Sure, sure. It’s in Little Armenia, a neighborhood you usually zoom through on your way from West Hollywood to Los Felix. On your way from the Echo to Westwood. On your way from Bergamot Station to Disney Hall. On your way from Urban Outfitters on the Promenade to Urban Outfitters, Pasadena. On your way from The Town House to The Smell. Aw, whatever the hell you’re on your way from and to, it sits in the middle and you couldn’t be bothered with it. Well, pooh-pooh to you, mister, Maria’s Ramada doesn’t care if you know about it or not. I’d just as soon you didn’t drop in and help keep the joint from being eerily empty.

Suppose for a minute that you did stop, though. You park. After saying some fond farewells to parts of your car (rims, ornaments, stereo) you walk inside and are immediately assaulted on three of your five senses: sight, sound, touch.

»continue reading Getting Your Game On At Maria’s Ramada

Last Sunday night I went to Taylor’s Prime Steaks in Korea Town. The place is old school, and I thought it would be great to try the joint at a time when overpriced steak houses like Dakota are sprouting up like Starbucks (and they are all kinda like Bill DeMarco’s Starbucks #18).

Taylor’s has been around since 1953, and the décor doesn’t betray that vintage. Think red Naugahyde booths and a long, wood paneled bar. Unlike some upscale chophouses, Taylor’s caters to a very diverse clientele. In one booth I spotted some tourists who were flanked on either side by groups of leathery Hancock Park elder statesmen stuffed into booths with their 200-year-old dames. You know, the type of L.A. broads who were nice-looking when Raymond Chandler wrote about them 60 years ago.

Those elder statesmen weren’t the only ones getting stuffed. I was too. I order the culotte steak, which Taylor’s staff will tell you is the tenderest cut of top sirloin (there are only two culotte cuts per steer). It’s priced to own at $19.95 a la carte, or at $26.95 with soup or salad and sides. Properly ordered medium rare, the steak is tender, delicious, and a bloody meat bomb of flavor. You can go with the solid prime rib or London broil, but the culotte steak is the star of the show. I paired it with the mashed potatoes, which were good. But, instead go with the cottage fries, they’re better. A standout was the Molly dinner salad — a concoction of tomatoes, Bermuda onion and blue cheese. Classic steak fare.

Yes, the service was a bit slow, but it was late on a Sunday night. Like I intimated earlier, the whole affair felt like a scene out of a Chandler novel. If only smoking were still allowed in such a food emporium; surely the seductive wafting of the plumes would have excited me with even more vivid fantasies of hardboiled detective work, served with a steak and a cigarette.

Taylor’s Prime Steaks
3361 W. 8th St.
213-382-8449

A 43-year old Pomona man armed with a homemade bow and arrow was foiled in an attempt to take over a train in Montclair Sunday. How much more old school can you get? You’d need to hold up a stagecoach with a battle axe to top this guy.

I imagine he had his own Pulp Fiction diner conversation right before the heist:

People never rob trains, why not? Bars, liquor stores, gas stations, you get your head blown off stickin’ up one of them. Trains, on the other hand, you catch with their pants down. They’re not expecting to get robbed.

I bet with trains you could cut down on the hero factor.

Correct. Just like banks, trains are insured. The engineer doesn’t give a fuck, he’s just tryin’ to get you out the door. The conductor, forget it, he ain’t takin’ a bullet for the cargo.

Yeah.

A lot of freight on those trains.

A lot of freight.

(He takes out his homemade bow and lays it on the table. He looks at her and she back at him.)

I love you, Pumpkin.

I love you, Honey Bunny.

(Man boards train yelling) Everybody be cool this is a robbery!

Visit our concert calendar for a full list of shows, links to buy tickets and our picks.

