Reasons I Hate the Valley: Tokyo Delve's

My time on the other side of the hill is few and far between, and with good reason. That reason? I fucking hate the Valley. Its common feeling, this hatred of the happenings on the other side of the hill, and yet, we all end up over there. In the same way unattractive people don’t understand why they can empty a club, people in the valley don’t seem to understand why we detest being in that area. It really is a shame that it’s classified as “L.A.” If it weren’t, it would be plenty easy enough to avoid it. That way, when you ask where someone is located it’s another city entirely. It might as well be another planet.

There are a multitude reasons to hate the valley, enough in fact, that I could start another blog on it. We’ll start with one.

Tokyo Delve’s.

My reason for trekking to the valley this weekend, was a dinner with a couple friends I hadn’t seen since college. Ryan, it seems, had an “amazing time” at a sushi bar on Lankershim by the name of “Tokyo Delve’s.” Since Pincus lives right down the street (Why, Pincus? Why?) I agreed to attend. “It’s like a frat party in a sushi bar” Ryan warned me. And with that, I nervously drove through Hollywood and Highland traffic to get to the other side. It would be really great if the tourist capitol of Hollywood was NOT directly in front of my closest entrance to the freeway. Nine years later* I made it to Tokyo Delve’s with, at least, the expectation to get smashed with some friends in a riotous atmosphere.

Tokyo Delve’s was exactly like a frat party, and by frat party, I mean my cousin Mollie’s Bat Mitzvah. Decorated in star cut outs, glitter, flashing lights, bright blue paint, and posters of the 90s most famous actors, Tokyo Delve’s appeared more like an adult Chuck E Cheese than a sushi bar.

Somewhere between the yelling waiters, The YMCA and Cha Cha Slide, I found myself gripping the sides of my chair, excepting at any moment the waiters to hoist me in the air to Hava Nigila.

With the exception of Gaga’s Alejandro, DJ Joe, whose CDs they continually promoted, stuck to top 40 hits. From 2002.

We ordered our food, exposing Pincus to sushi for the first time, and our alcohol. Ryan got his sake bombs, and I settled for a strawberry sake mixed drink (which was literally two sips of beverage). No amount of alcohol would have fixed the atmosphere. Or the food. Prepared by Mexico’s most qualified sushi chefs, the sushi was less than admirable for the price. Perhaps we were paying for the atmosphere. Poor Pincus. I swear sushi is better than this mess that we consumed!

The entire night was narrated by the bartender, Alejandro, whose name was always accompanied by the hit song. He was an, I can only assume, out of work actor or singer masquerading as a Bar Mitzvah DJ in a sushi bar. The rest of the wait staff was no better. All of them, we can only assume, were the hottest things in their home town, who moved to LA and found no other option to dance like a maniac at Tokyo Delve’s. They either have to have had more sake bombs than Ryan to come to work, or they cry themselves to sleep every night. I can hardly imagine that this is what any of them came to LA to do.

The icing on these poor waiters cake? The lip-syncing show at the end of our dinner. Donning wigs, we were subject to a Milli Vanilli/ Right Said Fred/ Vanilla Ice montage of poorly danced and lip-synced “performances.”

We were ushered out precisely an hour and half later, so the next batch of poor unsuspecting customers could celebrate turning 13 in the valley.

Gimmick over food quality, found in the valley. Want to eat well, stay on the right side of the hill. Want to feel embarrassed for everyone around you? Try eating dinner in the valley.

Never again. I hate the valley.**

*Times are approximate

**This in no way reflects on Ryan and Pincus. I had fun with you guys!

Areas I Love: Runyon Canyon

Finally, another installment of "Areas I Love." Here's parts I and II for reference.

While this blog sub-genre is usually reserved for streets or small parts of LA, today I'm using it to declare my love for a certain Runyon Canyon.

Tucked up in the Hollywood Hills at the top of Fuller Street, Runyon Canyon is one of those not-so-secret Hollywood Secrets. Locals know about it, but its never a place a tourist would find, even though it's a hop, skip, jump away from Hollywood and Highland.

While parking can be dicey (just give it up and park a ways away. You're going to hike... you don't need the closest parking spot...), its absolutely worth it.

There's a little stand where you can grab water and a banana. Its an honor system "leave money" situation. Don't make them take it away by grabbing a water and running. Don't be that douche.

And then you're inside. Weekend mornings, grab some friends (see below) and head in.

