu. The famed seafood joint gets the royal treatment from Leslie Brenner (subbing in for critic S. Irene Virbila), who viciously tears apart nearly every plate that descends on her unlucky table. I have to admit that I was damn glad she did it too. I ate at Gladstone's a year ago, and I was shocked at both the pricing and the mediocrity (at best) of the food. How could a place like this be so popular? I guess one can never underestimate the power of an oceanfront view.

Nevertheless, Brenner's review is laugh-out-loud funny at times; so much so that I just had to compile some of my favorite quotes:

I have been a loyal member of 24 Hour Fitness for years and years, going all the way back to the heady days of 2002 when I joined the gym's flagship facility in Hollywood just days after opening. I've never really had a problem with the place (unlike with the dreadful con-artists at Bally's Total Fitness), and over time, as more and more people joined up and quality began to lag here and there, I stayed true to my membership. Sure, the mandatory towel rule was rarely enforced, and sure, the lines at the cardio machines were verging on ridiculous, and sure, finding free weights had become akin to a minor scavenger hunt, but I kind of let that all slide. I was happy enough, and the constant stream of reality stars in the gym (not to mention the occasional A-lister -- a.k.a. Justin Timberlake twice!) kept my gluttony for fame satisfied. Things weren't perfect, but it's such a pain to change gyms, and I wasn't going to leave 24 Hour Fitness unless I felt like I really had to.

And then this week happened.

Seeing one celebrity at the gym is always cause for minor celebration. Seeing two is even better. And seeing both of them making out with each other just elevates the entire scene. That's precisely what happened today as my boring old fitness routine was interrupted by the presence of acclaimed footballer Reggie Bush and his amateur videographer girlfriend, Kim Kardashian. Oh, the celebrity spotting gods were surely looking down on me today.

Here's what happened...

It's not often that I stray from my TV, but once in a while, I do peel myself off the couch and take in a bit of the theatre (pronounced "theee-atttrah"). Case in point: last week, I attended Point Break Live!, the much buzzed-about play which reenacts the famed 1991 action pic, Point Break, live on stage. Long story short: it was hilarious.

To the uninitiated, Point Break Live! is one of those low-rent, interactive performances -- the type that mandates the use of a poncho, lest your shirt be soaked with water, beer, and fake blood (all three of which are ultimately flung into the audience -- quite liberally). These touches are funny, but what truly separates Point Break Live! from the pack is its genius conceit of having an audience member play Johnny Utah, the lead role originally inhabited by the prototypically monotone Keanu Reeves. Subscribing to the theory that anyone can do just as good a job as Reeves, the play throws its unrehearsed Johnny Utah into the fray, feeding him cue-cards throughout the duration of the show and creating the sort of trainwreck performance that can only be described as perfectly brilliant and brilliantly perfect.

But this isn't just a one-joke show. The entire cast absolutely tears into the wooden screenplay with campy yet reverential glee, milking all its silly one-liners for maximum comic potential. People who've never seen the original may be shocked to know that this dialogue has been taken verbatim from the movie, but rest assured, it's 98% faithful to the source material. Plus, if anything, this version is better. Creators Jaime Keeling and Jamie Hook cut away some of the unnecessary plot diversions of the film and leave us with a streamlined, if still utterly unbelievable, story. Everyone appears to be having the time of their lives on stage, and as the various actors and actresses galavant throughout the theater (and onto the street outside), the mania becomes infectious. Point Break Live! very easily could have worn out its welcome after thirty minutes, but instead, this hysterical, uproarious production keeps things lively the entire night. My party, which included fellow influential bloggers J-Unit (Half-Black Charisma), Cat Vasko (Gridskipper), and Katherine Spiers (Metromix LA), all agreed: Point Break Live! is definitely worth checking out (buy the poncho at the door).

Tickets for Angelenos can be found at Theatermania.com. And should the production hit the road, be sure to keep up with the schedule at the show's MySpace page.

(Two more bonus pics after the jump)

Last week, I was invited to a very special Emmy celebration. No, this wasn't an award show. No golden statuettes were handed out. This was a celebration for the Emmys. You see, our favorite television award turned sixty this year, and to celebrate this ripe old anniversary, the Academy decided to throw an event, replete with kitschy prizes and free food. Oh, and did I mention the presence of Marc Summers? It was too tempting to pass up, even if it did take place in the heart of the valley. With a camera in hand, and a fellow blogger by my side (Lisa Timmons, editor extraordinaire of A Socialite's Life), I headed to North Hollywood for what would be one of the more colorful, hilarious, and dare I say exciting nights of the year...