***Recommended Show of the Week***
Gilles Peterson @ Vanguard
Every Sunday night all the cool kids in the UK tune in to Gilles’ radio show, Worldwide, on BBC Radio 1 to hear live sessions of popular and upcoming artists. It’s kind of like Rodney on the Roq, but far more groundbreaking and far less creepy. To support an upcoming ‘best of’ compilation, Gilles is taking his show on the road and showcasing acts featured on the album. Thursday night’s show at the Vanguard will feature heavyweights Dwele, Madlib, Peanut Butter Wolf, Rebirth and surprise guests (Beck?).

MONDAY
TV on the Radio @ Troubadour
Bloodhound Gang @ Henry Fonda
Pelican, Opeth @ House of Blues
Hopewell, Goldrush @ Viper Room
Doves @ House of Blues Anaheim
Bettye Lavette, DJ Dmitri @ Knitting Factory

TUESDAY
Green Day @ Wiltern

WEDNESDAY
Dios @ Amoeba (free)
Wolf Eyes @ King King
Hotel Cafe Tour @ El Rey
Dropkick Murphys @ House of Blues
DJ Spooky: Rebirth of a Nation @ Redcat

THURSDAY
Gilles Peterson, Dwele, Madlib, Peanut Butter Wolf, Rebirth, more @ Vanguard
Death From Above 1979 @ El Rey
Easy Star All Stars @ Henry Fonda
Minus the Bear @ Troubadour
Dirty Three @ Knitting Factory
John Peel Tribute @ Echo
Dropkick Murphys @ House of Blues
DJ Spooky: Rebirth of a Nation @ Redcat

FRIDAY
John Mayer Trio @ House of Blues
Turbonegro, International Noise Conspiracy @ Avalon
Dropkick Murphys @ House of Blues
DJ Spooky: Rebirth of a Nation @ Redcat
Flaming Lips, G. Love @ Xingolati Cruise (10/14-10/17)

SATURDAY
311 @ Dodger Stadium Parking Lot (free–register for tickets)
LCD Soundsystem @ Avalon
Perceptionists @ Knitting Factory
Turbonegro @ Henry Fonda
Bob Mould @ El Rey
Misfits @ Key Club
John Mayer Trio @ House of Blues
Dwight Trible @ Amoeba (free)
DJ Spooky: Rebirth of a Nation @ Redcat

SUNDAY
Aimee Mann @ Royce Hall
Bravery @ Avalon
Coheed and Cambria @ Wiltern
Architecture in Helsinki, Dr. Dog @ Troubadour
DJ Spooky: Rebirth of a Nation @ Redcat

This just in:

TV On The Radio are playing the Troubadour tonight (Mon 10/10). Should be a hot show in the cozy confines of the Troub.

Tickets still available as of late Sunday night.

Thanks to Shannon for the tip.

UPDATE: CYHSY management replied, saying UCLA dropped the ball:

blame ucla…we showed up ready to play and they had neglected to get the instruments the band needed to play….the band came early and was psyched to play, not our fault!

Drummer Sean Greenhalgh also sent his condolences

So sorry about today. There was some misscomunication with UCLA about gear. We definitely wanted to rock, but had no equipment on which to do so. We are definitely going to try and make it up in the spring on our way back through. I hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience.

As did singer Alec Ounsworth

we showed up to find that there was no backline (amplifiers, drums, etc.) which we were to have been provided so there was no way we could have done the show…hopefully we can come back to do a show there soon.