There's an easy way up (read: sloped) and a more difficult (read: steps) way to the top, but no matter how hard you climb, the view from the top is phenomenal (assuming its not a super smoggy day). The hike takes around an hour and is a great little work out.

Look at this! It amazes me that amidst the city is this beautiful pocket of nature. Its easy to disappear away from the city for a while- that is, until you get to the top and catch a view of it all.

But lets not kid ourselves. There is a reason I love Runyon Canyon above all others: PUPPIES!

See that picture? That is Runyon on a good day. There are puppies EVERYWHERE. Its easy for me to get to the top of the hike because I just run from puppy to puppy. They're off their leashes and SO DAMN CUTE. With their tongues dangling out of their mouths, they get just as tuckered as their human counterparts and pass out on top of the hill.

TANGENT: One time I was hiking and stopped to tie my shoe. Out of nowhere a golden retriever leaps on my back and begins to lick my face. Her owner, mortified, apologized profusely to which I responded: Why would you apologize for that? It just made my day.

And you know what? It did.

Because how do you NOT try the garlic ice cream?

If there is one thing I can say about my group of friends it is this: we eat DAMN well. We've taken to trying new restaurants and this Sunday was no exception. Ladies and gentlemen, The Stinking Rose!

Our reason for going was twofold.

1) We needed to celebrate Denny's promotion. Blog Shout Out: Congrats Denny!

2) We needed to try this restaurant.

The Stinking Rose is a restaurant dedicated to garlic. I love garlic, so naturally this is a match made in heaven. We had no idea if we'd need reservations and so Mikey called and we got their voicemail which sounded like it was narrated by this guy:

I'm already in love with it (and we didn't need reservations). So Denny, Mikey, Amy, Jackie, Caroline, Daniel and I climb around a table and stare at the menu.

Garlic Wine.

40 Glove of Garlic Chicken.

Surf and Turf (All garlic enhanced, of course).

Garlic Encrusted Baby Back Ribs.

Garlic Rolls.

Garlic Ice Cream.

Holy friggin' crap. This is awesome. Our poor waitress, not only was her name Agnes, but she told us about how she cannot get the smell of garlic out of her hair. Now, I love garlic as much as the next guy, but its not exactly a scent you want for yourself. The price you pay to work with delicious food, I suppose.

We pussed out when it came to the garlic wine, so we made sure we hit up the garlic ice cream. Do NOT- I repeat, DO NOT- get it. The consensus was WHAT THE FUCK ARE WE EATING?!

The surf and turf was delicious (and it was amusing watching Denny and Amy trying to get the crab out of the shell).

And the decor is lots of fun (just not as fun as the garlic hat they make the poor host wear). Will I be back? Sure. It's an event place though- not so much a place you could just.... go.

We all went home and brushed our teeth and took showers. It was coming out of my pores, I swear it.

Definitely hit the place up if you have a taste for garlic (and lets be honest, who doesn't?) and a fun group to smell really bad with.

Willy Wonka and the Hollywood Forever Cemetery

"It's the most fun I've had in L.A."

That's what I'd heard. Of course I'm going to go in slightly skeptical and full of the highest hopes. I'd been pumped up to believe that evening movie screenings in the Hollywood Forever Cemetery were not only great, but a quintessential part of the Los Angeles experience.

I can now stand behind everything I'd heard and assure you that it is absolutely, 100%, positively true. If you get one Saturday in LA during the summer, and only one, this better be what's on your list to do.

Screenings in the cemetery are a fantastic way to spend a summer evening. Sure it sounds creepy (and it a little bit is) but as Megan put it as we were gallivanting through the gravestones - "It's kind of cool to be here and be really a live. You know? We're living in the moment with friends. we're not here for death. We're here for life." I might have paraphrased a bit - but that's the gist of what she was drunkenly rambling on about after the movie.

Yes, I said drunkenly. You see, it's not "public" in there so drinking.... TOTALLY ALLOWED.

Several bottle of wine, a shit-ton of snack, two bags of candy and a sushi platter later - we have a successful, drunk picnic in the cemetery for last night's movie: Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. (No not the shitty one - the good one.)

Gates open at 7, so Nora, Kate, Mikey, Megan and I got there at about 5:30 to get in line. Kevin and Alex and Ashley soon joined us. Followed by Janove and Julie and Jordan. What a crowd! Apples to Apples passed the time (Kate and I are kindred Apples to Apples spirits)...and so did the wine. I was hammered before I even got through the gates into the cemetery.

