Octopus Grigori

Selected Pictures from My Cell Phone

2011-03-09T03:53:00.000-08:00

Taken at an infant and adult CPR class I recently attended

Reading the February 2011 Edition of Trader Joe's "Fearless Flyer"

2011-02-19T04:33:00.000-08:00

For some reason, today, for the first time, I sat down and read the monthly flyer from Trader Joe's, the "Fearless Flyer." It really is an incredible document. Now I know where all the English and lit majors go: they go to work for Trader Joe's, writing and editing the monthly flyers.

I found something disturbing and off-putting about the obnoxious, pretentious, and smug tone of the flyer. The thing reads as if it were written by a particularly self-satisfied junior at Dartmouth.

Here are some choice excerpts from this month's flyer: "Though nominally credited to the Danes, it is generally assumed in culinary circles that this particular pastry originated in Vienna, alongside its sister flaky pastry, the croissant." (p. 6) This is the only grocery-store flyer on earth in which you will find the word "nominally."

Continuing in that vein: "What's different about Trader Joe's Strawberry Cream Cheese? . . . . [W]e eschew artificial colors and flavors, instead choosing to use copious amounts of strawberries to achieve our ideal strawberry-to-cream ratio . . . ." (p. 6)

"First there were Joe's O's. Grammatical inconsistencies aside, Joe's O's = great product, excellent value, only at Trader Joe's." (p. 1) Yes, a sentence in the Trader Joe's flyer starts with "[g]rammatical inconsistencies aside," and mocks the grammatical errors appearing on other Trader Joe's products.

Who the hell are the writers of this flyer writing for? Oh, that's right: the judgmental yuppies (like myself) who shop there. Besides not recycling or eating caged-bird eggs, there is no greater sin for this class (viz., us yuppies) than grammatical error. Or misuse or abuse of punctuation: "Though we aim for judiciousness in all things, an argument could be made that we tend to overuse exclamation points. In this case, however, we will argue that the exclamatory punctuation is more than warranted: it's necessary." (p. 7 (Vintage Reserve Cheddar $3.99!))

Because we, the elect Trader Joe's customers, are so fucking smart. We so obviously know what "eschew" and "nominally" and "copious" mean, and we so clearly enjoy coming across these words in our grocery-store flyer because, when we do, it massages that special secret part of us that likes to be reminded that we are the type of people that shop at a grocery store that uses words like "eschew" and "nominally" and "copious" in its flyer, the kind of place that notes "grammatical inconsistencies" in the names of its products, etc.

Perhaps that's why these flyers are written like they are campus magazines from the fancy-ass colleges we, the anointed Trader Joe's customers, attended. Because that makes us feel at home. The message one is meant to take away: smart people shop here, not dumb people -- those people shop at Vons.

Again: "A recent trip to France revealed, quite as we'd hoped and expected, some great foods that we've been really excited to bring in to our stores. . . . Each makes a hearty meal for lunch or dinner, and is bursting with vivid flavors you won't find in the frozen entrees in most supermarket freezers. Our freezers are different, though, so these flavorful finds fit right in among our featured frozen foods." (p. 11) Read: Our freezers are different, just as our customers, like you, are different. You're not like the customers one finds in most supermarkets. You're by no means a fat, ugly American who drinks milk from cows treated with growth hormones or who has no idea what naan is. Because you shop here, you're basically almost French.

Okay. I know there are people being shot on the street in Manama right now and this post is a ridiculous waste of energy, but I had to share.

View from the Tank: Valu-Pak (very brief reviews of some movies I've seen recently)

2011-01-15T19:55:00.000-08:00

It's been too long since I've done one of these. (I may be the only person who feels that way.)

UGETSU (1953): An incredible, haunting, beautiful film about greed, ambition, and being seduced by a sexy ghost with weird drawn-in eyebrows in feudal Japan. Easily one of the greatest Japanese movies I've ever seen. There are several scenes in this movie of stunning beauty -- especially the river-crossing scene in the night fog. A

KNIGHT & DAY (2010): It's hard to think of a more aggressively stupid movie. Watching this, all I could think of was the pitch meeting where someone must've said something to the effect of "Think Bourne Identity meets What Happens in Vegas!" And then some producer said "Love it! Love it! Here's a hundred million dollars. Get Tom Cruise and Cameron Diaz. Oh, and just for kicks, get Peter Saarsgard and that weird kid from There Will Be Blood." Also part of the plan: for the role of the main villain, who is supposed to be Spanish, cast someone who cannot speak Spanish, and who will be dubbed during the more challenging lines. This is the kind of movie that features the couple having little spats while they are being shot at by tons of bad guys. So cute! Also, Cameron Diaz's character, a ditzy, previously aimless single thirtysomething, after meeting the super-agent assassin guy played by Tom Cruise, realizes that she has these awesome latent assassin skills that she totally had no idea about before! Her methods are irregular and fortuitous (accidentally opening a car door at the right time during a car chase and whacking some bad guy on a motorcycle) -- but they gets the job done! (Think back to Janie Lee Curtis's character dropping an Uzi down a flight of stairs and killing all the bad guys in that scene in True Lies -- just like that!) A profoundly stupid film. D+

THE KING'S SPEECH (2010): Predictable, formulaic, serviceable, forgettable. Mostly well acted. The perfect movie to take your parents to. No sex! Just some cute swearing from our challenged noble. The uncritical acceptance of the position and privileges of royalty in this movie is a little gross. It all comes off like a modern, very decent Hallmark Card. Nothing offensive or disturbing here! (Well, there's the interesting and scandalous story lurking here of Prince Edward's abdication for Wallis Warfield, but that story is a little too hot for this mild, family-friendly film, so it's basically brushed aside.) The ending is unforgivable cheesy, and tiresomely inevitable. You will forget the movie as soon as you get back to your car. In fact, you may forget the movie before it's over. B

SCOTT PILGRIM VS. THE WORLD (2010): Kind of like eating an entire bag of sour gummi coke bottles and washing it down with Cherry 7-Up: you're either going to absolutely love it or it's going to make you want to hurl. (You'll be more likely to love it if you are between the ages of 27-38 and grew up in a middle-class household in North America in which you had access to video games and/or comics.) Hilarious little lines ("Being vegan means you're better than other people"). I am not a huge Michael Cera fan, and I was primed to hate this movie, but I ended up totally loving it -- much to my surprise. Director Edgar Wright manages to master an entirely different world here: the nerd-world of comics, late-80s/early-90s video games, and high-school garage bands. Jason Schwartzman is also surprising with some fine, self-mocking work here. A-

THE KIDS ARE ALL RIGHT (2010): A very fine film. Great acting all around. A relatively simple, but involving story. A somewhat perplexing (and slightly cheesy) ending. Good endings are very difficult. Beginnings are easier. Hey, wait, is that part of the point of this film? A-

2011: Year of the Revived Blog

2011-01-01T00:48:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year, Eagle Rock.

It's 2011 and I'm still alive. Apologies for the long hiatus. I just ate like 20 nonpareils right before the clock struck midnight (one of my resolutions for this year is to eat fewer things that are likely to bring on a heart attack).

I haven't been blogging much this year. I'm going to try to get back in the habit this year. The focus of this blog has varied wildly over the past few years. In the next few months, I think I'll focus on movie reviews, book reviews, and Eagle Rock-related posts. I realized earlier this year that I'm no food critic. I don't even really care about "good" food. Mostly, I like to shovel food into my mouth as I talk with people I like. (Or watch TV.)

Anyhow, best wishes for 2011.

A History of Violence, or Why Sarah Palin Knows Exactly What She Is Saying

2010-03-30T04:22:00.000-07:00

Why are Americans so enamored with guns and violence? What is the dog-whistle code in which Sarah Palin is speaking when she urges her Tea Party followers not to "retreat" but to "reload" with the "U.S. and Alabama flags" whipping in the wind behind her? Why does she insist on using the images of crosshairs on a map on which she "targets" Democratic incumbents?

Recognizing that the question of why we are so violent and into guns is well covered ground, here are what I would consider the primary historical factors.

First, our country was born out of armed conflict with -- an insurgency against -- Great Britain. Armed revolt holds a hallowed place in our history.

Second, the land on which our country was founded, and on which it grew, was ripped from the original inhabitants at gunpoint and (often) through actual slaughter. Might equalled right of possession in early American history. The image of swarthy savages being held off and precious beacons of (European) civilization spared through the use of violence is a standard part of American mythology.

Third, our nation relied heavily, in the first half of its history, on the peculiar institution of slavery, which was policed and managed through violence. The plantation masters' monopoly on violence and weapons allowed them to contain and discipline their slaves, who of course outnumbered their European masters.

The legacy of all of this is to lend a very special weight to the Tea Partier's -- and especially Palin's -- fixation on guns and arms. They are not simply referencing the celebrated history of armed resistance against the tyranny of King George; they are also referencing the greater firepower that allowed Europeans to clear the land of the savages and the monopoly on violence that allowed Europeans to enslave Africans. That's why, I believe, Palin knows exactly what she's doing in deploying her reckless terminology.

Fear of a Black President

To the Tea Party contingent, guns represent (1) what they view as their sacred right to violently overthrow the tyranny of a government lead by a black, crypto-Muslim man; (2) the power/right with which this land was claimed by their European ancestors (i.e. "true, blue-blooded [sic] Americans"), and (3) the force with which Africans (not so different from the ones currently living in the White House) were kept subjugated and obedient. Given our current position in history, one quickly sees why Palin's choice of words has so much resonance among this crowd. The Tea Partiers represent a dwindling demographic, feeling threatened by the encroaching blacks and browns, convinced that they are oppressed by a tyrannical government (from which a good number of them are happy to receive governmental assistance) run by a socialist crypto-Muslim half-breed.

The crypto-Confederate flag of Alabama, which was flown proudly behind Palin at the Searchlight, Nevada Tea Party rally.

Considering the recent rash of violence and threats in the wake of the passage of Health Care Reform, the charges against Christian militants in the midwest, etc., I hope that the reckless incitements of Palin and her fellow travellers -- and their moral responsibility -- are not forgotten should someone inspired by her or her crowd act upon those words.

Children, Parents, and Merit

2010-03-15T12:59:00.000-07:00

As we move into the season of college acceptance (and rejection) letters, anxious seniors tearing open envelopes thick (or thin), my thoughts turn back to that ancient (and tired?) debate about individual merit.

Merit, in the context of school admissions, etc., is, in my view, an interesting and complicated issue that defies simple categories or easy answers.

For example, is the cultured, well rounded, articulate, well travelled high-school senior more meritorious than the daughter of immigrant parents -- parents who don't speak English well? Some kids grow up having Dickens and Austen read to them by parents who themselves went to the finest schools; the parents of these children usually have libraries full of books, engage their children all their lives in intelligent discussion, encourage their children to be well rounded, expose them to art, sports, other cultures, languages, etc. Other kids are raised by parents who don't speak English that well, who can’t afford to provide these kinds of opportunities to their kids, etc. (Many children of non-English speakers will, no doubt, have intelligent and thoughtful discussions in other languages, but that these discussions are not in English has consequences, I believe, on the SAT, in English verbal facility and confidence, etc.)

Is it fair to look at a seventeen-year-old and her accomplishments, many of which were scheduled, programmed, set up, and, not to put too fine a point on it, paid for and guaranteed by her cultured, educated parents and deem all of the seventeen-year-old’s accomplishments her own? Even the seventeen-year-old’s verbal facility, vocabulary, self-assertiveness, etc. -- the very core of her personality and qualities -- are not, if we’re being honest, I think, really her “own” –- whatever that may mean in this context. (And looked at this way, this may make any discussion of "owning" personal qualities impossible, given parenting, genes, disease, environment, etc.)

I don’t envy the position college admissions committees are placed in. The finest and most “meritorious” candidates – based on grades, activities, interests, abilities, skills, etc. -- will almost always come from households of educated parents –- whether those parents are rich or not. Children of parents who speak another language, who lack the same resources (financial, educational, cultural), etc., will often lack an entire childhood of education outside of the classroom.

I don’t know how these disparities should be accounted for. It’s not simply a question of affirmative action, though that is unavoidably part of this discussion. It’s also a question of taking economic and social status into account, and, further, recognizing that class perpetuates itself not solely through money, but through education as well. The children of parents who went to Stanford or Dartmouth or Amherst, etc., are likely to receive the benefits of seventeen years of education and stimulation that children of other parents will not be able to provide. And there's really no way to figure out what a child without such parents would have been able to accomplish if she had had such parents.

I believe what I’m saying is that a child’s accomplishments and achievements are often, to put it too simply, in truth the achievements of her parents.

I recognize that there’s an interesting discussion lurking here about the beneficial incentives to parents in doing the most they can to “improve” their children, that if the parents put in the effort, have the resources, it is not in the end “unjust” that their children reap the rewards, are deemed more “meritorious.” And I obviously haven't even touched on the issue of why children who have fast responses, whose brains process quickly, who learn quickly, etc. -- perhaps, not to be crass, children who have inherited "good genes" -- should be deemed more "meritorious" than other children. Are we rewarding genetic inheritance? Is it meritorious simply to be born smart? Or should we be instead rewarding effort, discipline, struggle? That is, should merit be something that should have to be earned, not simply inherited? What qualities or characteristics are "meritorious"? In determining merit, should we be attempting to consider individual achievements while correcting for the fortuitous benefits and advantages some children were born into or without (an obviously impossible task)?