Photos and review from today’s free Clap Your Hands Say Yeah show at UCLA’s Westwood Plaza: 1145am: Meet Victor on campus. Holy Hotties Galore! Future Miss Octobers at all angles. Damn I miss being on campus. And damn I feel like a lecherous old man suddenly 1147am: I spy soundboard and monitors but no sign of instruments or mics on makeshift stage 1150am-1209pm: In-between class foot traffic rush hour ensues 1210pm: In-between class traffic dwindles to a disinterested trickle 1215pm: White cargo truck lumbers up to the stage. Driver stops to talk to the crew for a bit and then abruptly pulls an about-face, peels out and splits the scene
1219pm: Word on the street: They’d forgotten the drum kit. Show is suddenly and unceremoniously yanked, leaving upwards of two dozen students dismayed 1221pm: Victor is accosted by Daily Bruin reporter, presumably for quote material regarding disappointment over no-show. Keep eyes peeled for pull quotes 1225pm: Make for Westwood Village’s Shack Row. Enjoy delicious, cheap-as-all-hell lunch. Horoscopes provided by LA X…Press
1pm: Check out the ongoing construction of Jean Prouve’s Tropical House inside the Hammer Atrium. Cool stuff 120pm: Buy sweet pair of kicks at Urban Outfitters. $29 Parting note to CYHSY management UCLA Campus Events: You’ll receive my faxed invoice for $8 on-campus parking in a few minutes. Thank you in advance for taking care of it.

Related:

• LA Concert Calendar: October 3 – 9
• “Hottie Needed For Clap Your Hands Say Yeah”

They are making it even easier to pick up on the waitresses at the Burbank Hooters with a script and a DVD under my arm. I choose to be, in most instances, shielded from deadly kitsch by hiding my face from anyone who might see me cross the threshold in that tacky yet unrefined ovarian Bastille. But when the manager wants to shut down the hockey game to run the trailer for my movie — and he doesn’t even know who I am — well, who am I not to swing my script through the boob factory and see what impacts.

They come like hummingbirds to sign the napkin, as a kind of appetizer. If a Hooters girl does not sign the napkin to make you feel welcome, they are so terribly fired that it’s upsetting for me to type. But if they see us “reading lines” they all come at once. I’m chit-chatting loudly with the manager. I want to run the trailer but I can’t run the trailer because it’s a psycho thriller about a black security guard who kills white men to win the heart of the woman he loves. (The trailer sucks, but my bluff is so good that I won’t have to screen it. I have given the manager — and the birds in earshot — the idea that it could have been screened were it not for stuffy customers. For all they know, it’s a ripped copy of SHORT CIRCUIT II: BACK IN HOT WATER.) But…since it can’t be shown, a surrogate mixture of trivia and BS will stimulate the grapevine. Shot entirely on location in Kathy Ireland’s former office. A perfect B movie with a digital L+F with a distributor.

I got 90% of my talent off craigslist. This is easier.

They squeeze into the booth, two and three at a time, beside us and in front of us. Describe some of them? Okay. Thin and young with nice racks, big eyes, big dreams and single, a tumbleweed blowing across the cranial steppes. Now multiply this by twenty-five, allowing for genetic variance within the Burbank population pool. That is what they look like. We read the scene where our main character inappropriately gooses his love interest on the first date. I picked this scene personally just to see if we could get away with it. Normally, a six hundred pound gorilla makes quick work of this behavior, but my sly dog produces his SAG card, which, in this reality, is a periapt of proof against lawsuit. Forsooth, derrieres scrounge into our orange casting couch in the midst of grumpy men eating taco salad and wishing they were younger and/or us. And although these beauties stammer over the main points, I direct them to give the part more feeling and imagine they are really getting their ass pinched by a good-looking serial killer. Sometimes it’s the way you let yourself be pinched that makes a difference on film. And… scene. I take a one mega pixel image with my wafer-thin RAZR of the hot nineteen year old who runs her hand up my thigh when she drops off the onion rings. (Say what you will about Motorola, the phone is worth its weight in nookie.) Numbers come in many shapes, sizes, and varieties, but why bother with the napkin when I can program them next to their pictures. Look upon my works ye mighty and despair!

We stay an extra twenty minutes. And why not! I have kept my hands to myself, and my friend, who hasn’t, will be a fine acting coach to the ones still young in their parts. Because this is Hooters of Burbank! Where hotties remember our names, and follow us out of the restaurant and chase us to the car. This is the naked suburb of the big film town. This is how easy it is to get a Hooter’s girl when you are even 1% industry.

Now go back and read this article again.