Dramatic recreation.

When it comes to coordination, I like to think of myself as having cat-like reflexes, but the simple truth is that I have the dexterity of an antiquated robot, and that, my friends, is not always a good thing. Take for example what happened to me about thirty minutes ago. I was up at The Standard Hotel, sitting poolside with my friend Anna David and her friend Vanessa Grigoriadis. The banter was flying fast and furious. Both women are fantastically smart, and as they're both journalists (Anna's written for The New York Times; Vanessa for Rolling Stone, etc. etc.), they're very well-read on most topics. I, however, have forgotten what it's like to read — I like to blame Los Angeles because it's easier than shining a spotlight on my own lazy, reality-TV-watching ass — so I was doing my best to sound smart and worthy of such brilliant company.

Well, the conversation eventually headed into politico land, and Vanessa revealed that she's actually writing a New York Magazine piece on Barack and Michelle Obama. Pretty cool. We began to chat and chat, and then I don't know what happened, but suddenly, my hand somehow lurched forward, bumping into my tall glass of what was supposed to be an iced mocha latté (but was in fact some other drink, thanks to the incompetent wait staff). The pint glass teetered back and forth, and I tried to stabilize it with my oversized paws, but remember that coordination thing I talked about? Yeah, I was pretty much like the Lost in Space robot flailing its arms and bleating, "Warning! Warning!" Needless to say, my attempts to prevent a major coffee accident were unsuccessful. If anything, I probably made the situation worse. The glass ultimately flopped over, and out poured what looked like five gallons of NOT my drink. And where did the sudden onslaught of liquid all land? On Vanessa's PDA. That's right. I spilled my beverage on a reporter's Blackberry, a device which contains thousands of very important contacts. Like, writing-a-New-York-Magazine-piece-on-the-Obamas important. Oops.

As you can imagine, there was a mad dash to get the PDA out of harm's way, and somehow Vanessa managed to save the damn thing before any sort of horrendous technical failure set in. Still, I was massively rattled and embarrassed (not to mention flummoxed that I had waited thirty minutes for the stupid drink, only to knock it over immediately). Not my finest moment. I blame Obamamania.

Okay, they weren't really naked. I just wanted to post something really quickly since it might be an hour or two before I get my next A-list, celebrity-laden story up later today.

A few days ago, I complained about West Hollywood's parking enforcement officers being absent for two and a half hours, thus allowing two douchebags to illegally park their car in front of my building without any repercussions whatsoever. It was a deplorable situation, especially since whenever my friends come to visit, parking enforcement is on them like a pack of hyenas. Not fair. Now, thanks to this photo I snapped last night, I have a good idea of what the hell those parking fools were up to Friday night: NOTHING.

Yesterday was a pitch-perfect day here in Los Angeles. The sky was without a single cloud, the sun was bright, and the temperature was in the high 70s to low 80s. Normally with such great weather, I celebrate by opening my blinds and letting the sunshine into my living room, but instead, I decided to do something a little different. I decided to go OUTDOORS.

Yes, yes, I know what you're thinking: "B-Side went outside? Into the sun?? Isn't he a vampire who spends all his time at his computer writing about old pennies he found under his bed?" This is all true. However, I am capable of change and surprise, and so with an ambition to embrace life to its fullest (and maybe get some cardio too), I trekked over to Los Angeles's Runyon Canyon park for an afternoon hike.

Photos of the sordid affair (along with a dash of celebrity) after the jump...

Living in West Hollywood, my neighborhood is routinely patrolled by parking enforcement officers, who quietly stalk their prey from the comfort of their white, eco-friendly Priuses — waiting for that orgasmic moment when they can slap a ticket down on a permit-lacking vehicle and tow it away. Their Orwellian presence rivals a godlike power to be everywhere and nowhere all at once, and should you find yourself on the wrong side of their unflinching Maglites, you'll soon be treated to a stiff fine and a towing charge. It's because of this that residents and visitors alike tend to view parking enforcement with a measure of disdain. Like an army of money-eating pests, they never go away, and sooner or later, they get you.