Just something I was thinking about. As I said, I think the question defies easy answers. And it’s obvious, and will be the case till the end of time, that most parents (like my own, like yours) will do almost anything they can to try to improve the prospects of their children. That won't change. The question will always be, I think, how we decide which children -- who had no say in their parentage -- will be deemed "worthy" of access to the finest educations and opportunities. (And perhaps there's a question here for a lot of us about what we've actually "earned" and what we've simply received out of dumb luck and/or efforts made by others -- a question with answers that I know, for me, are humbling.)

View from the Tank: Multi-Pak

2010-03-02T23:17:00.000-08:00

BATTLE OF ALGIERS (1966):

A stunning film. Beyond its remarkably balanced and thoughtful treatment of both the resistance fighters and the French colonial forces, the film is also a technical marvel, in its use of music, its editing, and its cinematography. The film is shockingly relevant today, especially in highlighting the fluid and malleable nature of the label of terrorism, the futility of occupation, and the corrosive effect occupation has on the occupiers. Simply one of the greatest films I have ever seen. A+

SHUTTER ISLAND (2010):

Gripping, over-the-top, and enjoyable for a good part of the movie. The ending is a bit disappointing, as everyone has noted, though there are minor hints thrown in to try, unsuccessfully, to make the ending more complex than it is. As absorbing as the film is, the effect seems to dissipate immediately upon leaving the theater -- nothing stays with you. B-

A SERIOUS MAN (2009): (SPOILERS)

In many ways, a hilarious film -- but possibly also a profound film. An often trippy take on the Book of Job, set to Jefferson Airplane and Jimi Hendrix, and set in the aluminum-sided, squat ranch neighborhoods of 60's or 70's American suburbia. The Coen brothers riff on their greatest works here, but to a new, often dazzling effect. Their movies often feel like they keep trying to say something, over and over, in a way that we ultimately don't quite get (though we're kept thoroughly entertained all the while). Never has that feeling been as acute as it is here.

It does seem that the filmmakers are trying to say something by having the protagonist, Larry Gopnik, say, over and over, as the people around him take action and begin to destroy his world, "I haven't done anything!" Indeed, the film opens with the quote: "Receive with simplicity everything that happens to you." Gopnik is hounded throughout the film by someone calling from the Columbia Record Club: they want to be paid for the records they've been sending Gopnik. Gopnik (or his son) has apparently signed up for the Record Club, and they send him records, and charge him, if he doesn't do anything. As Gopnik's wife is telling him she is leaving him, Gopnik protests that "he hasn't done anything," and his wife says, "That's right. You haven't done anything."

The theme of passivity and reception, of allowing things to happen to one is highlighted in Gopnik's opening scene, where we see him in the doctor's office. The doctor is looking into his ear, and then checking his pupils: we're looking at Gopnik's portals on the world. We aren't shown Gopnik's hands or his mouth, with which Gopnik would actively participate in the world -- with which he would take action and do something. (When Gopnik later takes action, the shot focuses on his hands, taking action in the world.)

Later, Gopnik is on his roof, adjusting the television aerial, and as he touches it, he begins to hear television signals: he becomes a receiver, an extension of the antennae. Later, his son Daniel, at his bar mitzvah, is holding a metal staff, pointed at Hebrew script in the Torah. Daniel hesitates and a rabbi pushes the staff across the text -- and there's a sound like a needle across a record (record players keep showing up throughout the movie) and then Daniel catches a groove, and begins to read, singing a prayer, the staff moving along the text as he reads. (Daniel, in his opening scene, is shown in a close-up of an earphone in his ear; the earphone is playing rock music in his ear as he sits through a Hebrew class.)

The idea of simply allowing things to happen to one's self seems to be connected, at a profound level, to the distinctions between ancient Greek and Hebrew thought -- a foundational division in Western thought. Greek (and not-so-distantly related Indian) religion and philosophy emphasized the image, the aspects of vision and form. The Romans continued this. In contrast, God's command to the Jews was often "Hear, O Israel!" Where the Greeks (and Indians) reveled in physical forms, depictions of bodies, God forbade the Jews from creating or worshiping graven images, and emphasized the word. Greek and Indian gods appeared, took physical form; the Jewish God was never seen -- only heard.

So there is plainly a theme here, of being open to the world, allowing it to act upon you -- perhaps as a way of hearing God's voice -- but it's unclear if the filmmakers endorse this attitude toward the world, find it flawed, or simply find it a hilarious premise: have a character to whom things happen, and who is unable or unwilling to actually do anything. The film suggests, undermining its opening quote, that doing nothing is not always the moral, ethical, or wise choice.

In the bizarre but fascinating opening scene, a husband and wife confront a possible dybbuk -- a possessed body. The husband laughs off the possibility that the visitor is a dybbuk, but the wife takes action, stabbing the dybbuk with an ice pick. The strong suggestion, in my reading, was that the wife was correct to act -- though we cannot say with certainty that she was not wrong, and did not bring down a curse upon the family. Either way, the scene seems difficult to square with Gopnik's story.

Later, the father of one of Gopnik's students, referring to a perplexing situation Gopnik does not understand, urges Gopnik to "accept the mystery." In his class, Gopnik completes a proof "showing with certainty that the only thing we can be certain of is uncertainty" (a line that seemed a bit on-the-nose). The filmmakers seem to be trying to underline this theme of allowing the world to happen to one's self and accepting uncertainty, but they show how this posture can lead to the collapse of everything. And when Gopnik does act, at the end of the film, it appears that he's immediately punished for it, with an ominous call from his physician (following up with Larry on the results of the physical exam we saw at the opening of the film). At the same time, a tornado is approaching Daniel's Hebrew school, and the children are milling around in the parking lot, watching it come -- doing nothing -- suggesting that passivity, and allowing the world to happen to you is often a terrible idea.

No doubt, the contradictory messages were intentionally constructed. And perhaps the filmmakers mean for us to accept the mystery of not knowing whether the film is suggesting that we should accept the world as it comes to us or attempt to change it. Perhaps the ultimate answer, as one of the rabbis Gopnik consults suggest, really does not matter -- or we're not entitled to it (if there is one). That the film raises these questions in such an interesting way is in itself a major feat.

The technical aspects of the film are superb. The story of the inscribed teeth, set to Jimi Hendrix, is hallucinatory, incredible. The actors, mostly unknowns in Hollywood, are all excellent. The cinematography is wonderful.

To say to the audience "accept the mystery" could be seen as a cheap cop out -- somewhat like the "twist" in SHUTTER ISLAND. But it feels richer, more substantial that that. This film is full of substance, full of matter to be considered. It is confusing, seemingly contradictory, and not fully coherent, but it feels like an attempt to struggle with how to see the world. But that may be a reading too serious for the film, which in its choice of title, goads us not to take the film seriously, and to laugh at the absurd things that befall Gopnik. A-

Why Do Countries Care About Winning Olympic Medals?

2010-02-17T17:04:00.000-08:00

I may have brought this up back during the 2008 Summer Olympics, but I’m too lazy to go back and look.

Why do countries care so much about winning Olympic medals?

For example, Australia is apparently one of the top spenders on Olympic programs, investing $250 million dollars in its Olympic program and other sports annually. Canada is currently spending upwards of $150 million on a program devoted to the Winter Olympics called “Own the Podium.” (Notably, U.S. Olympic athletes currently receive little or no government funding; they rely largely on private sponsors.)

Why would Australia, Canada, or their citizens care so much about winning medals? Why would Australia or Canada be willing to spend a lot of money funding programs in efforts to win Olympic medals? Is this effort and expenditure made to demonstrate dominance and superiority for the benefit of a foreign audience? For what purpose? Is it to demonstrate dominance and superiority in relation to other countries for the benefit of the domestic audience in Australia or Canada? Again, for what purpose? To buck up their sense of pride? What is the benefit obtained in that?

I can imagine the ready responses: It’s a natural patriotic impulse, to want to win, and defeat other countries, show that Australians/Canadians are the best. The people of Australia/Canada can experience a vicarious sense of superiority when they watch one of their own win a gold medal. It’s no different than rooting for the Bears if you live in Chicago, or for the UNC basketball team if you go to UNC. (But professional sports exist to make a profit, and college sports often make money for the schools, raise the profile of the schools, etc. What does Canada actually get from winning medals -- besides a feeling of pride?)

Fischer vs. Spassky, 1972

During the Cold War, the Olympic battles between the U.S. and the U.S.S.R. (and East Germany) were just another front in the Cold War -- a continuation of the ideological battle fought by other means. Olympic victories were seen to validate the ideology and system of the prevailing side. So, the U.S. hockey team’s Miracle on Ice at Lake Placid demonstrated the vitality and spirit of the Capitalist system; the U.S.S.R.’s domination in figure skating, gymnastics, wrestling, etc. demonstrated the glories of the Worker’s Paradise. The Olympic victories during the Cold War were part of an ongoing propaganda war between the two sides, the purpose of which was to attract or keep others within the Capitalist/Communist fold. But what would Canada or Australia have to prove to other countries? Why would they care what other countries thought of them based on Olympic performances?

(Of course, there could be other benefits. National unity, perhaps providing inspiration for kids to be active and get into sports, thus producing a healthier and more productive population, etc. But these seem like pretty attenuated results.)

Winning Olympic medals doesn’t really achieve anything for Australia or Canada, or earn them anything. It’s just a nice thing, and the Australians and Canadians back home get a nice feeling inside when their athletes win. But what is that worth? I guess there’s no accounting for preferences, and if that is where a country like Australia or Canada wants to spend their money, that’s their decision. It’s probably a better use of money than spending trillions on invasions of other countries. (And maybe that is the very point?)

BMW's "We Make Joy" Campaign

2010-02-14T23:09:00.000-08:00

I wonder if the ad-makers for BMW's new advertising campaign, "We Make Joy" (see ad above), debated whether to use that particular slogan, given the ugly history of the Kraft durch Freude ("Strength through Joy") program, and its associations with the German auto industry under the Third Reich:

From 1933, [Kraft durch Freude ("KdF")] provided affordable leisure activities such as concerts, plays, libraries, day-trips and holidays. Large ships, such as the Wilhelm Gustloff, were built specially for KdF cruises. Above all, KdF was supposed to bridge the class divide by making middle-class leisure activities available to the masses.

Borrowing from the Italian fascist organization Dopolavoro ('After Work'), but extending its influence into the workplace as well, KdF rapidly developed a wide range of activities, and quickly mushroomed into one of the Third Reich's largest organizations....

The Nazis also sought to attract tourists from abroad, a task performed by Hermann Esser, one of the Ministry of Public Enlightenment and Propaganda's secretaries. A series of multilingual and colorful brochures, titled "Deutschland", advertised Germany as a peaceful, idyllic, and progressive country, on one occasion even portraying the ministry's boss, Joseph Goebbels, grinning and hamming in an unlikely photo series of the Cologne carnival.

KdF managed to set up production of an affordable car, the Kdf-Wagen, which later became known as the Volkswagen Beetle. Buyers of the car made payments and posted stamps in a stamp-savings book, which when full would be redeemed for the car. Due to the shift to wartime production, no consumer ever received a Kdf-Wagen (although after the war, Volkswagen did give some customers a 200DM discount for their stamp-books). The Beetle factory was primarily converted to Kübelwagen (the German equivalent of the Jeep) production. What few Beetles were produced went primarily to the diplomatic corps and military officials.

(Wikipedia)

Below, a fascinating 1943 U.S. war-effort propaganda cartoon, featuring Donald Duck, and parodying the Nazi's "Strength through Joy" leisure programs.

Soundings (Audio Reviews): Heligoland - Massive Attack (2010)

2010-02-10T21:24:00.000-08:00

The tyranny of our best years. In the mid-nineties, opening the mail for the college radio station, finding the promotional CDs the record companies had sent, I stumbled across a sound that immediately sucked me in: bands from England (Portishead, Massive Attack, Tricky), with a dark, hopeless air -- like Don DeLillo set to music. There was a certain aesthetic -- of gray, of twilight, of a new Brutalism in a way; a style England -- mother of the theories of both Adam Smith and Karl Marx, of the factory workday, and moth evolution affected by industrial pollution -- always seemed to flirt with.

It was music for places shrouded in mist, darkness. There is generally no sunshine in Massive Attack. If there is light, it is artificial, stark, soulless.

Portishead returned in 2008 with the masterful Third. Massive Attack has now returned from the darkness as well, with their first album since 2003.

There is more life in Heligoland than in Massive Attack's last effort, the brittle and empty 100th Window. Whereas 100th Window was flat, and much too thin, Heligoland is thick and layered, like a forest floor, covered in an imbrication of dead leaves in various states of decay, of becoming soil again.

Massive Attack have always seemed to dwell somewhere a few years in the future. Their music was often claustrophobia-inducing, attuned to the absence of choice, the institutional imprisonment of the monetary economy in the era of late capitalism. (I always think of the line "Give me evenings and weekends" from Mezzanine.)

Exemplar of the Brutalist style: Robarts Library at the University of Toronto, by by Mathers & Haldenby Architects (1973)

The glorious Blue Lines had moments of soaring, of emotions other than brooding, menace, and paranoia. The sun broke through here and there. There is more sun on the new album than one would expect.