Whoever’s doing the windows over at Wasteland on Melrose has truly gone above and beyond to inspire sheer Halloween creepiness as of late, and I have no choice but to applaud the enigmatic work 100%. The typically out-of-this-world- and-bonkers-on-airplane-glue windows were loaded with an additional dosage of creepiness when this flock of unblinking baby-headed birds flew in, perched and decided to stay for the season. Be sure to check the rest of the photos below if this breed of strange does it for you.

I’d love to be able to tell you who the artist is and if she’s for hire, but they’re apparently keeping that information tightly under wraps. After the manager was too busy to return my call, somebody on the sales floor eventually coughed up the fact that the same girl does the windows for all three of their stores: Melrose, Santa Monica and San Francisco, and if I wanted to get in touch he could pass my information on to the dead letter office down the street. She’s ours! You want an artist you go ask Jeeves!

Part of the display reminds me of some of Carlee Fernandez‘ work, which can be truly mind-bending (and, to some, revolting).

Wasteland
7428 Melrose

Bonus photos
Creepy lady
Man a’fowl
The roost
A friendlier owl
Headless feast
Tiny wee
Teeny-tiniest of nightmary devils
Just plain strange

#17: the Starbucks at 7th and Figueroa

I been away a while folks. I know, I know. Don’t worry about it. Just as long as you’re taking care of yourself. Well I haven’t. And I’ve got the feathered hair to prove it. What drove me to this state? Choosing the seventeenth best Starbucks in LA that’s what. In many cultures seventeen is an unlucky number. Cursed. It is said in regions of outer Mongolia if a woman gives birth to a 17th child he will be forced to wear acid-wash jean shorts. Needless to say I better be careful. I needed help. I needed guidance.

Enter James Two Hawks. Jim’s saved my ass more times than I can remember. And I needed him again. One more time. Finding him was another matter. Jim moved liked the wind. Through the spaces and shadows most of us are too busy downloading ringtones to see. Getting your hands on him was like trying to catch moonbeams in a jack-o’-lantern.

But fate can be crazy. I’m standing in line at a Koo-Koo-Roo in Brentwood when I feel someone poke my shoulder. “Hey Bill, it’s me Jim Two Hawks. What’s up man?”

I take off my sunglasses and start to cry.

***

Half an hour later I calm down enough to talk.

“My spirit is out of balance, Jim. I dont know if I’m sinking or swimming.”

“You’re swimming”

I start to cry again.

“Thank you Jim.”

He eats a fork full of black beans.

“I need help. I need guid–”

“7th and Figueroa”

He munches two more times and walks out.

Damn. It was staring me right in the face.

***

The Starbucks at 7th and Fig is a little hideaway like a coyote den. There’s another Starbucks half a block up but that one is an absolute fucking dump. I wouldn’t sell knock-off Chinese dildoes in that place. But this store, the one across the street, this place is really good. They’ve got a great array of breads and cheese-plates and the double-shots are lined up real nice. They permanently locked the bathroom because of the bums but otherwise a top notch store.

And don’t let me forget the patio. It’s got some kind of crazy aerodynamic design, maybe some of my readers over at JPL can clue me in, but there’s this whirlwind always blowin’. And if you get there at just the right time, when smoggy sunlight fades behind the freeway and buses slog through rush hour like dying mastodons, a mild counter-clockwise wind can blow a lot of things your way. Hot dog wrappers. Lids. Piss. And maybe an old friend.

So basically like 5:30, sixish.

It seems that some L.A. area Adelphia cable subscribers are UP IN ARMS over a TECHNICAL SNAFU that resulted in Desperate Housewives being broadcast with the Español audio track! ¡AYE CARUMBA! For some reason this teeny inconvenience got straight to the City Council’s desk within days, probably while you drove over the same goddamn pothole everyday. I suspect that just beneath the surface of the complaints is not a little xenophobia, something all too symbolic about a beloved show staring 4 White ladies (OK, 3 plus one white-washed) living in Anytown U.S.A. being drowned out by that damned Spanish racket. Dropping the audio out, if anything, lent some superficial intrigue to the tired plotting.