Occasionally though, my friends and I find ourselves siding with parking enforcement. While I'd like to think that no one deserves the hassle of being towed away, truth is that it's also perversely glorious watching the bridge-and-tunnel folk descend on the nearby Sunset Strip and try to park in front of our apartment building, arrogantly thinking they can park their dumb car just ANYWHERE without checking the signs first. Trust me when I say it never gets old watching these people's stunned reactions upon return to the empty spot that used to hold their car. Just this past weekend, my friends and I enjoyed the sight (from our balcony) of one shirtless, long-haired, drunken fool stumbling up and down the street, bemoaning the sad fate that had befallen his now-missing car. "Duuuuude, I got towed!!!" he lamented to no one in particular, his long frizzy hair flowing in all directions like Troy Polamalu after a roller coaster ride. This continued for a few minutes until his buddy picked him up and ferreted him off to who knows where — hopefully Supercuts. This cruel turn of events was nothing short of hilarious for us as we watched yet another douchebag fall victim to The System. Of course, he was probably too drunk to drive anyway; so the towing was good in many ways.

Still, watching one idiot get his just desserts is never enough. We always want more; so imagine our thrill when moments after the drunken troll doll departed, two new teenage douchebags pulled up and parked their red mustang without even checking the parking rules. Surely parking enforcement would have their way with them...

When it comes to late night dining, Los Angeles has its fare share of offerings; although, truth be told, we could always use more. I can only go to my after-hours haunts so many times before ennui kicks in. That why I'd been so excited to try The Waffle, one of the latest entries in the LA pseudo-diner circuit. The 22-hour restaurant opened earlier this year, and already, it has stirred up quite the controversy in the food-blogging community. Some people love the kitchen's wide variety of dishes; others feel its overrated. There's been backlash, and there's been backlash on the backlash — so as you can imagine, I really didn't know what to expect when I wandered into the restaurant with my friends, J-Unit and IndianJones, this past weekend.

I'll sum it up in one clear, unfortunate word: overpriced.

Feel like getting your psycho on? Well, now's the perfect opportunity. Entourage will be filming Thursday and Friday on Franklin Avenue in Hollywood. All the whens and wheres are in the picture above. Who knows — maybe now you'll be able to get that lanky, awkward Grenier fix you've been so desperately needing.

After a prolonged, icy winter that left Los Angeles reeling in the permafrost of multiple 62 degree days, the sun finally came out this past weekend, sizzling the Southland up to temperatures reaching triple digits. It was, in short, excellent. To celebrate this change (not to mention the impending weekend), my friends and I decided to undergo some change ourselves. No, we didn't become trannies. Instead, we tried out a new Mexican restaurant: The Gardens of Taxco.

By now, at least half the Angelenos reading this post are probably chuckling to themselves as the word "new" doesn't often accompany "Gardens of Taxco." The family-run restaurant has been around since the seventies and has become a mini-institution in its own right. None of us, however, had stepped foot inside this wood-paneled mecca, despite its convenient location. On Friday, we decided that was all about to change. For once, Don Antonio's, El Coyote, and Marix Tex-Mex would have to wait. We were tryin' new Mexican!

Just over two months ago, I did something that I never thought I'd do: I hung out with Speidi. That's right, I spent a morning intermingling with Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt, stars/villains of MTV's hit show, The Hills. Needless to say, it was quite the momentous occasion, especially since it landed me on TMZ for the first time ever. These were extraordinary new heights for me, and the brief taste of the tabloid life was thoroughly intoxicating; although, I was happy to return (er, remain) in anonymity when it was over.

Anyway, I posted some of the pics that surfaced from that eventful morning, but I wasn't really able to talk about the backstory until now. Behold, the TELL ALL post that will shock the internet!

Note the warmly curious look on anchor Paul Mager's face. Welcome to local news, Los Angeles style.

Go around.

Okay, this just happened outside my window, and thankfully, my camera was nearby; so I could document all the idiocy on display. I was up here in my room, typing away on my next Hills recap when suddenly, I heard the blaring sound of a car horn. Now, I don't mind car horns per se, but this guy was pressing onto the horn for a good five or six seconds. Being the ever curious (read: nosy) neighbor that I am, I immediately pressed my face up against my window to see what was going on.