The first track, Pray for Rain, is a good example. The song proceeds as a somber, electronic funeral dirge for much of the track, aided by vocals from TV On the Radio's Tunde Adebimpe, before giving way, somewhat inexplicably, to a few moments of joy. Splitting the Atom bops along in an underwater slow motion, but not unhappily: sort of a low-key Monster Mash. Girl I Love You is like Massive Attack after a big bowl of Fruity Pebbles, brooding with a beat you could dance to: you could put it on your workout mix and you wouldn't slow down too much. The stripped-down but insistent final track, Atlas Air, has the distinct feel of the new, but with a firm grounding in a certain familiar growling, beeping dread.

I've listened to the album only three of four times so far. Right now, it feels like the type of album that will continue to reward repeated listening, as one gets more and more lost in the layers, the heady mix of old and new, the familiar and the strange.

View from the Tank: Multi-Pak Edition

2010-02-07T11:21:00.000-08:00

It's been a while since I've done one of these, so I figured it was time.

LE SAMOURAI (1967). Wildly overrated, in my opinion. Alain Delon is comical (unintentionally so), not cool. The whole super-cool hitman schtick is ridiculous. The story is not nearly as clever or intriguing as the filmmakers appear to imagine it is. (Longtime readers may recall that I had a similar reaction to LE CERCLE ROUGE.) I think most people who profess to love this movie are into it because it is a French "gangster" movie, and that sounds cool. I guess some of the shots are interesting enough, but really, what is the big deal? B-

INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS (2009) This was the best movie of last year. This may be Tarantino's best film -- or perhaps just behind PULP FICTION. The story is fantastically inventive. The writing is never lazy. I knew something special was going on during the first scene, when Hans Landa (the incredible Cristoph Waltz) is speaking to a French farmer about rats, eagles, and squirrels: the conversation seemed like an absurd tangent, but it was irresistible, deeply satisfying -- much like the opening discussion of Big Macs and Quarter Pounders in Europe in PULP FICTION. The French pub scene must be one of the greatest scenes in any of Tarantino's films.

The film works together the best qualities of Tarantino's earlier work, brings it into an alternate history, imports fantastic German, French, and English actors, and it all works. Diane Kruger (Bridget von Hammersmark), Mélanie Laurent (Shoshanna), Daniel Brühl (Frederick Zoller), and Michael Fassbender (Archie Hicox) all turn in astoundingly good performances -- Kruger and Fassbender in particular. Brad Pitt as Aldo Raines is fine, and not nearly as much of a distraction as I expected. (The one misfire on the casting, I thought, was Eli Roth, who was terrible and over the top as Donny Donowitz, Raines's right-hand man. I cringed every time Roth spoke.)

This is a rich movie experience. It's a movie in love with movies, paying homage to Spaghetti Westerns and the films of Weimar Germany, with sly nods to gangster films, earlier Tarantino films, etc. Writing, story, and acting are all crucially important here. This film is the anti-AVATAR. Whereas AVATAR represents the elevation of the visual and technological above all else -- INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS represents what is possible when filmmakers care very much about each word of dialogue, about the inventiveness and originality of their stories, and the quality of their actors' performances. A+

THIS IS IT (2009) The one thing I remember best about this movie was being shocked by how good Michael Jackson still was, just days before his death. His voice sounded strong, and his dancing, though slightly slowed, remained mesmerizing. There was a moment during the movie (perhaps during "Man in the Mirror") when I formed a Twitter update in my mind: "Put up a satellite. Aim it away from Earth. Play this soundtrack on repeat." Thinking about it now, that would have been a dumb tweet, but it says something about the emotional impact of this film, especially for Jackson fans. We won't see his like again anytime soon. Not a great movie, but a useful historical document. B-

THE HURT LOCKER (2009) I could have done without the little quote at the beginning of the movie, something to the effect of "War is a drug." That's not a particularly interesting or insightful message, but that's all THE HURT LOCKER appears to offer. A friend of mine put it best: "It's like a Fox television show about the war." That observation seemed exactly right to me. This movie looked and felt like the makers of FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS had done a show about the war, right down to the jerky, frenetic camera work. The tension inherent in the movie -- it is, after all, mostly a series of scenes about finding and defusing bombs -- works and is handled well, the acting is fine, the dialogue simple and believable, but, still, I left the movie thinking "So what?"

Part of this might have stemmed from my disappointment with the movie's studiously apolitical approach to the war. I can somewhat understand the choice not to delve into the justness or unjustness of the war -- not all movies have to be about politics or ideology -- but the robotically neutral point of view in this movie left it feeling soulless and empty. War is not a drug. War is a choice. And this movie offers no insight into why we made our choice. B-

(500) DAYS OF SUMMER (2009) Gimmicky and cloying, with flashes of interest, but mostly mass-produced "indie-friendly" pabulum. Relying on The Smiths and "wacky" Ringo Starr references to establish some kind of "indie" or "quirky" atmosphere is lazy. The random, mixed-up chronological order of the movie was occasionally effective, but mostly felt like a gimmick. In fact, most of the embellishments in this movie (with the exception of the excellent scene set to Hall and Oates' "You Make My Dreams Come True") felt like gimmicks.

It's my view that this movie felt the need to load up on gimmicks because what was under all those gimmicks was a standard romantic comedy -- something neither indie nor quirky. So swap out Meg Ryan, swap in Zooey Deschanel (who, by now, like Michael Cera, is permanently typecast as herself), throw in some cartoons, an annoying pseudo-ironic narrator, references to The Smiths, a hip soundtrack, a scene with a table Ms. Pac Man, and, Voila! You have tricked out your standard romantic comedy as something palatable for twenty- or thirty-somethings who see themselves as hip. Note that even the title of this film is pointlessly, ostentatiously gimmicky, to no effect. What is the point of putting parentheses around 500? None. There is no point to it (besides weakly gesturing toward stale pomo maneuvers, blah). The title tries to broadcast, loud and clear, that "THIS IS A HIP MOVIE -- NOT AT ALL A STANDARD-ISSUE ROMANTIC COMEDY". It's like putting thick black-rimmed "smart" glasses on Tom Hanks. Speaking of which, Josh Gordon-Levitt is okay here, but nothing special. C

AN EDUCATION (2009) A strong, finely crafted, finely acted film, with a disappointing ending. Carey Mulligan, Peter Saarsgard, and Alfred Molina are all excellent. There's nothing groundbreaking going on here; it's just a compelling, well put together coming-of-age period piece featuring some fine actors. The ending sucked away a little bit of my enthusiasm for the film. Still, a very fine film. B+

View from the Tank: TOP-SECRET LOST Formula for Success

2010-02-04T10:48:00.000-08:00

Here is the Top-Secret LOST formula for success:

(1) kill off characters [for DRAMA!];
(2) introduce new characters [for INTRIGUE!];
(3) include miraculous CPR procedures every other episode;
(4) add close-ups of Kate/Jack/Sawyer getting weepy with the Sad Music (TM) in the background;
(5) have characters leaving "trails" or tracking "trails" in the jungle;
(6) include new mysterious sets in the jungle;
(7) play contemplative music with slow-motion scenes at the end of each episode;
(8) end season with a large explosion;
(9) liberally apply ghosts, time travel, alternate realities, and Smoke Monster.

Rinse, repeat (for six years).

Congratulations, you have created a Hit TeeVee Show that Smart People (TM) will love!

Pete's Blue Chip in Eagle Rock

2010-02-03T22:25:00.000-08:00

I feel like this review will write itself. Pete's Blue Chip, which has apparently been around forever, is a neighborhood treasure, though often invisible, sitting in plain sight on the corner of Mt. Royal and Colorado. It offers an authentic, non-chain, unslick, unsexy approach to greasy food -- an approach that has become rare. Places like The Oinkster make a big deal out of and put a lot of effort into trying to recapture the feel of an old-school neighborhood fast food joint. Pete's Blue Chip doesn't have to put in the effort, doesn't have to hire interior decorators to achieve a retro, nostalgic effect: that is because Pete's Blue Chip is in fact the real thing, not a simulation.

Zucchini fries.

This is a place where the people at the counter remember their faithful regulars, and greet them in English and Spanish. This is a place families come to regularly on weekend mornings for the massive and delicious breakfast burritos, Orange Bang, and crappy coffee. Where Eagle Rock high schoolers and neighborhood hipsters in tight jeans come for cheap but tasty zucchini fries, burgers, and the most incredible milkshakes in the neighborhood.

Orange Bang fountain.

I had my first Pete's milkshake not long ago. It was a vanilla milkshake. At first, the shake was too thick for me to be able to pull up through the straw. I kept at it, and then the first taste of it hit me. I was immediately taken back to those humid New England summers when I was a kid, getting ice cream scooped into those Eat-it-All cones, the taste of non-gourmet vanilla ice cream in that mass-produced cone that felt like styrofoam: rich, delicious, vaguely industrial. It was the best milkshake I had had in years. (I had a chocolate milkshake tonight, and it was equally amazing.)

On that same trip, I tried the zucchini fries for the first time. They were a revelation. The fries had a thick, almost breaded crust -- reminiscent of Burger King's onion rings, with the zucchini still soft and green inside. It was only later that I realized what they reminded me of -- vegetable tempura. They were fantastic with both the ranch sauce they were served with or with ketchup.

Gigantic breakfast burrito.

The garden burger here is decent. Not too different from the garden burger offered at The Oinkster. The fish sandwich I had was forgettable -- sort of an overgrown cousin of a McDonald's Filet-O-Fish.

Fish sandwich.

I couldn't finish the breakfast burrito in one sitting. The thing was gigantic. It must have weighed more than a pound. A very fine tortilla wrapped around massive portions of egg, potatoes, onions, cheese, mushrooms, spinach -- maybe some other stuff. Pete's breakfast burrito is rightly famous. It's enough for two meals. It's a delicious kitchen-sink, Pynchonesque interpretation of the breakfast burrito.

Garden burger.

I almost forget to mention the Orange Bang. People get excited about the Orange Bang here. (Senor Fish also has Orange Bang.) I like the Orange Bang okay. Mostly, it tastes to me like a melted Push-Up Pop.

The food is cheap here and wildly unhealthy. (The menu is extensive: I can't offer you opinions on the various meat offerings here, though I've heard good things.) If you get stuff to go, you'll need a plastic bag, in addition to the paper bags the food comes in, to hold in the grease. I've eaten here a couple times recently for the purpose of this review, and I'm certain I've sacrificed several weeks off my lifespan as a result. This is what I do for you, dear reader. You should go to Pete's and drink in the atmosphere (and a milkshake) -- just don't make it a habit.

Mediterranean Triangle in Eagle Rock

2010-01-28T21:36:00.001-08:00

Chicken Breast Sandwich

You will like this place.

(I've got to get this review out before all of this leaves my memory: I've recently given up chicken. I'm moving upwards on that busy and productive first week in Genesis. Once I leave behind sea creatures, I'll be up to the third day, just "plants bearing seed according to their kinds and trees bearing fruit with seed in it according to their kinds.")

I've been to Mediterranean Triangle dozens of times now. I had to be sure that I wasn't just falling for it because it was in the Super-A-grocery-store mall next to CVS, Subway, and some other nondescript, non-boutique shops, on the south side of Colorado, down Eagle Rock Boulevard, where the expensive baby strollers rarely go (unless they're parked outside of Auntie Em's).

You'll see pictures of this military-looking guy in the four painting reproductions on the wall in the dining room. The paintings are Persian, and they each feature a Persian woman in a garden; this military guy appears in small medallions once in each painting, in a different location, tiny, and a little out of focus, sort of like the royal parents in Velázquez's Las Meninas. The guy behind the counter told me, after some prodding, that the guy done in miniature in all the paintings was the old Shah. He didn't specify which one -- though it doesn't look like The Shah we think about. (The moustache is a bit too big.)

Mediterranean Triangle is trying hard to be a decent Middle Eastern place in a crappy, soulless shopping center. And they are doing a decent job of it. The restaurant is tastefully appointed, with small touches that I found instilled the dining space with some dignity -- like cloth placemats on the tables, with nice lamps hanging down over each table. Not bad for a place that's next door to a check-cashing center. You feel human eating here.

I haven't had the lamb or beef here (those are from the fifth day, which I left behind many years ago), but the chicken dishes I have had here have been excellent -- moist and tender. The chicken breast plate comes with large chunks of chicken breast, nicely seasoned, not overly marinated or doused in sauce, served on a generous bed of fluffy rice, with a bit of salad and a grilled pepper and tomato on the side. The ground chicken (the luleh) was also nice, with a little bit more of a kick of seasoning. I was surprised by how much I enjoyed the chicken breast sandwich they offer at lunch. It was huge, with a delicious sauce, onions and lettuce. It was drippy and messy, but a seriously satisfying lunch.

There's a little bar of side dishes, with Persian equivalents of hummus, baba ghanoush, and some other stuff. I was happy to find that, in addition to the standard soda fountain, they also carry mango juice here.

I have no idea why they call this the "Mediterranean Triangle." The restaurant is run by a family of very friendly Iranians, and the names of the dishes are Persian. Iran doesn't touch the Mediterranean. I guess they didn't want to go with "Caspian Triangle, ""Persian Gulf Triangle," or "Gulf of Oman Triangle." Just another mysterious detail here.

I won't oversell you on the food here: it's good, not fantastic. But for the prices (~$6 for lunch, ~$9 for dinner), you get a very solid meal, with civilized touches. You might even think about eating in here, where the TV hanging near the counter is silenced, and you can sit in peace and contemplate the cryptic paintings, with their Persian maidens, their bowls of cracked pomegranates, and a mysterious old Shah.