The kicker is that if you want some real seedy night time soap action, not that tame DisneyABC stuff, you need to embrace the Latino culture and their night time soaps. No clumsy pseudo-artistic bullshit gets in the way of a juicy plotline. This stuff makes “Laguna Beach” look like “The Waltons.” Even if your Spanish is limited to value menu speak, you’ll get the jist of what’s going on. The action comes in broad strokes with musical cues and extreme facial expressions. There’s a great one that just ended called LA MADRASTRA (The STEPMOTHER). (These series actually have a finite run.) The plot is your basic mother wrongly accused of a murder, goes to jail for life, the father, who is unsure of her innocence, raises their kids saying their mother’s dead, then she gets out of jail after 20 years for good behavior, comes back into the father’s life as a stranger, they fall in love again, she becomes her own kids’ stepmother, and then she must decide whether or not to reveal to the kids that she’s their mother. Now that’s a goddamn soap opera. Plus, there’s a character called El Pulpo, which of course translates to “The Squid.” And then there’s this guy on the left, that keeps turning up. He goes by Bruno, The Metrosexual. How can you NOT watch a show with this guy in it, playing it straight?

There it stands.

As you travel east on Amar road in La Puente you spot it in the distance: the Vortex. It appears to be sucking you in like a great brown hole in space, Robert Forster in the copilot seat, your car helpless to its sheer size and awesome sucking ability. As you slowly draw near it, it dawns on you that it’s damn near impossible to resist the ultimate Freudian experience of driving your car through its orifice and being shat out the backdoor.

Had they the time, I’ve no doubt the painters would’ve finished the sentence on The Donut Hole’s sign: “It’s the quality of our water. Our water is wayyy fresh.” Mind you, I’m not implying that the quality of anything else, say perhaps the orange and chocolate crullers, is anything less than stellar at 3pm on a weekday afternoon. Oh no no. You didn’t hear it here. “It’s the quality you’d expect from two-day-old crullers?” For shame. You didn’t hear it here.

Surprise! This man awaits you inside the tube

Surprise again! An identical brown hole ultimately defecates your car, crullers, water bottles, arcade fire cds and all. You lazy son of a bitch, you

That said, La Puente’s The Donut Hole has Randy’s and all the other would-be- Randy’s beat, hands down, in the lazy American convenience factor. Exactly how are you going to be able to sit on your lazy fat ass and fiddle with the stereo while ordering donuts, paying for them, yawning, peering disinterestedly in the rearview mirror at the crusty sugared flecks stuck to your beard, waving off the impatient chubmaster in the tube behind you, and eventually driving off in air-conditioned comfort at Randy’s? Answer: As it turns out, you can actually do all of that and more at Randy’s drive-up window… but you won’t be inside a tube.

Go ahead though. Go to La Puente, drive anywhere near the proximity of the great gaping brown hole, and try not to drive through it. Let me know how you fare.

The Donut Hole
15300 East Amar Road
La Puente

 

 

The 2005 Bubblegum Achievement Awards, a very particular breed of strange, takes place this Friday evening (10/7) at the Bob Baker Marionette Theater. Bob Baker himself will be performing puppet magic alongside classic psychedelic rockers from The Archies, Ohio Express, Doctor Demento and a person dressed as an ape in a safety vest and hardhat. A screening of the documentary revolving around the book Bubblegum Music is the Naked Truth is also on tap.

During the course of four hours I sat down at a giant roundtable with the book’s editor Kim Cooper, Master of Ceremonies The Bubblegum Queen and her two cohosts, Big Hamm and L’il Hamm (Canned Hamm, collectively). Over a 12-pack of Bazooka and a Costco six-gallon bag of Smarties, I gleaned the following.