Well, this driver was apparently honking at a garbage truck. As you can see in the picture, the truck was just doing its thing, parked with its hazards on while the sanitation workers scurried into the adjacent building to pull out its dumpster. No one likes being stuck behind a garbage truck — I get that — but was honking necessary? These guys were just doing their job, and even more importantly, THERE WAS PLENTY OF SPACE TO GO AROUND THE TRUCK. There was not a single other car in the area, and as you can see from the picture, the truck was hardly blocking the entire road. But rather than do the obvious and easy thing, this driver instead decided to lay on the horn AGAIN. Seriously? Seriously?

I really wanted to yell, "Just go around!!" but I knew that would be stupid, and the guy would never hear me. So instead, I whipped out my camera, just in time for the guy to honk yet again. That's right, he let out three or four angry, multi-second honks before finally succumbing to, you know, LOGIC and driving around. So for wasting his own time and blaming others for it, I label this dumb Lexus driver the Idiot Angeleno of the day.

Why did I have to miss it? Why? It could have been so glorious!!!

I get distracted for like two minutes, and you know what happens? I miss my odometer reaching 10,000!!! I'd been waiting all week for this momentous occasion, and just as I feared, the damn thing turned while I was probably singing along to some dumb song. What's even worse is that I not only missed out on lucky number 10,000, but I also didn't even get to see the consolation prize: 10,001. IT WOULD HAVE BEEN SO SYMMETRICAL!!!!

Oh well. It wasn't a total loss though...

Today is opening day for baseball, and in honor of this momentous event, I've not only published an extremely generic and clichéd blog headline, but I've also compiled some photos from Friday night when I went to a Dodgers vs. Red Sox exhibition game here in Los Angeles. Spearheading this trip was my friend IndianJones, who got tickets for me, J-Unit, and our friend Dan. I wouldn't say that baseball is my favorite sport, but going to the stadium is always fun, and as I'm once again embroiled in a fantasy baseball league, it couldn't hurt to watch a game here and there. (Oddly enough, even though I'm fairly apathetic about baseball, I've actually won my league twice in the past four years. Crossing my fingers for the dynasty in 2008...)

Anyway, assorted pics from the night after the jump.

It's sort of funny that last night's Top Chef episode featured a taco challenge because I've spent the past week in a veritable taco-haze, eating those little nuggets of Mexican joy with reckless abandon. In fact, I'm in such a taco fever that I did the unthinkable: I tried to make some at home. The results were mixed.

Pictures of this grand culinary adventure, as well as some other Mexican-themed goodness, after the jump...

Fashion Week in Los Angeles wrapped up about a week ago, and while I didn't get to hobnob with the trendy elite at Smashbox Studios (home to most of the big fashion shows in the city), I did head over to the BOXeight warehouse to check out a smaller runway show. To be honest, this was the first real fashion show I'd ever been to. Shocking, right? You'd think with my cutting edge Gap wardrobe that I'd have my finger firmly on the pulse of this world, but I regret to inform you that I am woefully disconnected from most sartorially-tinged extravaganzas.

Anyway, there weren't really any stories from the fashion show, but I brought my camera anyway, hoping that maybe there'd be an errant Project Runway star flitting about (there weren't). I did have three D-list sightings though. You'll be very impressed, I'm sure.

It's been a while since I've written up one of my gym horror stories, but sadly, I think that's more a sign of my lackadaisical workout routine than it is of improved hygienic awareness. People are still disgusting, and never was that more evident than today when I headed to the gym and encountered a lapse of cleanliness so foul that I had no recourse but to actually talk to a staff member. And people who know me know that I'm not one of those people. I'll complain and roll my eyes, but I rarely go running to the authorities. This time, however, I had to do what was right: narc. It was either that or barf.

I had quite the celebrity sighting yesterday. It wasn't so excellent because of the star wattage — although, that was pretty cool —  but more for the bizarre randomness of the entire event. I'll explain.