Chicken Luleh Kabob Plate

View from the Tank: UP IN THE AIR (2009)

2010-01-05T20:30:00.000-08:00

Every time there's a scene in a movie where someone runs through an airport, driven by love, I cringe a little. There's a scene like that in UP IN THE AIR, which is a fine movie, but not a great one.

The film is about Ryan Bingham (Clooney), who works for a company that contracts to handle firing employees for employers. Bingham flies around the country to different companies, firing individuals, handing them a glossy packet "that contains the answers to all of [their] questions," and delivering a speech about how everyone who has ever built an empire once sat in the position the person being fired finds himself in. Bingham delivers motivational speeches in various hotel ballrooms about the virtues of living with a metaphorical "empty backpack" -- free of attachments, long-term commitments, etc. All so much dead weight that ties one down -- harbingers of stagnation and death. Bingham loves the regular and standardized comforts of airports, airport hotels, airport lounges, rental cars, etc., and his life goals include reaching a certain astronomical number of frequent-flyer miles.

Bingham's way of life is threatened by two women. His beloved business-class nomadism is threatened when his company hires a young go-getter, Natalie Keener (Anna Kendrick), who proposes eliminating the face-to-face method of terminating employees and instead using something like Skype to terminate employees by webcam. And Bingham's "empty backpack" philosophy is threatened when he begins to develop feelings for a fellow corporate road warrior he meets in a airport-hotel lounge, Alex (Vera Farmiga).

A lot has been made about how timely this movie is, how tapped into the current Zeitgeist. There's some of that, sure. And the initial interviews with real-life laid-off people helps bring the pain of the last year and a half vividly to the screen. But there's something glib about the movie's attempt to tap into the pain of the recession. The final interviews suggest that getting laid off is okay, because it helps you realize what's truly important: family, the little things, etc. That may be true, but one wonders how the laid-off feel as the unemployment checks come to an end, as the house is foreclosed, etc. It's just a little too easy for the filmmakers to suggest that, hey, these laid-off people are going to be okay, they've rediscovered their love for their spouses, kids, and pets, etc.

For the most part, UP IN THE AIR does not dwell on those issues -- though it does suggest that the consequences of being laid off can indeed be terrible. But the ending interviews with the non-actors felt a little too pat, and I felt like the filmmakers were, in a way, letting themselves, and the audience, off the hook, by assuring us that these real individuals, whose pain we were contemplating as we sipped our Sprites and munched on our Gummi Bears, had found something deeper and more significant than their former jobs. It all came off as a bit glib.

As did a lot of this movie, which was, undoubtedly, well acted, well edited, and well written. It was a pretty good movie, a fine, mildly intelligent entertainment. It just wasn't a great movie. For the most part, it was predictable and unsurprising. Its main saving grace was a bravely ambiguous ending.

Part of my problem with the movie is that I have a hard time feeling sorry for George Clooney -- and we are supposed to feel, at certain points in this movie, sorry for his character, Ryan. It just doesn't work. Despite the comic antics and grimaces he's picked up from his Coen brothers work, Clooney somehow always ends up playing himself. He's always the same smooth-talking slick guy looking sharp in his suit, whether in MICHAEL CLAYTON, OCEAN'S 11, or UP IN THE AIR. (He did bravely shed his hunkiness and get fat for his relatively minor role in GOOD NIGHT, AND GOOD LUCK. And I should note that I haven't seen SYRIANA.) I have a hard time worrying for him, or feeling that things are not going to work out for him -- because he's George Clooney, and things will always work out for him. So, even during the darkest parts of this movie, I had a hard time sympathizing with Bingham, even though the movie was trying to get me to.

Clooney's a fine actor -- but I feel that he still hasn't been pushed out of a standard comfort zone (a zone that has come to include wackiness, in films like BURN AFTER READING, O BROTHER, WHERE ART THOU?, THE MEN WHO STARE AT GOATS, etc.). When he's supposed to be crushed, I still end up feeling like his situation is as in INTOLERABLE CRUELTY: he's supposed to be pathetic and sad, but it's cute and funny, because it's hilarious that we're supposed to feel sorry for a purportedly heartbroken George Clooney.

My advice, George, if you're reading this, is to play a truly dark character -- an irredeemable character -- one that doesn't come out as the hero in the end despite our initial doubts (as in MICHAEL CLAYTON). That would be something to see.

OG Rating: B+

View from the Tank: AVATAR (2009)

2010-01-02T19:48:00.000-08:00

This movie, is, in a way, James Cameron's avatar: it's a multimillion dollar product made with the latest technology, funded by huge corporations, which product Cameron uses to (ostensibly) turn against huge corporations and technology. But what is the purpose of Cameron's AVATAR? To advance his interests or the interests of his corporate backers? Their interests are intertwined: it's symbiosis. Here, the corporate interests profit by coopting protest against corporate interests. All resistance is ultimately incorporated and marketed back to the masses. And here, it's the same old shit, but in a fancy new 3-D package.

As most people on the planet know by now, AVATAR is about, in part, an alien race called the Na'vi, who live on a moon called Pandora. The Na'vi are ten feet tall and blue-skinned. Humans want a mineral ("Unobtanium") available on Pandora. As part of its attempts to convince the Na'vi to cooperate, the corporation that seeks to extract the Unobtanium finances a hugely expensive research project that grows Na'vi bodies from a hybrid of human and Na'vi DNA. Human "drivers" then "link" to these laboratory-grown Na'vi bodies and control them, like a puppetmaster manipulating a puppet. Think MATRIX, but here, the users aren't jacking into a computer grid, but into flesh -- but the concept is largely the same.

I've been fascinated to see so many smart people twist themselves into contortions in their attempts to redeem AVATAR's story and have been wondering if these people have taken leave of their senses. The story is straight cheese. There's nothing remarkable about it -- other than its slavish obedience to predictable cliches and standard genre tropes.

A lot of virtual ink has already been spilled regarding this story, so I'll try to be concise [I would say SPOILER ALERT, but really, is anyone surprised by anything that happens in this movie?]: Jake Sully, disabled former marine ends up becoming an Na'vi avatar "driver" for the corporation planning to mine Pandora; he meets a Na'vi princess and impresses her; they develop a special bond and fall in love and have sex in a magical glowing forest to an Adult Contemporary soundtrack; the princess's father is killed when the corporation attacks; Jake becomes a great Na'vi warrior, perhaps their greatest warrior (see also THE LAST SAMURAI) and decides he must help save the Na'vi from the rapacious evil corporation he works for, so he turns against the corporation and leads the Na'vi (and all of its animals, which he has summoned) into battle against the corporation and its Blackwater-style military forces; the corporation is ultimately defeated, and Pandora saved; in the end, Jake is able, through the magic of the Na'vi's Magic Tree/Great Spirit/Mother Pandora, to transfer permanently from his human body to his bioengineered, laboratory-produced Avatar body.

Sound familiar?

Yes, the world of Pandora is richly imagined, and the technology is impressive (though the power of the 3-D effects wore off on me after about twenty minutes or so), but the story is nothing better than you'd get in a decent anime film (a genre from which this film seems to have borrowed heavily), or a standard sci-fi flick.

I think what's most fascinating is how, even given this technology that allows the rendering of an alien world in minute detail, with extraordinary 3-D depth -- that is, given the ability to imagine and depict almost anything -- Cameron's alien race are ten-foot tall humanoids with blue skin, who ride horses, thank the animals they kill, shoot bows and arrows (complete with feathers), wear loincloths and headdresses, use warpaint, emit war cries, believe in the Great Spirit, etc. AVATAR displays at once both the potential of imagination, and the very real limits of imagination.

Is this movie so new and radical in its sympathetic view of the Na'vi and its cartoonish depiction of a super-evil corporation bent on devastation and plunder?

Is it so radical and bracing to come out against "shock and awe" and fighting "terror with terror" years after the administration that used these terms and tactics is out of power and national opinion has turned firmly against the preemptive war in Iraq?

Is it so radical and bracing to put out a "green" message when Exxon-Mobil, G.E., et al. are all about being "green" these days (complete with a hip soundtrack from The Postal Service)?

In a word, No. (It's funny how proponents of AVATAR's story will blithely dismiss the comparisons to DANCES WITH WOLVES. One wonders, have they seen that film recently? Do they remember its plot? But that's not really the only parallel, of course.)

It's not really new for a film to present a hero who rebels against his own civilization, or who sides with the natives against encroaching imperialists, etc.

The visual effects were impressive, and the film is undoubtedly a breakthrough in computer-generated effects and 3-D. That doesn't really excite me that much. Regardless of the technology, film will live on or die based on story, writing, and concept. Today's mind-blowing effects will soon become standard and expected, just as we got used to the once mind-blowing developments of sound, color, Smell-o-Rama, etc.

As the story goes, when one of the first motion pictures was publicly screened -- the Lumiere Brothers' 1895 short film of a train pulling into a station -- the audience screamed and fled in panic. I feel like the puzzling attempts to find great meaning in the relatively meaningless AVATAR are a higher-order version of that panic in the face of a terrifying new technology of representation. The technology is powerful, strange, and new, sure -- but we'll get used to it soon enough. Probably by next summer. No need to take leave of our senses.

OG Grade: B-

View from the Tank: He's Just Not That Into You (2009)

2009-12-28T17:30:00.000-08:00

My thesis: HE'S JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU is to THE WIRE as ROSENCRANTZ AND GUILDENSTERN ARE DEAD is to HAMLET -- sort of. Or perhaps HJNTIY is to THE WIRE as THE WIND DONE GONE is to GONE WITH THE WIND. That is to say, HJNTIY, which was based on a book which was inspired from a line from the TV show SEX & THE CITY, is sort of a bizarro supplement to THE WIRE, or, in some ways, the anti-WIRE.

My reasoning: Both shows are set in Baltimore. THE WIRE focuses on the drug trade, turf battles between gangs, organized crime, policing, corruption in city politics, the educational system, etc., all the while spending a great deal of attention on black characters, and fleshing out those characters into some of the great characters in recent American television (see, e.g., Stringer Bell, Omar Little, et al.)

HJNTIY appears to take place at about the same time as THE WIRE, but where THE WIRE shows us what happens in Baltimore's ghettos, its inner-city schools, its docks, its police departments, etc., HJNTIY focuses on the doings and relationships of a remarkably undiverse cast featuring Jennifer Aniston, Ben Affleck, the Mac guy (Justin Long), E from ENTOURAGE (Kevin Connolly, playing essentially the same character he plays on the HBO show), Drew Barrymore, Jennifer Connelly, Scarlet Johansson, Bradley Cooper, et al. You get the picture (or just see above).

Why is HJNTIY set in Baltimore? What are its creators trying to tell us with this curious choice of location? Why isn't this movie set in a nice part of San Francisco or Boston, or on the Upper West Side, or Silverlake? Why Baltimore? Why would you put an all-white cast in a story in Baltimore? As of 2006, the racial makeup of Baltimore was 64.85% African American, 31.28% white, 0.32% native American, 1.53% Asian, and 1.70% of the population were Hispanic or Latino of any race. The casting this movie set in Baltimore must be trying to send some kind of message, right?

A tip off (no pun intended): when we first meet Justin Long's character, he is sitting in Conor's fancy apartment (this could have been one of those waterfront condos Stringer Bell was planning to develop), watching hockey. Hockey, as you may know, is easily the whitest major team sport in the U.S. And Baltimore doesn't even have an NHL team.

Of course, we should've noticed some issues in the opening sequences, where the filmmakers try to "universalize" the problem of wondering when that guy is going to call by having women in different places in the world discuss this issue. There is the obligatory scene in Japan (the most exotic place our filmmakers can think of! so weird, so different, so EXOTIC) where one woman comforts another by suggesting that maybe that guy just lost her cell phone number. And then there is the piece-de-resistance of the opening, where two African women, squatting on the ground around an open fire, surrounded by huts, talk about why one of the women hasn't heard back from some guy. Her friend suggests that maybe he "lost her hut number" or perhaps "got eaten by a lion." Har, har, har! Get it, target demographic of Jennifer Aniston/Ben Affleck/Bradley Cooper/Scarlett Johansson fans? Because people in Africa totally sit by fires, live in huts, and get eaten by lions. AHAHAHA.

Some scenes from HJNTIY are directly reminiscent of THE WIRE. Conor takes his sort-of girlfriend, Anna (Johansson) to a house in a "new" and "upcoming" neighborhood. The neighborhood looks a little like the neighborhood where Omar Little hung out in an abandoned house with his boyfriend for a while (eating cereal when he had milk). Conor explains that gay couples, young families have "discovered" the neighborhood, and that it's becoming a "nice" neighborhood. (Paraphrasing here.) That is, nice people are now moving in: the middle-class, white, etc. These are the silent white yuppies that we never saw in THE WIRE: in HJNTIY, these figures, who were so marginal in THE WIRE, who were alluded to from time to time, but never shown, are front and center, and we get to find out all of the rich details of their lives, just as the lives of the slaves are revealed in THE WIND DONE GONE.

For example, we find out that some of these white yuppies stare at their cell phones as they do downward dog in their yoga classes. We find out that some of them spend a lot of time and money remodeling their apartments. We find out that some of them worry that their long-term boyfriends don't want to get married. It's riveting stuff, really. (It's the equivalent of the coin-flipping scenes in Stoppard's ROSENCRANTZ & GUILDENSTERN). (Additional interesting parallel: where we see the ports and the dockworkers in THE WIRE, we see Ben Affleck hiding out in his private boat at some marina in HJNTIY.)