500+ people crowded onto the lawn for one of the greatest cult movies ever. There was yelling. There was singing. There were snarky remarks. There was quotes. There was so much candy.

It was a ton of fun- but admittedly would have been less so had it not been for the amazing weather, great friends, and campy, fun movie.

Tommy Curry @ The Pig n' Whistle and the Great Apartment Hunt of 2010

This weekend started out at 8PM at the Pig n' Whistle on Hollywood Blvd. My friend Tommy Curry (check him out here).

After a wonderfully folksy set, a few drinks and plenty of back and forth with the enthusiastic audience of about 25, Tommy played his last song (which was featured in his sister's short film) and called it a night.

Mikey and I, however, did not.

To Fiesta we went where we ran into a friend of Mikey's and his friends.

Cut to it being 4 in the morning and I'm finally pulling myself into bed. It was an epic night of too many drinks (I blame you, Jeremy! Sweet Tea Vodka is the death of me).

And then there was the pizza, networking, and hanging out in an apartment talking.

I'd be remiss if I didn't share this story though: Jeremy and I are walking to my car and are stopped by two teenagers (1 male, 1 female). The conversation went something like this:

Teenage Boy: Can we ask you kind of a weird question?

Jeremy: Sure.

Teenage Boy: How much would you pay my friend or I to blow you?

Marcus: Nothing.

Teenage Girl: Okay, what if it wasn't us. How much would you pay someone?

Marcus: Nothing.

Jeremy: I don't know.

Teenage Girl: We asked that other guy over there and he said 60 bucks.

Jeremy: We wouldn't.

And with that we walked away. Did we just get solicited by prostitutes? Because I think we did....

I pulled myself out of bed Saturday morning to begin

The Great Apartment Hunt of 2010.

Here's some pictures of what we found.

Notable highlights:

-Mr. Bess, an elderly landlord who lectured Denny and I on the trouble with America today (it was credit cards)

-A landlord who described the tenants of her building as "kids that belong on a TV show"

-Denny starving

-Passing the Fat Burger on Santa Monica 17 times

-Running around LA with Denny

-The apartment that smelt like cat pee

And this gem, the potential future home of Denny and I....

and that was just Friday and Saturday....

Writing is Rewriting

Many of you know about it, but the Internet has not been graced with my tales of rewriting this script for RKO. The title and premise shall at this time remain nameless but let's just say the original was something like this....

and we want to make it more like this...

It was at first an exciting endeavor. I quickly got over that. Shit, rewriting is hard. Like really hard. Luckily, I'm not personally invested in any of the previous material. My own feature, sits untouched after the first draft because of this challenge. It is a challenge all writers face. So I quickly got over my excitement to make a gem and stared at 100 daunting pages of terrible dialogue and action blocks. The only thing this script had was a premise... and even that needed work. How on Earth was I going to do this?

What works for me:

DEADLINE: If I don't have a deadline it will never get done. My boss said "as fast as possible." Those words literally meant nothing to me. It wasn't until I told myself that I needed to be done June 1 that I actually got my ass in gear and started working.

SPACE: If it's my own work, I've got to put it down and separate myself from it for a while. If my story as-is is what's running through my brain, I'll never be able to look at it in a new light.

PLACE: I will never, ever, ever be able to write something in my apartment. I have to go somewhere else, with the simple purpose of writing. Solar de Cahuenga usually serves that purpose, but every now and then I'll change it up.

MUSIC: I currently have a playlist for the project I'm working on. Things that fit thematically, or tonally to whatever it is I'm writing at the time. Things on this project's playlist-

"Before He Cheats" - Carrie Underwood

"Irreplaceable" - Beyonce (spellcheck doesn't recognize her name as a word. How dare they!)

"Love Kills" - Little Boots

COFFEE: Must have it to write. If it's late I'll drink decaf. It's a "setting" thing.

DELETE: I took the original. Read a scene. Deleted it and then rewrote it. It's much easier for me to do it that way then to try and change things in the document. It's slightly more work, but the work feels more like my own AND I'm less likely to let things slide, or just leave certain things that aren't working but I don't know how to get around sitting their on the page.

Now I just need to finish this. I'll be at Solar de Cahuenga tonight. And tomorrow night. And This weekend. And so on and so forth.

See you in the credits.