It was about 7 PM, and my friend Jash and I decided to stop in at Angelina's Frozen Yogurt, one of the few fro-yo spots in Los Angeles that I can tolerate (mostly because it's not overpriced and, more importantly, they serve flavors beyond just plain and green tea. I mean, seriously, what is up with the flavor nazis? But I digress). Anyway, as we walked into this humble shop of icy dairy goodness, I noticed an old woman off to the side receiving what appeared to be a lifetime's supply of frozen yogurt. She seriously had so much, I thought she might be on some strange, geriatric office run. The whole thing was kind of bizarre, and I just figured she was an old coot doing some typically old coot-ish thing.

Well, I stood by the registers and waited to place my order, but of course, the server was busy tending to Miss Haversham in the corner. I looked over again, but before I saw the woman's face, I was distracted by her ever growing collection of yogurt. She had ordered pretty much the largest size you can get, which I think was about a quart. Now, most people when they get a quart of ice cream or frozen yogurt, they usually put a lid on it and bring it home to devour over the course of a few days. This woman, however, was going to eat the whole damn thing. I could tell because the server continued to pour frozen yogurt into the container way after it had reached appropriate lid-containment levels. Yes, there was a full on fro-yo swirl at the top of this gargantuan load, but I merely shrugged it off. I've seen crazier things in L.A.. And besides, if this woman wants to stuff her face with fro-yo, all the power to her. There are some days when I wish I could be just like her.

Anyway, the server finally came over to me, and after I placed my not-so-healthy order (regular sized Belgian chocolate with peanut butter cup topping. Heh.), I glanced back at the dairy-lovin' lady for no real reason. I don' t know why I did it. Maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was because she was hovering generally in the peanut butter cup region. Whatever the reason, for the first time, I actually saw her face, and something suddenly clicked in me. I was staring at a legend.

I spend a good amount of time talking about the glamorous, exciting world of Los Angeles, and while I like to think of myself as being a veritable connoisseur of each neighborhood, the truth of the matter is that I only keep to a few select regions of the city (ie. the clean ones). Occasionally though, I break out of my routine and explore those other oft-overlooked corners of the metropolis, even if it means intermingling with hipsters and those that profit off them.

And so with the goal of changing things up a little bit, I present to you my Saturday afternoon trip to... SILVER LAKE.

Exiting a parking garage can be a tricky process, at least for those idiots who still haven't grasped the subtleties of inserting a ticket into a machine. I often grow frustrated with those ill-prepared drivers in front of me -- the ones who take upwards of 60 seconds to complete a 30 second transaction. The most common problem it seems is that people simply don't have their money ready. They've idiotically stowed away their wallet or purse in the wasteland of their back seat, hidden under piles of clothing and groceries and general clutter. Of course, there are then those special times —  which happen more frequently than you'd expect — when the person in front of you has gone so far as to have packed his or her wallet in the trunk. This, my friends, is simply unacceptable.

Of course, these things happen to the best of us. I one time found myself behind NYPD Blue actor Henry Simmons, and I'm not sure exactly what he had done to the machine, but it was bad enough to warrant him getting out of his car and finding an attendant. How richly embarrassing. The humiliation he must have felt is why I try my absolute best to be quick and efficient when leaving a parking structure. I always make sure money is nearby, the ticket has been placed in a highly visible location (central console, usually), and the window is already at least halfway down by the time I pull up to the attendant or machine. It's a recipe for success, but sometimes even the best of us have a dreaded misstep. That happened today.

Well, it's official. The strike is over! And just in time. The drought of 30 Rock, House, and Gossip Girl (not to mention 24) was just about to cause my brain to explode. Thankfully, I have a glorious roster of reality TV to pass the time. I'm thrilled to be able to go back to work, but I will say, not everything about the past three-and-a-half months was bad. Here's what I'm going to miss about my first strike experience:

Ha!

I think my favorite part of this clip, aside from the vicious cold cocking, is towards the end when a raging Jesse Metcalfe shouts, "Yo! Yo! VICTOR!" I was really hoping he'd go all Amazing Race on us and yell, "Stop this car, VICTOR, right now!!!" Alas.

I'm so fired up with political activism right now I'm surprised there's no annoying Facebook group dedicated to me. Last night, I attended my very first Planning Commission meeting here in West Hollywood, and while I knew I'd encounter several stodgy old people and myopic idiots, I didn't realize the degree to which they'd a) annoy me, b) get me riled up, and c) use poor logic to defend their statements.