Sadly, this is not all fun. There's something toxic about HJNTIY's treatment and attitude toward race. There's a scene where Anna (Johansson) and Mary (Barrymore) are getting their nails done at a salon, and the camera lingers for a while at a line of Asian women kneeling at Anna's and Mary's bare feet, buffing and polishing their toenails. The filmmakers, in their sensitive wisdom, ease the harshness of this contrast by putting, out of focus in the background, a black woman next to Anna. (Subtext: yes, it's a bunch of Asian women kneeling at these yuppies' feet, but hey, there's also a black woman getting her nails done!) At another point, Alex (Long) is making out with a black woman, but turns away from her and ignores her when he gets a call from Gigi (Ginnefer Goodwin). Alex's black date comes off, in this treatment, as the equivalent of the Asian pedicurists -- offering a service to Alex, when he is actually interested in interacting with a real person -- fellow white yuppie Gigi.

Perhaps where the movie goes most wrong is in its sole attempt to give some lines and some "personality" to a non-white character. Janine (Connelly) interrogates her contractor, Javier (the excellent Luis Guzmán), who is overseeing her extensive and fancy house renovations. The "humor" in this exchange comes from Javier's "surprising" concern with grammar: at one point, he notes that Janine used "a lot of prepositions" in a row in a question. Get it, HJNTIY target audience? It's funny, because this Mexican guy knows English grammar! Hilarious!

Just for fun, the filmmakers also throw in some fake interviews with people complaining about relationship problems. One of these interviews features two overweight black women sitting on a bench. One of the women ends by saying something to the effect of, "If he says that, then girl, go get some ribs, because you've been dumped." And the other woman says something like "Mmm-hmm," in a "super-black" way. (As intended to be read by the HJNTIY target audience.)

I'm ashamed to say that I watched this entire movie on some premium cable channel last week and was mildly entertained by it. But as the movie settled in my head, sort of like a box of fifteen cold, greasy chicken McNuggets might settle in your stomach, I was more and more grossed out. I really do feel that there's something weird going on with the choice of the FRIENDS-style monochromatic cast, the provocative choice of location, etc. Where THE WIRE gave flesh and feeling and humanity to characters that had never received that treatment before, HJNTIY turns back the clock, and reasserts the order of things: yuppies sitting in pedicure chairs over kneeling minority women, yuppies screaming at their Hispanic contractors, etc., etc.

Whatever -- this movie is bad for America.

[New grading system] C

Cindy's in Eagle Rock

2009-11-18T21:33:00.000-08:00

Cindy's must choose: is it a restaurant that sometimes serves as a movie set, or is it a movie set that happens to serve food?

Cindy's, which is so often used as a location for shooting movies and television shows, is a classic, old-time, roadside diner -- or at least, a decent simulation of one. Sometimes it feels like the food is part of the simulation as well.

I'm almost tempted to not even mention the food at Cindy's. It's exactly what you might expect: something between junior high dining hall fare, hospital cafeteria, and airline food. Okay, that's a little rough. I think the pancakes are okay, but I like McDonald's pancakes. The omelets are serviceable, as are the home fries. The minestrone soup I had there the other day tasted like it might have come out of a can, but in that delicious, irresistible way: I scraped up every bit. I had a veggie burger at dinner, and it seemed like the burger had been taken out of a bag and thawed out. The cole slaw the veggie burger came with was tasty -- in a shameless, artery-hardening way. Juices here are that unnatural color of concentrate drinks associated with the space program during the early cold war.

But eating at Cindy's is, if you're being honest with yourself, more about the aesthetic experience and atmosphere than anything else. You feel like you're on a road trip in the early 60's or in an early Tarantino movie. (Though the diner scene in RESERVOIR DOGS was filmed at another Eagle Rock diner -- Pat and Lorraine's.)

Pancakes. They've improved a bit in the last year or so. They're a little fluffier these days.

There's an important thing to keep in mind as you're grousing about the boring, institutional food served at Cindy's: this is what the people who come to Cindy's actually like. Cindy's target demographic skews toward the elderly side of Eagle Rock's population. Cindy's is open for dinner, and the dinner crowd here filters in around 5 p.m. (It's like the fourth book of the Rabbit Tetralogy.)

Minestrone soup. This is the kind of place where your soup crackers come in plastic wrappers.

The young often want the old-school charm and authenticity of our fair neighborhood without having to actually deal with the older residents who have imbued our neighborhood with that charm and authenticity. And it's true, the generational split sometimes comes to the fore, as it did in the submarining of the proposed (and feared) "Fat Dog Lounge" on Colorado in the location that eventually became the less offensive Cardio Barre.

We, the (relatively) young, see ourselves as winged messengers of progress, enlightenment, and advancement. We imagine the possibilities for transformation and change are wide open, endless before us. And we come bearing our feeling of entitlement. We like to talk about how Eagle Rock would be so improved, so much cooler if we eliminated the "eyesores," if we just cleared out or razed this place or that.

Cole slaw with a side of veggie burger.

There are two different moods -- two different worlds, really -- at Cindy's. There's the morning, which is like the morning at diners like this all across America: full of hope, possibility, the bright orange of the booths perfectly setting off the brown of the famously weak coffee. People are opening fresh copies of the paper, the sun is just coming up, the windows are full of bright morning light, everything is ahead of you.

And then there's Cindy's at night. If you've only been here for breakfast or brunch, I recommend that you stop by here some evening for dinner. (Given the usual dinner crowd, dinner ends around 6:30 or so.) It's much quieter, and there's a hushed, contemplative mood. The diner's sign stands out of the early darkness like a gas station sign in an Ed Ruscha painting. An elderly couple sits in a booth in the orange fluorescence of Cindy's on a Monday evening for dinner at 5:45, wordless.

In the bright light of Cindy's at night, the American night -- the black emptiness outside -- feels massive. The day seems to have passed so quickly. What opened with such hope and possibility now comes to a hushed ending. One sits in silence, eating something forgettable, but familiar, and comforting. And one hopes for just a few more bright mornings, where one is grateful even for the weak brown coffee.

Sitting in Cindy's at night, with the booths largely empty, the staff beginning to put things away and prepare for closing, the future doesn't feel quite so huge and expansive anymore, but the American night feels terrifyingly boundless.

This is a place our older neighbors cherish. It's been around forever. It's not hip, and it's not on Jonathan Gold's list, but it's a neighborhood institution. We shouldn't pretend to understand until we've sat a while in our older neighbors' places. Day's end comes sooner than we imagine, for all of us.

But morning always comes, and Cindy's will be open at the crack of dawn for breakfast -- they'll have some of their weak coffee, ready for you.

Lemongrass in Eagle Rock

2009-11-15T20:59:00.001-08:00

Spring Rolls

Lemongrass has very clean bathrooms. For some of you, that right there might tell you everything you need to know about this place (viz., Vietnamese food that's not ultra-authentic, and not served in an appropriately grimy location). But give it a chance, despite the spotless and tastefully decorated bathrooms.

It's kind of a mint-green nineties vibe in Lemongrass, with an unfortunately designed counter that has no overhang -- so there's nowhere for people sitting at the counter to put their knees. (You have to see it to understand. It's not a big deal, but I always notice this when I come here for some reason.) There are some Buddhas perched on shelves, some paintings of women in áo dài (those long single-piece dresses), wearing ón lá (those conical straw hats), black-and-white photographs of Vietnam, etc.

The menu is pretty simple, with the Vietnamese standards: spring rolls (decent), bánh mì (Vietnamese sandwiches - pretty good), bún (noodle) dishes (okay), rice dishes (I like the cơm tôm a lot), some so-so vegetarian dishes, and, of course, phở.

Beef Phở

Mrs. Octopus is Vietnamese and is generally pretty picky and sparing with her praise for Vietnamese places around L.A. She thinks Lemongrass is okay. It'll do the job for her. She tends to have the phở bò chín nạc (well done beef) here, though, in L.A., she thinks the beef phở at Phở Cafe in Silverlake is better. Surprisingly, she thinks the phở gà (chicken) is better at Gingergrass (Silverlake). (More suprisingly, she hasn't yet been to the famous Golden Deli in San Gabriel (beef phở is the specialty there).) She generally doesn't get too excited about Lemongrass, but there have been weeks where we've been here three or four times: sometimes Mrs. Octopus just has to get phở into her system very quickly. I think it might be a medical condition for Vietnamese people.

Lemongrass Chicken

Lemongrass is an easy and pretty reasonably priced option, and I find myself defaulting to this place all the time. The food seems pretty healthy, and I don't feel gross or greasy after eating it. I'm sort of addicted to a new special they have, the Lemongrass Chicken, which is in some kind of crazy tasty lemongrass salty sauce. I can't get enough of it.

Food isn't terribly expensive here, though Mrs. Octopus and other Vietnamese people tend to get upset when bánh mì costs more than three dollars (or two dollars) -- it's like $7.95 here. Lunch specials are cheap at $6.95. Dinner for two will probably cost between $25-$30. The owners are Vietnamese, and Mrs. Octopus suspects that the primary cooks in the kitchen are Vietnamese. There were many weird issues with service in the early days, but those issues seem to have been ironed out. They have a number of beers available, including some Vietnamese beers.

This place is fine if you don't feel like trekking out somewhere for *the best* Vietnamese food you could possibly find. That is, it's totally perfect for dinner on a Tuesday. It's not the kind of place you would go out of your way for.

Now, if you ever do feel like making a trip down the 405 to Little Saigon down in Orange County, here are some fantastic places Mrs. Octopus's parents have taken us to: Canton Restaurant (fish porridge and dill turmeric fish); Phở Dakao (phở gà); and Lee's Sandwiches (bánh mì).

Finally, a short Vietnamese lesson. Vietnamese, like Chinese, Thai, and other languages in Southeast Asia, is tonal. Vietnamese has six tones: flat, rising, descending, short descending, high breaking-rising, and mid dipping-rising (like an interrogative tone). The word phở has this last tone. Also, the "o" is not hard, as in "boat", but soft, as in "book". It sounds like "fuck" but without the "ck", and as if you were asking a question, sort of like "fuh?"

Panang in Eagle Rock

2009-11-03T20:56:00.000-08:00

Are Panang's weirdly tenacious enthusiasts just wrong? Are they trying to make some kind of point? Are they woefully misguided or are they spitefully gleeful in the chaos of Panang?

These are the questions I would ask myself as I drove or walked by Panang all these years: who were these people eating inside Panang, the Thai, Chinese Sushi Restaurant?

Someone at Panang has a real problem making decisions. Why leave anything out? There are something like 145 items on the menu here -- and that's not including the sushi options. They offer Thai, Chinese, Thai-Chinese, Sushi, Korean, Vietnamese, and Mongolian. I actually felt a little offended that they didn't offer Indian.

Sad to say, I wasn't brave enough to venture beyond the Thai offerings. Some people say that Panang is a great Thai restaurant, perhaps the best Thai place in L.A. Those people are wrong.

My confrontation with Panang has been epic. I've been there multiple times over the past few weeks, trying to give it a fair chance. It's sent me into a crisis, questioning the purpose of this entire foolish project to review everything in Eagle Rock. My time with Panang has been my darkest hour in my current incarnation as neighborhood blogger: I had finally come to a place that could suck all inspiration from me.

I can be a champion of perfectly fine food, and I've even tried to make a case for mediocre food: it has its place. But Panang is just crappy. Their menu is like a gigantic outlet by the highway in some far-away place: a huge selection of shoddy, low-quality junk. I tried the pepper chicken. I asked them to make it super spicy. They made it sweet. I came in for lunch and the waitress put me at a table behind a plant and then promptly forgot that I existed. The papaya salad tasted old and smelled funky. I had the basil chicken and asked for it spicy. It came twenty minutes later sweet and insipid. I ordered a pad thai to go: it was like something out of a frozen-food bag. It wasn't terrible, but I wouldn't go out of my way to eat it again.

The pad thai cost $7.83 the guy at the counter said, surrounded by porcelain chickens and dolphins for sale. (There is a bizarre miniature shop of Asian knickknacks and useless crap at the front of the store. By the register there is a basket full of Halls and raisins. Why not have some raisins with your cough drops?) Then he said it was $8.73. I didn't really care. I gave him a $20 bill and he stared at it, befuddled, like it was part of the Dead Sea Scrolls. He fumbled with some change in the register. Then he looked around, apparently for a calculator. I told him that the change would be $11.27. He considered this, looking at me with a combination of confusion and deep suspicion. After about another minute or so of fumbling with the change drawer, he gave me, very slowly, and somewhat reluctantly, $11.27.

That's just how this place rolls. It's like a cross between a Kafka story and a Jeunet and Caro movie. You should go -- once -- just to experience the deep, oddly moving weirdness of the place.

That this place continues to stay in business is probably a testament to habit, lack of curiosity, laziness, and sheer bad taste. This place sucks.

But it'll probably still be here after all of us are dead.

Colombo's Italian Steakhouse in Eagle Rock

2009-10-13T20:55:00.000-07:00

Colombo’s is the kind of place a middle-aged man takes his ninety-year-old father on a Friday night, gets a table near the baby grand at the front of the dining room, and asks the piano player to play “Don’t Get Around Much Anymore,” telling the piano man that it’s his dad’s favorite song. As the piano player plays the song, the good son sings along, at full tilt, as his father, ancient, irreparably shriveled, mouths along – his eyes glittering with happiness.