I gaze at the people gathered at this roundtable. Round and ’round my eyes go and finally. stop. on…..Kim Cooper. Editor. Conceiver of this puppet show-cum- gala-bubblegum-awards -show- cum-reason-for-a-safety-ape-to-appear-in-public. Oh yes, my questions shall begin with Kim.

What will the contestants have to “achieve” over the course of the evening?
This is one night when they don’t have to achieve anything, since we honor past achievement. They can come wrapped in cloaks of anti-bubblegum if they like, and we’ll still give each of them their Gummy.

I see. So how did Bob Baker get involved in the event?
The Bubblegum Queen and I were prepared to beg, but as soon as we described what we were up to, Bob said it sounded like a lot of fun and he would love to be part of it. What an honor!

What is Bob Baker’s official stance regarding the meaning of the Ohio Express lyrics “Yummy Yummy Yummy, I’ve Got Love in my Tummy” ?
Bob is very pro-Yummies in Tummies.

For one night only, will Bob Baker allow bubblegum chewing in the theatre?
NO WAY! But in the party room after the awards, yesyesyes.
»continue reading Q&A: The Bubblegum Queen and Puppets Galore

After five years of sagging circulation and advertising revenue, new management at the Los Angeles Times is pushing for shorter stories as well as more coverage of Hollywood and celebrities. What else will the LA Times do to appeal to the masses and increase subscriptions?

• Replace front page lead photo with Family Circus cartoon
• Invest heavily in local H. Salt and Long John Silvers chains. Once revitalized, force franchises to serve fish and chips wrapped in the Times.
• Bring cutting edge technology to the Obituaries section with publicly editable Wikibituaries
• Instead of Finance section stock quotes, list quotes from Family Guy
• Copy LA Weekly’s advertising model and publish hundreds of transvestite hookers ads
• Offer free parakeet with each new subscription ensuring long-term demand for newspaper as cage lining

Visit our concert calendar for a full list of shows, links to buy tickets and our picks.

***Recommended Show of the Week***
Clap Your Hands Say Yeah @ UCLA Westwood Plaza
Check out the buzzworthy Brooklyn five piece for free in Westwood this Friday. This show will be dedicated to the all fatties who were rejected by the guy with the Craigslist ad. Afterwards we shall march in solidarity with our voluptuous sisters to Diddy Riese and feast on cinnamon sugar cookie and strawberry ice cream sandwiches.

MONDAY
Mando Diao @ Troubadour
Hopewell @ Spaceland (free)
Hackensaw Boys @ Tangier

TUESDAY
MIA @ Henry Fonda
Four Tet @ Echo
Laura Cantrell @ El Rey
John Trudell @ Knitting Factory

WEDNESDAY
Fruit Bats, Irving @ Spaceland
Sigur Ros @ Hollywood Bowl
T. Raumschmiere @ Knitting Factory
Musiq @ House of Blues
Zach Galifianakis @ Largo
Chinna Smith @ Echo

THURSDAY
Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, National @ Troubadour
Fiona Apple @ Tower Sunset (free w/wristband)
Gillian Welch @ Avalon
Jill Sobule @ Largo
Joggers @ Forbidden City
Killers @ Long Beach Arena
Blackalicious @ Amoeba (free)

FRIDAY
Clap Your Hands Say Yeah @ UCLA Westwood Plaza, 12 noon (free)
Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, National @ Troubadour
Curt Kirkwood @ Tower Sunset (free)
Idlewild @ El Rey
Devendra Banhart @ Vanguard
Franz Ferdinand, TV on the Radio @ Greek
Two Gallants @ El Cid
Martha Wainwright @ Knitting Factory
Earlimart @ Spaceland

SATURDAY
Franz Ferdinand, TV on the Radio @ Greek
Black Dice @ El Rey
Green Day @ Home Depot
Black Rebel Motorcycle Club @ Henry Fonda

SUNDAY
Selecter @ Knitting Factory
Green Day @ Home Depot