The issue at hand was whether or not The Standard Hotel could extend its pool-side bar service hours. I won't bore you with the details, but the proposed resolution would ultimately allow the hotel to serve until 1:30 AM on the weekends. I, of course, was totally for this move for a variety of reasons, the most self-serving being that I would love to enjoy my nights at The Standard without being herded away from the pool at the stroke of 11:30 PM . More importantly, however, keeping The Standard open until closing time would keep it and The Sunset Strip competitive with other nightlife options — most of which are fleeing to Hollywood. And after seeing this planning board, I understand the exodus.

My entire experience at the meeting after the jump. Be warned, I will be ranting.

Things just aren't getting any better for me on the Los Angeles restaurant scene. One of my favorite higher end restaurants, Bin 8945, is closing down tonight. I first went there on a whim with my friends, J-Unit and Jash. It was almost a year ago — March 2007 — and the meal served as an impromptu celebration to mark the end of our time at TVgasm. We decided to splurge and order the tasting menu with the wine pairings, and needless to say, it was remarkably delicious. One of the best meals I'd had in Los Angeles. And it kept going. At the end of the night, we counted about fourteen courses, and even though that was spread over about three hours, we were, as you can imagine, stuffed.

Of course, the wine left us in a jovial mood, and midway through the meal, we became a bit loud. We raised our glasses to Los Angeles Times food critic S. Irene Virbila several times, often adding a boisterous ode to her good recommendation. "NICE CHOICE, S. IRENE VIRBILA" we guffawed many, many times. It really wasn't that funny, but we thought we were hilarious. Again —  the wine.

Later on, after the place had pretty much cleared out, restaurant owner David Haskell, who had been waiting on us, happily informed us that the entire time, S. Irene Virbila had been sitting at the very next table over. We were astounded. So many emotions coursed through me: I was sort of embarrassed, sort of thrilled, and sort of sad that I hadn't even noticed what the woman next to me had looked like. If only I had known! If only!

On a subsequent trip to Bin 8945 with my parents, the experience wasn't nearly as great. Our reservations had been lost, the dishes were hit-and-miss (oh, but when they hit...), and the service wasn't nearly as strong. Still, I chalked it up to an "off night." I've wanted to go back many times, but alas, I never made it, and now it's shutting down. If it weren't for the strike, I'd head over tonight. According to Eater LA, the restaurant will be serving a special meal, prepared by guest chef MaryAnn Salcedo (a.k.a. Gordon Ramsey's sidekick on Hell's Kitchen). Eight courses, $100 a head plus $70 wine pairing. As S. Irene might say: fun.

While I was out the other night, I came across that most exciting of encounters: a cougar trapping some young, innocent prey into her dangerous clutches. Of course, I did what any good samaritan would do in that situation: I busted out my camera.

Now for those of you who don't know what a "cougar" is, rest assured that I'm not talking about an actual cougar cat. No, "cougar" is slang for women of a certain age who aggressively target younger men to be their, er, paramour for the evening. It's a mesmerizing phenomenon, and witnessing the dance of the COUGAR (best said with a deep, low, Will Arnett voice) is an event unto itself.

That being said, no brush with a cougar has ever been as ill-advised as the one I witnessed the other night. I didn't get many pics, but I got enough. I guarantee you'll be recoiling. Photos after the jump.

Just weeks after having been unceremoniously (and unforgivably) shut down, beloved neighborhood restaurant Cha Cha Cha has been stripped of its exterior charm, thus rendering its facade a blank, white shell of its former self. I guess this is the way rock enthusiasts felt when Nickelback showed up on the scene.

Nevertheless, this was all inevitable, but who knew it'd be so painful? If anyone needs me, I'll be crying in the corner.

According to the Live Mega Doppler 7000 on Los Angeles's reputable local ABC affiliate, KABC, we're in for quite the temperature spike on Sunday. Highs are going to hit 100 degrees in parts of Los Angeles, but that won't stop the snow. Why? Because snow in Los Angeles is MAGICAL!

(via Franklin Avenue Blog)

Recently, my friend Nhan rented out a restaurant for her birthday, and to make the occasion extra special, she added a theme: prom. Well, who wouldn't like that — aside from Christian on Project Runway? My friends and I happily poured ourselves into the appropriate outfits, which in this case meant tuxes for the gents and '80s dresses for ladies. Sadly, I had no silly ruffled shirt to accompany my tux; so I had to cheese myself out in a different way: slicked back hair. It was the first time I had endeavored to helmet-ize my hitherto gorgeous locks, and I'm happy to say the effect was perfect.