Rock for Equality

After an exhausting night Saturday, I woke up bright and early (except it wasn't that bright, given our gloomy weather [it was early though: 845!]) and went to the Rock for Equality rally at the L.A. Gay & Lesbian Center. But first - COFFEE!

Here's some pictures of the event:

(Mikey was there!)

(Barbara Boxer was there!)

Here's some facts:

-The federal government requires Americans in same-sex relationships to pay into Social Security like everybody else. These people are then denied key benefits that make up a crucial part of the safety net Americans rely on for their economic well-being in their latter years, or upon becoming disabled. In tough economic times, like those gripping the country today, these benefits are all the more critical.

-The Social Security Administration does not recognize any same-sex relationships, anywhere, including couples in states that afford same-sex couples the right to marry or the right to register as domestic partners.

-In some instances, the Social Security Administration affords certain advantageous benefits to divorced individuals that it does not provide to same-sex couples: even when the same-sex couples are married or registered as domestic partners.

-$ 2,046,872,071 is the current amount of money denied to same-sex couples and the number keeps growing.

From the Stadium to the Sea

No I didn't run the LA Marathon (for those of you that don't know "From the Stadium to the Sea" was the theme of this year's marathon). But the theme seemed to fit my weekend, as it started in Downtown, moved to the Pier, and ended back around Hollywood. Everything those marathon runners saw, I saw, and I had the added luxury of four wheels and air conditioning.

Saturday morning started with a trip to FIDM with Lesley to see the Oscar nominated costume display. Some were breath taking, some were amazing, some made us a squeal, and some were from Aliens in the Attic.

Lesley and I were like kids in a candy store with the costumes from An Education, Where the Wild Things Are ("Do you know how many hipsters would kill to steal that outfit?"), A Single Man ("They have the furry sweater!"), Inglourious Basterds ("Inglourious Basterds!"), and Julie and Julia ("Meryl wore that!").



This picture was from the exhibit several years ago, but since it's Helen Mirren, and she plays an intricate part in this blog post, I'll allow.



After playing over on Vermont for a bit, Lesley and I went to Santa Monica. She had never been on the pier, so we hit that up first. Kettle Corn! Cotton Candy! Rides! It's like a carnival, but better, because it's on water. Lesley and I joked about the pier being destroyed by a giant wave (as in a Roland Emmerich movie) and low and behold, go kicked off the beach. Not because of our off color jokes, but because a suspicious package was found on the pier. Cops were everywhere. We were instructed to go past the lifeguard tower. Dear lifeguard, if the pier was to explode in a gigantic terrorist attack, I highly doubt being on the OTHER side of your lifeguard tower would make the slightest difference in my chances of survival.

So we went to a British foods store. A logical move right? It is when you're with Palf.

Palf and I parted ways and I was joined by Kristen, Julie and Jeff. A bottle of wine and batch of margaritas later, we hopped into a cab for Bar Lubitsch. After my rave review of it, they had been wanting to try it. We got in and it was PACKED. Have no fear though, we found ourselves a nice pocket of space and proceeded to hang out and drink through the night. Kristen, Julie and nights out (or in!) are a perfect storm. Doesn't matter where we are, doesn't matter that someone in the bar had B.O. (okay, it a little bit did), we have a good time. Saturday was no exception.

We stumbled down Santa Monica to Jones for a post-drinking pizza with Banner. We scarfed a pizza of our own and downed half of Rebecca's. Success? I think so.

Sunday was just as successful, if not COMPLETELY different. Megan came to visit!



Megan, my oldest friend (as in, since 2nd grade, not age 102), is the assistant to journalist Annie Bardach, who is quite possibly THE go-to journalist on all things Cuba. Annie is a member of the Moron Society (a group of free-thinking, intelligent people [journalists, writers, directors, actors, politicians]) who get together to elect morons in society and discuss current events.



On Sunday, there was a Moron Society meeting at Helen Mirren and Taylor Hackford's house. They live around the corner from me! Their neighbor is none other than Roland Emmerich, of aforementioned pier discussion.

Megan and I were honorary Moronettes and handled parking at the Hackford/Mirren estate. Afterwards we were invited to listen in on the meeting, which was incredible. These people are such intelligent speakers.

Mirren, or as Hackford calls her, Helly, was a sweetheart. So nice. She gave me a stack of ham, a bottle of wine and a cheery pie because "I could afford such a thing."



I feel like I should have more to say about this event, but I guess it's all just sinking in. They're wonderful people and it was exciting to be a part of it. Will anything come of it professionally? Probably not - but you never know!