It’s the kind of place where, on a slow Columbus Day Monday night, the musical trio serving as the entertainment for the evening call out to friends in the dining room to come up and take a turn on the mic, on the piano, or on the drums. Their friends make their way up to the stage, hugging their other friends in the dining room and the musicians in the trio.

It’s a strange place -- something between an office from the 70’s, an Edgar Allan Poe story, a SOPRANOS episode, and a pirate ship -- with red leather booths, black wrought-iron chandeliers, huge rococo paintings in massive gold frames hanging on a wall of fake wood paneling. A half-wall of more fake wood paneling and dark tinted glass separates the dining room from the bar.

And it may be the very soul of our fair neighborhood.

Salmon with black pepper crust

I’m not going to try to sell you on Colombo’s food. The food here is decent Italian steakhouse fare. No real surprises. It’s perfectly fine. I’ve had the pasta and the fish here (a nice pepper-encrusted salmon special on Columbus Day), and it’s always been okay. (Apologies again that my no-mammal rule precludes a verdict on the steak.) It’s not super cheap – you’re likely to spend around $50 for dinner for two, with drinks and appetizers.

But the food is not really the point of Colombo’s. You don’t come here to be blown away by the kitchen’s artistry or creativity.

You come here, order some pasta or some steak, maybe a baked potato and a cocktail, sit back, and absorb the groovy scene: couples on dates, weathered regulars, families crowded into booths sharing lasagna, musicians checking out their friends’ sets, and the occasional amazed thirty-something neighborhood blogger, all listening to the sets, watching as people get up from dinner to sing an old jazz standard, take a turn on the drums. Everyone’s welcome, and everyone belongs.

When you are feeling down, come here, and get a bit of joy, of people singing and playing old standards in a little dining room in Eagle Rock, warming up the dark, empty L.A. night. There’s no other place like this in the neighborhood. It’s a warm little society, but one that’s always welcoming, ready to accept you in its plush red-leather embrace. It’s live from Eagle Rock, every night. You’ll know the songs, and you’ll want to sing along. Take someone you love.

Pollos a la Brasa in Eagle Rock

2009-09-30T19:26:00.000-07:00

This is America: a slightly chubby kid comes walking into Pollos a la Brasa, waving his hands in the air, calling out "¡Hola!"

The Peruvian-American boy was saying hi to family friends he saw inside the restaurant. Everyone seems to know everyone else at Pollos a la Brasa, which is hidden away in the nondescript mini-mall next to Blockbuster on the north side of Colorado. It's a tiny, tight little world of Peruvian-American immigrants.

The boy and his family came over to their friends and told them all about other mutual friends or family they had just visited in the hospital: someone had just had a baby. The boy's father pulled out a Blackberry and showed a picture of the baby. The father of the other family asked, "¿Es un chico?" The kids cried out "¡Que lindo!" and "How cute!", slipping back and forth between English and Spanish. The boy used his sister's arm to show how big the baby was, demonstrating with his hands and saying "Así."

Pollos a la Brasa doesn't look like much inside (standard-issue molded yellow bench-table sets like Zankou) -- until it's filled with Peruvian families looking for a taste and feel of home, everyone greeting each other.

Saltado de Pollo

And what are they eating? Almost everyone was having papas, in one form or another. (The west coast of South America is the original source of all the earth's potatoes. Peru currently has several thousand varieties of potatoes.) Peruvians appear to be really into carbs.

The most famous dish here is apparently the Saltado de Pollo. (Don't be mislead by the comments on Yelp that suggest that "saltado" has anything to do with salty. "Saltado" is the past participle of "saltar," meaning to jump, or skip. I'm not sure what "saltado" has to do with this dish, but it's not the word for "salty." That word is "salado.")

1/2 Chicken with rice and beans

Saltado de Pollo is a strange dish. Sauteed pieces of chicken, with onions and tomatoes, and a soy-sauce-based sauce, covered with slightly soggy sliced potatoes that tasted a little like french fries -- though less crispy. It sounds weird, but tastes great. I do wish the dish had been a bit spicier, but I'm always saying that. (The waitress accommodated my requests for something a bit more picante by bringing me a bunch of sliced jalapeños.) The dish tastes vaguely like Chinese food -- if Chinese food came covered in slightly soggy french fries. Again, weird, but good.

Gigantic Peruvian corn

On my recent visits, I also had the rotisserie chicken, which was fantastically tender and moist, served with a big portion of white rice and some tasty beans. (Chicken is the specialty here, as the name suggests. "Brasa" means something like barbecued, rotisserie, spit-roasted, etc.) The chicken is complemented by aji sauces, red and green. The green aji tastes a bit like some kind of Chinese mustard; the red is a bit spicier. Both are lovely. The chicken here compares favorably to the famous chicken at nearby Zankou. It's a bit juicier here, whereas Zankou's chicken has slightly crispier skin, and drier meat.

I also had the giant Peruvian corn, which was, honestly, too gigantic for me to finish. Each kernel on the cob was about the size of my thumb. It was too awesome-looking not to try. The kernels were so big that you have to eat them individually. Weirdly enough, the corn tasted a bit like potato.

I've also had the seafood ceviche here, which is tasty and refreshing -- though I am admittedly not a huge ceviche fan.

Inca Kola, the Golden Cola

It's expected that you'll want to wash this all down with an Inca Kola, which touts itself as "The Golden kola". This stuff doesn't really taste like cola as we are used to it. There's something slightly fruitier about it, but in a very subdued, syrupy way. It's a little like a very light cough syrup. It's tasty enough, but most American palettes would probably be happier with the imported Coca Cola (made with cane sugar, not corn), available in the restaurant's fridge.

None of this is terribly expensive (or incredibly cheap). Expect to spend about $25 for dinner for two. Lunch specials are great here, at $5.95

On my last visit at dinnertime, the dining room was full of families out together for dinner. Parents speaking to their kids in Spanish, kids answering back in English, occasionally in Spanish, at the prodding of their parents. The TV on top of the soda fridge was showing Univision's nightly news broadcast with Jorge Ramos -- who, if you have not seen him deliver a newscast, just exudes this otherworldly calm and competence.

Jorge Ramos on Univision

The broadcast was doing what appears to be a nightly survey of the Spanish-speaking world, steadily bouncing across a giant map of South America, from country to country. Ramos finished the update on Colombia as the image zoomed up away from Colombia and then zoomed south, and settled in on Peru. Ramos gave a short report on the trial of former President Alberto Fujimori. A young mother in the restaurant turned to her two children and pointed up at the television. "¡Mira! ¡Mira!" she told them. "Eso es Peru." Her kids looked up at the TV and watched the disgraced former prime minister standing in court, as they picked up more forkfuls of Pollo de Saltado.

Peru's very far away for those kids. Pollos a la Brasa won't take them there, but it's probably as close as one can get in Eagle Rock.

The Capri in Eagle Rock

2009-09-23T18:27:00.000-07:00

Eagle Rock is inhabited by a wide variety of ethnicities and socioeconomic groups, but it is best known as an eclectic gathering of hipsters and the creative class. Eagle Rock is known for its bohemian vibe, mix of class levels, and neighborhood feel.

A core of counter-culture writers, artists and filmmakers has existed in the town since the 1920s and is being supplemented by the recent influx of hipsters. The town was well known during the late '50s, '60s and '70s for its sizable hot rodder culture, which is now almost defunct.

From the Wikipedia entry on Eagle Rock

Vegetarian pizza.

How did I know that The Capri was objectively the motherflippin' bomb, besides my own immediate, gushing love for the place? My French friend, who is now in NY (peace out homme!), offered it the highest praise possible, for him: "It's very good, for what it is."

Birra Moretti available on tap, and in pitchers.

And what is it? A hermetically sealed time capsule of a time when Eagle Rock was about hot rodders, teens with Lucky Strike boxes rolled up under their white t-shirt sleeves, their hair slicked back, when contraception was contraband. A beer-and-pizza hangout run by middle-aged, red-haired twins, one jovial, and one less so. In short, sort of like AMERICAN GRAFFITI meets TWIN PEAKS.

Let me just spill it: this is one my new favorite places in Eagle Rock. The pizza is probably better than the pizza at Casa Bianca and Brownstone, the better known places up on easily accessible, mainstream Colorado Boulevard. The Capri, in contrast, is pretty much on the downlow, a blast-from-the-past interior of green booths, red checkerboard tablecloths, Italian and American flags, and portraits of Occidental College football teams of yesteryear, all hidden behind a complicated metal facade facing Eagle Rock Boulevard. (There were no pictures of Oxy's JV basketball teams from the past -- if there had been, we might have looked for a picture of our 44th president in Tiger orange, kneeling with a hand on a basketball.)

Beef lasagna

The Capri is that mystery place next door to Auntie Em's that's not open when you're at Auntie Em's for brunch that you've always been sort of curious about but never remembered to try.

There are odd touches all around. During my visit, I was fixated on one black and white picture of the twins, as young teens, it appeared, standing and apparently yelling at someone sitting in a chair. Other pictures showed them with minor L.A. celebrities. As we were admiring some of these photos, one of the twins (I couldn't tell them apart) called out to us: "I'm the good-looking one."

Obama in the California sunshine at Occidental College in the eighties. He probably had some good times at The Capri. His future was so bright, I wonder if he wore these sunglasses at night.

I had the vegetarian pizza (onions, mushrooms, olives [sans bell peppers, per the request of my good friend Col. Mortimer] plus garlic) and it was delicious. The crust was neither thin nor thick, but medium. And during my visit, it tasted and felt just right. The other people at the table had shrimp scampi (reported to be tasty), beef lasagna (ditto), and baked ziti (ditto, from my picky French friend).

In a sign of the times, and a nod to the inexorably changing nature of the neighborhood, the beer on tap (and available in pitchers) is no longer Budweiser (U.S.A.! U.S.A.!), but the delicious Birra Moretti (Viva Italia!).

The twins on a sign in front of the restaurant. They weren't wearing shorts or tossing pizzas when we visited.

It was the last weekend in L.A. for my French friend, and his first time to The Capri. No doubt, he was feeling some advance nostalgia for our fair city. I could see why The Capri made an impression on him. The Capri is a place that oozes nostalgia. It's that idyllic, archetypal All-American hangout: the guys drive their '57 T-bird over, hang out with a few pitchers of, um, birra, and a few pepperoni pies, and celebrate the bracing Californian pursuit of happiness. (Sadly, there would probably be a drag race on Colorado involved sometime afterward.) It's probably the kind of place the guys over at Tritch Hardware used to hang out at when they were young.

Baked ziti

It's a place unspoilt by modishness or current fashions (putting aside the birra), untouched by the marauding hordes working their way down Jonathan Gold's 99 list.

But it's not just a super old-school nostalgia this place invokes. It reminds me of Friday nights in Connecticut, when my mom would take my brother and me to the pizza place next to our barber shop before my dad got home. We would get root beers and pizza with onions and mushrooms. It was a delicious reward for making it through another week of social studies, long division, hallway bullying, and soccer tryouts. It was Friday night in America, and we were free to do whatever we wanted. My mom would drive us through the town, playing Hindi music loud on the Caprice Classic's stereo, on the way to the pizza place.

And that's what I remembered, as I took my first bite of the pizza at The Capri: my own American youth. It's a place you'll want to come back to.

OK Chinese Food in Eagle Rock

2009-09-20T13:54:00.000-07:00

Not every hole in the wall will be a gem in the rough. Sometimes, it’ll just be a piece of coal: not pretty, not memorable, but functional, if potentially noxious. As tempting as it is to want to love dingy little cheap dives, they can’t all be great. Some of them will suck, or be just OK.

The aptly named OK Chinese Food , in the La Fuente mini mall on Colorado (near Eagle Rock Blvd.), falls into the latter category. There are no attempts at anything too memorable here. It’s essentially a seedier version of Panda Express, without the uniforms or the brand consultants. Certainly, no one was consulted on the name choice.

The dishes on the steam trays are mostly forgettable, warmed-over, MSG-delivery-vehicle goop. (The spicy chicken and mushroom chicken that I tried were meh.) But at the far end of the steam trays is OK Chinese Food’s pièce de résistance: the pepper chicken wings. (Don't get too excited.)

Pepper Chicken Wings, Spicy Chicken, and Chow mein: $5.27. Sometimes, you get what you pay for.

The wings are widely celebrated among OK Chinese Food’s numerous enthusiasts, and the wings are probably the only reason to endure the grim service and atmosphere of OK Chinese Food. The service here is usually joyless and distracted. The interior is pretty much classic crappy mini-mall Chinese place (complete with yellowing ads for Boba Tea, empty jugs of unidentifiable liquid scattered on the floor behind the counter, thousands of plastic bags stacked and ready for deployment). It’s probably fair to say that OK Chinese Food is not too concerned with running a “green” operation.

The wings were not as spicy as I would have hoped. The woman at the counter, who wanted to be done with me, told me they were “just a little spicy.” I couldn’t really detect any spice. The wings were certainly salty, and would probably be more accurately named OK Salty Fried Chicken Wings. They're heavily battered and deeply fried. The effect is not too different from KFC Hot Wings (from what I can remember of those) but saltier. The wings are good, but I don’t see how or why they could have inspired the mini cult following OK Chinese Food appears to have.