Once all gussied up, we all strolled out of the apartment looking like 1985's toast of the town, and as we headed over to the prom, we laughed that we should go somewhere later where we'd be the only ones dressed up in costumes — just to see people's reactions. Little did we realize that would happen... AT THE PARTY.

The Machines Are Here. And They Bring Cupcakes.

When you think of the intense, bloody, testosterone-fueled Terminator franchise, only one thing comes to mind: cupcakes. It's a pairing as old as time itself. Well, banking on that classic robot-cupcake association, Fox is promoting its new series, Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles by giving away free cupcakes at venerable Los Angeles cupcake institution, Sprinkles. To some it might seem like a strange tie-in, but when I first read the notice in Eater LA, I was out the door so quickly you would have thought a T-1000 was charging down the hallway after me.

Photos of this adventure after the jump.

(Dramatization)

Another day, another gross story from the gym. Thankfully, this tale details significantly fewer threats to my personal health and hygiene as my last gym horror story, but I still find it quite appalling. I guess by now it's probably not hard to imagine what's so offensive this time around, what with my headline spilling the beans rather obviously. Still, I'm never one to turn away from telling a compelling yarn, especially when it highlights a breach of etiquette, hygiene, or some ungodly mixture of both...

Cha Cha Cha in 2005

Back on New Years Eve, my friends and I attempted to patronize Caribbean eatery Cha Cha Cha, but the lines were simply too long for our celebratory timetable. We instead headed down the street to The Boulevard, happy to discover a suitable dining option on such short notice. Little did we realize, however, that this alternative would soon become a permanent solution to our culinary woes. Yes, Cha Cha Cha, one of our favorite local tapas joints, summarily closed later that evening, never to open again. You heard me right. No more guava and goat cheese quesadillas. No more pitchers of flavorful sangria. And no more random sightings of Maggie Gyllenhaal or Ananda Lewis. Cha Cha Cha is done.

The restaurant apparently fell victim to its landlord's myopic vision of an upgrade. According to Eater LA, rumors abound that the space will be used to house a new club, and adding insult to injury, the venue will be run by Art and Allan Davis, the brothers who, with Justin Timberlake, unleashed Chi on Los Angeles three years ago. For those of you who don't remember Chi, let me try to describe it with a few, brief words: awful.

The good news, I guess, is that the original Cha Cha Cha is still open in Silver Lake, but honestly, who wants to go all the way over there? I have better things to do other than wade through a sea of scoffing hipsters and hairy leather enthusiasts. Well, actually, I don't, but that's besides the point. I guess what I'm trying to say is... we'll miss you, Cha Cha Cha. Your sangria will always have a place in our livers.

Here comes the rain again...

Everyone by now knows about rain and Los Angeles: the two don't mix. They're simply not meant for each other — kind of like Carlos Mencia and an original punchline (heyohhh!!). Luckily, rain keeps its distance for most of the year, but then comes "winter" (ie. the time when the temperature hovers in the mid-fifties) and all bets are off. Rain hits this town like a sack of oranges, and we suffer for it. Drivers go batty and spin off the road, houses slide down mountains, and people make dumb small talk that usually goes something like this: "How about that rain? It's pretty intense." Or "Still raining? Gosh!" Or "I can't believe how much it's raining! It makes me want to just get in my car and tailgate people at excessive speeds!" Okay, maybe that last one isn't exactly what people say (but it is what they do). Nevertheless, with all the dramatics rain causes, one would think a cloud of molten lava balls had descended on Southern California, meting out destruction with each fiery bit of precipitation, but alas, it's just rain. Plain, old boring rain.

On a good year, the rain might strike five or six times in these unfortunate months. On a bad year, however, our fair city can be struck with up to ten or even eleven days worth of precipitation — a veritable monsoon in these parts. To be fair, when it rains, it usually rains. I'm talking about the sort of downpour that drenches you in seconds. And since the streets here have questionable drainage designs, it only takes a few hours before the town is in the throes of a miniature flood, the likes of which haven't been seen since the trailer for Evan Almighty plagued theaters.