Rice A Roni

To truly appreciate Hollywood, sometimes you need to leave it. You need to see what other cities have to offer. As much as I love it here, it doesn't have everything you could want. Know what city comes close though? San Francisco.

Sure, part of that is because it houses the best friend (but not for long. [You hear that, Lauren? You're coming back down to LA. This trip has reminded me that life sans Lauren is NOT okay])

After bailing on work at lunch, Adam, Jeff and I drove up to the city on Friday. We were making great time until-

They decided to close down The 5. Excuse me? Closing The 5 Freeway on a Friday night? It took us an hour to go three miles to get to the detour. Then we got to drive through beautiful Coalinga*

After a plethora of tunes, some sub-par Baja Fresh and 7+ hours, we got into the city. San Francisco is amazing. They manage to fit so much in such a small amount of space. Everything "goes up to the sky and twists." Buildings, billboards and overpasses reach for the stars in a tall and wind-y city that's anything but sleepy.



Friday night:
We met up with Ryan and drank our driving frustrations away. There was drinking. There was dancing. There was Alan.

Whose Alan? In 7th grade I took tennis lessons. Go ahead and laugh. The classes were small and I had a friend Alan who I had lost contact with once I got older. Some 9 years later, in a city of over 700,000, I run into him. Crazy. Even crazier was that it was in a drunken stupor and he recognized me. Sad that I look the same as I did in 7th grade? This blog is getting depressing. Anyways- The night ended with us getting flashed by a woman, who it turns out, was a man.
That brings us to-

Saturday morning:
Brunch at Home. Jeff and I drank coffee, Adam and Ryan drank 2 Bloody Mary's each. I think you can tell who the smarter ones were (okay it was them, but shh!) After brunch we wandered around. Book stores, Art stores, Art supply stores, happiness.

Saturday Afternoon:
On our way to meet up with Lauren we stopped and checked out some performance art going on near the civic center. Interpretive dance, accompanied by music and plenty of chalk for sidewalk drawing. We were encouraged to draw and we did. For a while.

We found Lauren in the mess of the St. Patrick's Day Festival. She had successfully found herself a corned beef sandwich and was hell bent on finding green beer. We didn't.

We did find an Urban Outfitters and proceeded to play around in there. I got a sweet plaid shirt. Lauren got some boots. Jeff got a plaid shirt as well.



Saturday Night:
We rocked the plaid. We set out to eat a restaurant called Range that looked pretty good. We got there and decided we couldn't afford that menu, so we wandered the streets looking for something that looks good. This is how food eating decisions should always be made. We ended up in front of Cafe Ethiopia and, since none of us had eaten Ethiopian before, decided to try it.
We ordered a variety off the menu (none of which we could properly pronounce) as well as Ethiopian wine and beer. The Verdict? The food was spicy and good. The alcohol was sweet and bad. It was definitely an experience (we ate with our hands off of one giant plate) that I, not only would do again, but also recommend others to try (There are a handful of Ethiopian places in LA, lets go!).



We then ended up at an Irish pub (it being St. Patty's day weekend and all) and then to a house party with Ryan. Try to walk by houses in San Fran and not sing the Full House theme song. I dare you.

The party was a lot of fun, complete with new lesbian friends, dancing, mud, drinking, more dancing, and even more drinking. What a friendly bunch. We need to have more parties in houses and apartment in LA, guys.

Sunday Morning:
Well, more like-

Sunday Afternoon:
We got up and headed over to Pleasanton, CA a peaceful suburb of the bay and home to Lauren Emily Johnson. Downtown Pleasanton is exactly how you'd imagine it to be upon hearing the name. Diners, art shops, small town essentials and Thriving Ink.

Thriving Ink is an indie T-shirt company and the store in which most of my shirts are now from. It's Urban Outfitters, but indie. I know what you're thinking - Urban is as "indie" as they come. A chain of mainstream stores, while fashionable, is not indie. Kudos, Thriving Ink and may you be successful enough to no longer be indie.

A quick 5 hour jaunt down The 5 Freeway and we made it home. Simultaneously relaxed and exhausted from our trip to the foggy city.

It did something interesting, though. It makes me excited to explore LA more. I will love this city and everything it has to offer. I will find everything it has to offer and I will let it be offered to me. Los Angeles, it's just you and me (and nearly 4 million others).



*Coalinga is NOT a beautiful city.