The plus side: they are not stingy with the portions. They will stuff the styrofoam take-out tray with food till it’s near bursting. You can get a very big, if not exactly wonderful, meal here for about $5. And you will probably finish it all, once you are in thrall to the chemical dictates of the MSG. You’ll probably feel a little guilty and unhealthy afterwards. OK Chinese Food gets a B from the Health Department; it’s certainly not immaculate, but you probably won’t get sick. High praise, I know.

Mini Melt Too Comics in Eagle Rock

2009-09-16T18:41:00.000-07:00

First, we need to clear up the record: Mini Melt Too Comics says they did not, as many suspect, and as this blog has suggested in the past, run Another World Comics out of business. So don't be mad at them about that.

The story I was told by the friendly Mini Melt Comics employee the other day went like this: Another World Comics was there next door (in the blue building that is now empty, to the left of Mini Melt), but the Mini Melt people had it on good authority (i.e., the owner of the paintball store to the right of Mini Melt) that Another World was closing down. So Mini Melt moved in a few years ago (the Mini Melt Mothership is in Hollywood), and, soon after, the owners of Another World, as foretold by the paintball guy, decided to give up their shop, or "retire" as the Mini Melt guy put it.

But then, in a bizarre and unforeseen move, Another World's landlord decided to keep Another World going, taking over the store, and continuing to operate it. The Mini Melt guy noted that the landlord had had no idea about comics and was doing silly things like "having wine tastings" at the shop. That actually sounded like a fantastic idea to me, and I suggested that Mini Melt could do a joint event with Colorado Wine Company. The Mini Melt guy said they had issues about space in the narrow confines of their shop.

After a few months of running Another World, the landlord apparently got bored, and just suddenly shut it down. After that, there was some talk of a pot clinic called "Green Goddess" moving into the space (they even put up a sign), but then that fell apart.

Mini Melt is a fun place. It can't help but be. It's a comic store. The staff there is appropriately geeky and serious about their comics. They try hard not to make you feel silly when you ask a question that demonstrates that you are unschooled in the history and lore of comics. But make no mistake, the staff here is serious about their comics.

Apparently, their customers are, too. Some customers have apparently complained that Mini Melt's comic archives aren't deep enough to satisfy their demands for completion. I've always found the selection perfectly adequate for my relatively minimal needs. But, yes, Mini Melt is no Forbidden Planet at Union Square (my old favorite NYC haunt). It's not a huge place. But if you need a Gremlins figurine, a Count Chocula action figure, a Green Lantern t-shirt, a Robotech motorcycle in the box, the latest issue of THE INCREDIBLE HULK, or a five-foot tall Godzilla, this is the place to go in the neighborhood.

Of course, I haven't been reading a lot of comics since Optic Nerve and X-Statix ended their runs a few years ago. Also, I've sort of felt that comics have gone a little too Believer Mag lately. When the hipsters started showing up at comic conventions, it was sort of over, I think. (I'll save for another post the offensiveness of hipsters horning in on and appropriating nerd/geek chic and culture without paying the dues of pain, mockery, abject uncoolness that true nerds and geeks must endure.)

But can I tell you why I love comic book stores like Mini Melt? So before a Star Trek marathon I held at my place a month or so before the recent STAR TREK movie (that right there is, what we call in the legal business, an admission against interest), I went to Mini Melt to buy some Star Trek stuff. I asked if they had a U.S.S. Enterprise. The guy behind the counter said they had one, but it was out of the box, dusty, and didn't have the stand. I took a look at the toy, haggled over the price a little, and then paid for it.

The cashier asked me if I wanted a bag or if I wanted to "just fly it out of here." I said I would just fly it out on impulse drive. As I walked out of the shop and onto the sidewalk, holding the Enterprise in my hand, a pick-up truck stopped at the curb in front of the shop. The two guys in the truck looked out at me, and one asked the other "Is that Star Trek, man?" The other guy told him it was. Then the first guy leaned out the window and yelled out to me: "Hey man! Is that Star Trek?" I said yes, and held the Enterprise closer for him to inspect. He took a look and yelled out "I love that shit, man!" I said "I do, too," and then they pulled away, exulting about Star Trek. The Star Trek marathon at my place the next day was, obviously, off the hook.

Elvira's in Eagle Rock

2009-09-14T18:59:00.000-07:00

Continuing our "gem-in-the-rough" or "incredible-hole-in-the-wall" theme (while recognizing its overuse), we turn our attention to Elvira's in Eagle Rock.

Elvira's is, of course, sign-less, wedged in between Domino's and a dry cleaners. You could go years in the neighborhood and never notice it. That is in fact what I did.

Vegetarian taco

Often, the hole-in-the-wall restaurant story involves a depressing, crappy-looking exterior, which, if the restaurant-goer is intrepid enough to ignore it, gives way to reveal an entirely unexpectedly chic and stylish interior. (See, for example, Pho Cafe in Silverlake.)

Chicken taco

Elvira's doesn't fit this template. You walk into this place and it feels like you've just walked into one of the cheaper restaurants in Tijuana. Actually, the place hardly feels like a restaurant. Random items are scattered about. There's a bubble gum machine, random post-it notes with numbers for random people, decorative butterflies on the wall, old calendars, old pens, a boom box on a chair, plastic bags filled with mysterious contents, etc. Inexplicably, there's a giant mural of a tropical beach scene on one wall. It feels like Elvira leased this space and made it her second home. Random items she might need are lying around.

Elvira taking catering orders in the dining room.

There are tables for eating in (glass tabletops over maroon tablecloths), but most people that come here seem to order para llevar. (The business model here is better understood when you realize that most of Elvira's business comes from catering.)

Chicken taco

But it's worth sticking around once in a while, to chat with Elvira. She's a lovely woman, who clearly enjoys interacting with her customers. Often, she will make your order herself. The place is so intimate that you're inevitably drawn into some small talk with Elvira and her staff, especially if you speak a little Spanish. (If you do, Elvira will happily start chatting you up, with obvious delight.)

The food here doesn't taste like restaurant food. It tastes like food you might have if you were invited over to someone's house -- someone who had been making Mexican food in her own kitchen for decades. On my recent visits, I had chicken tacos and a chicken burrito. They were simply -- humbly -- presented, but they were delicious.

The term "homemade" is tossed around irresponsibly, but it truly fits here. Elvira's dishes are lovingly made, with a homey (and homely) aura of authenticity that one doesn't quite find at Elvira's spiffier competitors. The chicken in the tacos and the burrito was shredded and cooked to a tender, juicy perfection that melted in my mouth. The tacos (less than $2) were generously sized, as was the burrito, which made up an entire meal in itself ($4.95).

This is the kind of place you might come to when you are feeling homesick, miss your mom, or just need a good meal that tastes like home.

Thai Spirit in Eagle Rock

2009-09-08T17:57:00.001-07:00

The internet is a realm of reckless superlatives. Something must be the best ever, the most fantastic, totally mind-blowing, or crazy to get our fickle attention above the din of the information carnival. This, I think, tends to lead to unfortunate exaggeration, excessive reliance on superlatives, unnecessarily and unjustifiedly provocative positions and statements, etc. It's as if we're shouting to be heard, and, realizing that we are always one click away from being ignored, must do backflips, show some serious cleavage, and set off large explosions to get anyone's attention.

Lunch special vegetable soup.

Thai Spirit will likely not be the best Thai (or Thai-Chinese) restaurant you will ever visit.

However, it is an indispensable place, and one that deserves to be visited often. It has what is probably, dollar-for-dollar, the best lunch value in the neighborhood, and very solid Thai-Chinese offerings. Crucially, for my purposes, they are not afraid to make things really fucking spicy here -- if that's what you ask for.

And let's be honest for a minute: not every meal you eat must be life-changing, or incredible. Despite the proliferation of food blogs and restaurant review sites, not every meal has to be impeccably researched, cross-referenced, and legitimized by critical opinion as the best. Sometimes, you just want to go somewhere close, easy, and decent.

The lunch special salad.

I'm embarrassed to admit that I ignored Thai Spirit for years. I committed the cardinal Los Angeles sin: I judged the book by its cover. I figured that the dingy, crappy looking hole-in-the-wall next to Yum Yum Donuts and the tire place was probably as crappy as it looked. It was if I had learned nothing from years of discovering -- yes -- mind blowing places in crappy looking strip malls in the Valley, in Hollywood, in Glendale, etc. And I will concede here that the whole "hidden gem in a shitty strip mall" trope is an overused and played L.A. theme -- but it's often still true.

Papaya salad. Spicy.

So finally, when my little brother, visiting from out of town, tried Thai Spirit on his own, and reported that it was actually pretty good, and really generous with the portions, I tried it, and I was very glad that I did.

Garlic pepper chicken. Extra spicy.

Again, I am not trying to tell you that Thai Spirit will leave you speechless or trembling with gratitude. I am here to tell you that it's a very solid Thai-Chinese restaurant. And that for $5.95 you can get an excellent lunch that includes: (1) a fine salad with a Thai-like dressing (or egg rolls); (2) a delicious vegetable soup that you will scoop up every last drop of; and (3) a very large serving of whatever you order that you will be hard pressed to finish by yourself in one sitting.

Spicy basil noodles.

Dinners here are fine -- good. They seem to do a brisk delivery business in Eagle Rock, as the phone has been off the hook whenever I've been there at dinner. All the standards are fine here. The papaya salad was refreshingly spicy and fresh. The basil chicken and spicy basil (flat) noodles were very good. Again, not life-changing, but very fine. Washing it all down with a cold Singha (served in a frosted mug, in a very thoughtful touch), I was feeling totally copacetic, ensconced in one of their weird little Thai-temple booths. (It felt a little like the scenes between Fred MacMurray and Shirley MacLaine in the Chinese restaurant in THE APARTMENT.)

Everything will be fresh, and they won't be sparing with the seasoning. I was very impressed on my first visit when I ordered the basil chicken and it came out with loads of fresh basil. And as I mentioned above, if you ask, they will make stuff super spicy.

Spicy basil chicken.

This is the kind of place that could become your neighborhood comfort food spot. I have fond memories of going out to eat Chinese with my folks back in Connecticut on Christmas (it was us and the Jewish folks at the local Chinese place), when everyone else was at home with their holiday hams drinking eggnog and watching IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE. Thai Spirit is the kind of place you'll want to come back to. Close to home, cheap, tasty, friendly, not too busy -- sort of your own secret place (especially if you're hiding in one of the temple-booths). Everyone needs a place like that.

Having a hard time deciding between the Singha or the Thai iced tea.

Colorado Donuts in Eagle Rock

2009-09-02T18:45:00.000-07:00

Toasted coconut donut.

It's a cold world. Who cares whether you live or die? Who cares if you continue to fall, ever further, into the abyss?

Let's take a moment to appreciate Colorado Donuts (Colorado & Townsend). If, as I have, over the past year or so, you have run Doomsday scenarios through your mind, trying to figure out how long you could last on your savings, if you sold all your books, sold your car and started riding the bus, if you pawned your musical instruments and sporting equipment, etc., perhaps you factored in the cost of keeping yourself alive. Well factor this in: you can eat a decent meal at Colorado Donuts almost anytime for $3.25.

Yes, this place sells donuts and crullers and things like that. And they are fine. They are good. They are like the donuts at any of the thousand other donut shops in L.A. (Does L.A. have the greatest number of donut shops per capita of any U.S. city? Has anyone studied this?) That's not what I'm here to discuss.

Turkey sandwich on French bread.

Colorado Donuts offers the best value for a meal of any place I know in Eagle Rock. For $3.25 to $3.50 you can get a freshly made sandwich on French bread, a croissant, or a bagel, with turkey, tuna, ham, etc., topped with cheese, mayo, mustard, peppers, lettuce, onions, etc. And it will be a good sandwich. The croissant sandwich in particular is surprisingly good and rivals sandwiches you would get for twice the price elsewhere. It won't be a gourmet sandwich on "rustic" bread with "rustic" ingredients like "free range" turkey or "heirloom" tomatoes, but it will be satisfying, it will be freshly made, and it will be cheap.

You and your significant other can eat dinner (with tap water) for about $7.50, total. And it's healthier and tastier than Taco Bell or other crap in the price range. And it'll be made for you right there, by the unfailingly friendly people at Colorado Donuts. They are there late, every night, after other food options in Eagle Rock close at their absurdly early Florida-retirement-community hours, ready to happily make you a cheap, fairly healthy and satisfying sandwich.

Sure, this is a place that has a wall of scratch offs that regulars spend hours wasting their dwindling dollars on. Sure, walking into the place can make you feel like you are showing up at the unemployment office to register for benefits. Still, there have been nights where the warmth of Colorado Donuts and the people working there (an Asian family) have -- after I've come from driving through the empty, soulless streets of a dystopic late night in Los Angeles -- made my eyes misty with gratitude.

There is always hope. It's some comfort to know that you can survive on perfectly decent $3.25 sandwiches while you rebuild, maintain some dignity, and have some warm human contact with people who will remember you, remember the way you like your sandwich, and who will offer you a genuine smile with your food at your darkest hour -- when you most need it.

Long live Colorado Donuts.

Auntie Em's in Eagle Rock

2009-08-31T21:42:00.001-07:00

Auntie Em's apparently used to be a different type of place, under the same name. As one of the waitstaff explained to a nearby diner last night, Auntie Em's used to be the kind of place that served "ham sandwiches" on "wheat and white bread." (The words "white bread" were used several times in this description, with no apparent effect on the listening diners.) Then, a few years ago, the owner decided to go in a different direction, "brighten up" the interior, and change up the menu. The waitress noted that every now and then, older neighborhood residents would come in and complain that "everything had changed," and that they no longer had "American cheese," or "ham sandwiches on white bread."