Still, flood or no flood, people freak out here. The idea of driving in the rain is often met with incredulous stares —  as if you've just volunteered to ride a bicycle off the Grand Canyon. However, I'm proud to say that my friends and I are not cowed by these types of adverse weather conditions, and as a rough bout of rain descended on the city earlier this evening, we bravely headed off into the blustery night, seeking out that most important of rainy commodities: tacos. I of course brought my camera, and in case you've never seen rain before, you might enjoy these pics of rain in Los Angeles.

Now that nearly forty-eight hours have passed since we hit 2008, I've finally summoned enough stamina to string together a post about New Years. It was a relatively good one for me and my friends. We all got drunk, we all danced like idiots, and we all took enough silly pictures of each other that any future political careers may seriously be at risk now. Of course, I wouldn't be a blogger if I didn't share some of our photos; so enjoy our drunken night of revelry, as seen through my oft-used camera.

A sight rarer than the unicorn.

When it comes to dining options on Christmas, the choices are few and far between for the greater non-Christian population of America; however, there is usually one standby whose open doors have become a tradition unto themselves. I'm of course talking about your neighborhood Chinese restaurant, a culinary outpost in a sea of "Closed for Christmas" door signs. Eating Chinese on Christmas is pretty much the de facto alternative dining option on the 25th — so much so that it was even immortalized in that most hallowed of holiday offerings, A Christmas Story.

So surely finding a Chinese restaurant open on Christmas in Los Angeles should be no problem, right? In a city with a rather sizable Jewish population, not to mention two popular Chinese eateries with the seemingly un-Christian names of Genghis Cohen and Mao's Kitchen, a veritable feast of Yangtze proportions would await those of us seeking out the supple flavors of soy and MSG. Or so we thought. This is Los Angeles, of course —  a city that rarely makes sense at any given time.

Ever wonder what Mrs. Claus would look like if her breasts were the size of cantaloupes and her waist the size of a flashlight? And what if she wore no pants and her name was Laurie? And what if she had an exhibitionist streak that would make even the most perved out elf blush? (Okay, analogy has gone too far —  apologies) Well, in a lovely twist of fate that I'll just chalk up to old-fashioned yuletide magic, I crossed paths with such a creature this weekend, and the experience was something short of awe-inspiring. Had it occurred five years ago, I would have feared that such a bizarre encounter would have sadly only lived on in my memories, but thanks to the wonders of modern cell phone cameras and iPhone technology, I can relay this slutty, areola-tastic encounter to all of you in all its grainy glory. Pictures and story after the jump, and needless to say, unless your office has a particularly lenient nipple policy, the following images will be NSFW.

To those unfamiliar with the latest offerings on Los Angeles's Lazy Susan of fads, one particular sensation that has swept the city by storm has been the Frozen Yogurt craze, helpfully nurtured by Pinkberry and its many imitators. Basically, people have rediscovered FroYo, but this time around, they've taken out the flavoring, added fresh toppings, and convinced themselves that they're now eating health food. I'm not necessarily opposed to the whole movement, but I can't abide by any frozen yogurt shop (or frozen dairy shop in general) that doesn't offer a chocolate option for those of us less health inclined (Pinkberry, it should be noted, has a scant selection consisting of only Plain and Green Tea. Oh, and their signature flavor: AWFUL).

Well, over the past year, dozens of Pinkberry knockoffs have sprouted up across the city, and now, it seems the bubble is at last bursting. One of the first casualties is none other than the miserable establishment, Yogurtpia, which happens to be one of the places I've actually been to. According to Eater LA, the storefront is covered with ominous, brown paper, hopefully signaling the end to this embarrassment of an enterprise. Yes, it's a joyous time for me, as Yogurtpia's unceremonious death fills me with great satisfaction. But why? Why am I so thrilled that a generic yogurt shop has disappeared into the night, never to be heard from again?

I don't want to be overly cynical or anything, but I'm truly amazed at how dumb people can be sometimes.  Yes, I know that sounds harsh and particularly "angry blogger"-ish, but it's true.  I mean, we all do dumb things —  it's normal — but the other day at the gym, I witnessed one of the most idiotic, or rather, baffling displays I've seen in quite some time.