Tossed cobb salad

Today, Auntie Em's is definitely no longer a place that serves ham sandwiches on white bread. It's a place where the staff appear to be required, as a condition of employment, to have either arm tattoos (arm tattoos are the hipster khakis) or non-traditional piercings, and where the waitstaff and cooks likely swap Judith Butler and Naomi Klein books after closing. It feels very much like a place run by recent Bennington or Oberlin grads who sneer at traditional career paths, corporate agriculture, and white bread. You might notice that the place isn't antiseptically clean, hairnets are not worn in the kitchen, etc. That's all fine with me (though if I were feeling cynical I might say something about how the ostentatious dishabille stems from a deep belief that white hipsters from the suburbs are never really "dirty" and can't really get you "sick" and that most Americans are unhealthily obsessed with "cleanliness.") But these being educated hipsters running the place, nothing will actually be dirty. It's just sort of an image that the place puts forth.

Gazpacho.

Enough about the hang-ups and bugbears of your reviewer. Let's talk about the food. The food here is almost always excellent. Mrs. Octopus and I have visited many times, usually at brunch. (We've started to go to brunch here less often, as the place has become a total madhouse at brunch time in the past few years, with yupsters from all over the Eastside piled many deep on the sidewalk waiting for a table, holding their hip babies, interesting dogs, and copies of the Sunday New York Times.) But when you do finally get a table, brunches are always satisfying. The pancakes are delicious, as are the open-faced sandwiches. Mrs. Octopus is a fan of the applewood smoked bacon open sandwich; I have enjoyed the Cajun turkey sausage open sandwich (which has a pleasing and surprising kick). The coffee is good, though there's a sort of chaotic system of self-serve for the coffee in a back corner, which can sometimes get a little tricky when the place is crowded.

Seasonal salad.

The pastries and baked goods are probably the highlight of any trip to Auntie Em's. You will be told that you must try the red velvet cupcake, and you probably should just to say you have -- though my view is that the red velvet cupcake here is a bit overrated. The coconut cupcake is probably better. Moreover, I don't think the cupcakes are necessarily the best pastries they serve here. Try something off of their seasonal pastry menu. On my last visit, I had a delectable strawberry fig crisp, which was sort of like a crumble of stuff over a very fresh, purply, gooey strawberry-fig concoction. It was fantastic.

Strawberry fig crisp.

I'm becoming a fan of going to Auntie Em's for a late lunch or even dinner. They're open till 7 most nights, and you'll hardly ever find much of a crowd here after 2 or 3 in the afternoon. After the crowds have left, the place feels much more relaxed. It's just you and the waitstaff and their impeccable Ipod playlists, and you can take your time and really enjoy the food, which really is made with some care and thought. I've had their massive salads at lunch and dinner lately. The seasonal salad (squash, bell peppers, other stuff) and tossed cobb salad (avocado, chicken breast, butter lettuce, blue cheese, egg) are huge and delicious. You'll finish them feeling totally satisfied and slightly healthier.

The daily soups are also worth trying. On my last visit, I had an interesting gazpacho, with chunks of heirloom tomatoes, onions, cucumbers floating in a very light tomato base.

Of course, because this is no longer the kind of place that serves ham sandwiches on white bread, it's not exactly cheap. This is the kind of place where a gussied-up B.L.T. (the B.L.A.S.T. -- applewood smoked bacon, lettuce, tomato, avocado, sprouts & mayo on a rosemary roll) will cost you about $10. Expect to spend around $20 per person for brunch or lunch (if you're getting coffee, soup, pastries). I know, I know, it's worth it for "real" food that isn't processed dreck, and that's made with some care. And that's true. But let's be honest: despite the "Auntie Em's" old-school, down-to-earth pretensions, this isn't food for the masses. It's sort of pricey food that's meant or hopes to be "down-homey" and "back to basics" in a way, though it's priced for yupsters and their ilk. That's just something you accept about it (and yourself). (You can see that I'm still working on it.)

Review of the Eagle Rock Peace Vigil/Peace Through Justice, or Who Are Those People Holding Signs on Colorado Every Weekend?

2009-08-29T17:09:00.001-07:00

Flo, Nina, and Norm of the Eagle Rock Peace Vigil/Peace Through Justice

The now-familiar forum doctrine provides for three categories of access according to the type of public property involved. The first category, the traditional public forum, consists of streets, sidewalks, and parks that ... "have immemorially been held in trust for the use of the public ... for purposes of assembly, communicating thoughts between citizens, and discussing public questions."

Kaplan v. County of Los Angeles, 894 F.2d 1076 (9th Cir. 1990) (quoting Hague v. Committee for Indus. Org., 307 U.S. 496 (1939)).

I was sitting outside Swork today, in the absurd heat, trying to write a "Review of the Station Fire": I was trying to describe the plume silently expanding and roiling against the clear, dull blue sky just to the north of Eagle Rock. I was marvelling at how people continued to walk and drive by without once looking up at the massive, growing plume, when I noticed the people standing in front of the Shell on Colorado and Eagle Rock Boulevard, holding signs, encouraging passing cars to honk.

Plume from the Station Fire, Aug. 29, 2009

I've been wondering for years about the people in L.A. who stand out on corners around the city, holding signs in support of various causes (most often, Peace), trying to get passing cars to honk. I watched a lone guy with white gloves (the better to get drivers' attention) work the corner in front of the Vista last week. As I walked by him, I heard him saying to himself "C'mon, Lexus, c'mon, Lexus." He exulted when the passing Lexus gave him a short honk, and then set his sights on an approaching Honda.

Who are these people? Why do they stand on these corners? What do they seek to accomplish? I'd been meaning to find out for a while. So today I went and talked to them.

On the corner in front of the Shell and a cell-phone stand, I met Flo, Nina, and Norm (pictured above), three of seven "core" members of a group that calls itself the "Eagle Rock Peace Vigil" -- though Nina did note that she prefers to refer to the group as "Peace Through Justice" because, in her words, "there can't be peace without justice." (I mentioned that I had heard that theory before.)

They said that their group had come together semi-spontaneously nearly seven years ago, united in their opposition to the build-up to the war in Iraq. That was the original purpose of the group. But like MoveOn, which was originally formed to fight against the Republicans' push to impeach Bill Clinton, the mission of the ERPV changed over time.

The white-gloved guy with the "Spread Love" sign working the corner in front of The Vista.

Today, they had a number of signs expressing opposition to Prop 8 (Norm was holding one of these), Flo had a sign promoting peace, and Nina was holding a couple different signs. One was against Prop 8, and one referred to a "Seamless Transition To Civilian Life!" (the sign, she explained, was in support of greater support services for veterans returning from Iraq and Afghanistan).

They explained that they were loosely affiliated with other vigil groups in Highland Park and Glendale, that some of them went to schools from time to time to talk to students about the risks entailed in enlisting in the military.

I decided to ask them about the issues. They all appeared to be opposed to the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, and wanted to bring the troops home right away. Norm began to explain that Iraq had been launched through 9/11, and then began to review a familiar set of pet theories about 9/11.

Each of the three seemed to have slightly different priorities that brought them to the corner. Norm said he was most concerned about gay rights and gay marriage, and wanted to see Prop 8 overturned. Flo said she was most concerned about peace, but also health care, and global warming, she added, after I had written down "peace" and "health care." Nina said she couldn't point simply to one thing (she said she was concerned about the reasons why all of these interconnected issues couldn't be addressed at once), but, when pressed, said she was most concerned with climate change and peak oil. She said she was most concerned about the need for us to decide whether we would choose to return to more sustainable "indigenous" ways of life to avoid catastrophic climate change, or whether catastrophic climate change would force us to return to indigenous ways of life.

All three of them seemed to approve of President Obama's performance so far, though Nina said she couldn't give a yes/no answer on whether she approved. She said that she thought the reality was that "U.S. presidents serve the interests of large corporations and are at the mercy of those corporations." She also said that if Obama did all of the things he really needed to do for the country, his life might be in danger from those who opposed him.

All three seemed to think Eagle Rock was relatively welcoming to their views. Norm mentioned that Eagle Rock seemed less conservative than Glendale, which he thought was "very conservative." The cops had not really ever hassled them, they said, though the cops did "watch them" when they were involved in larger events. In any event, Nina said "they knew their rights." They said sometimes people came up to talk to them, and sometimes people yelled at them. Before the war, Norm said, people would yell things like "We need that oil!" at them. People had also yelled things like "Commies!" (which Nina said she did not perceive as an insult), "Get a job!", "Get a haircut!", and "Go back to San Francisco!"

I asked them if they were trying to recruit people to a cause, sign them up, etc. They said that they were just trying to get their message out and raise awareness about issues like the war, health care, gay rights, climate change, etc. It struck me that they weren't really used to people coming up and actually talking to them and were a bit more focused on getting passing cars to honk for them -- but I may be wrong about that.

Finally, I asked them how they felt about the Station Fire, the plume of which continued to expand ominously over Eagle Rock as we talked. They didn't seem too worried. Norm said he "was more concerned about the effects of the fire on the environment."

The easiest thing in the world to do would be to caricature ERPV as a bunch of foggy-headed, KPFK-listening, Chomsky-reading, 9/11-conspiracy-theory-believing libtards who need people to honk at them for some weird type of self-validation. But that would surely be too simplistic and unfair. Undoubtedly, the people in ERPV have their own motives and needs that drive them to stand out in public in the heat on weekends (usually Saturday afternoons) holding signs, trying to get people to honk. (Norm told me that they weren't allowed to actually hold signs saying "Honk for Peace" because that would be encouraging unnecessary noise.) Perhaps it's a symptom of the loneliness and atomization of our city and the lack of true public space or public interaction -- a behavior produced by the need to establish a connection of any kind, even if only a honk of a car horn.

But people like the ERPV are keeping alive an old and venerable American (and Anglo) tradition of expressing grievances in public spaces. Sure, the internets, the blogs, Twitter, etc. are great, but what changes politics, governments, hearts and minds, often comes down to bodies in the street.

As this blog has morphed over time from a political blog into a blog about Eagle Rock, focusing mostly on food and shopping reviews, I've often had moments of saying to myself -- WTF? The most important things I can write about now are Belgian Fries at The Oinkster and sneaker shops? There are tens of thousands of Americans fighting in two hot wars right now. Every year the earth gets hotter, storms become more intense, the polar ice melts away, and oceans continue to rise. There are 45 million people in the U.S. living without health care. There are thousands of homeless living on the streets of our city. Meanwhile, we all go about living our lives, starting food blogs, complaining about the weather, going to Depeche Mode concerts, shopping for new sneakers and eyeglass frames.

I do tend to agree with ERPV in part on some issues (I definitely do not agree with them on everything -- I left most of my conspiracy-theorizing behind in my early 20's), but, regardless of any disagreement I may have with them, mostly I admire their willingness to stand out on the corner every week, expressing their views to the public. I admire their determination to redirect our attention from the tunnel vision of what we see ahead of us through our windshields to the massive fires burning in the world (the wars people are dying in every day, the coming disaster of climate change, the health care crisis, etc.), that most of us are all too willing to ignore as we go about our business as usual.

Fatty's in Eagle Rock

2009-08-27T17:53:00.001-07:00

So I had this entire review of Fatty's already written out in my head: erratic hours, weird interactions with the sometimes awkward staff, the elimination of the very pleasant brunch and lunch hours, etc.

View through the repurposed garage door.

But to paraphrase, no plan of attack survives contact with the subject of the review. We went to Fatty's again the other night, and despite my reservations and enumerated grievances, they pulled me back in.

The Garlic Feast.

Fatty's was the first restaurant in Eagle Rock Mrs. Octopus and I ever went to together. It was a sunny Sunday in April, were were house hunting, and we stopped at Fatty's for brunch. On that visit, Fatty's felt new in just the right way: the repurposed garage door, the racks of magazines (including Lacanian Ink [?]), the open ceilings, the Christmas lights. I felt like I was in Madison, Berkeley, or Northampton. It warmed my cold, socialist New England heart. Over coffee at the end of that brunch, Mrs. Octopus and I decided we were going to try to move to Eagle Rock.

Potato skins.

Things changed. Fatty's soon eliminated brunch, with little explanation. On every visit, we pleaded with the management to bring back lunch and brunch. They explained that they were trying to go in a different direction. It soon became apparent that Fatty's was trying to make very clear to everyone that it wasn't some kind of laid-back neighborhood hangout. Rumors circulated of the staff and management telling Oxy students and idling screenwriters that they couldn't nurse a single cappuccino for hours. Fatty's quickly became a relatively expensive, upscale dinner-only place, with an extensive wine collection, and a reputation for prickliness.

A view of Fatty's new garden.

The transition was fitful. The hours kept changing. The owners and management had scenes with the staff. The menu went through various incarnations. Staff would announce early closures with no notice, even if you had called ahead.

I was ready to hate Fatty's forever, to write them off as the worst kind of libtard monsters, but--but, they've won me back ... sort of.

Everything was excellent on our last visit. It was if the entire place had changed after a painful and ugly metamorphosis. There was a massive new purple neon sculpture hanging above a long table (just behind the welcome station). It was kind of awesome. There was a cool long hallway opening into a tastefully appointed new garden. As I sat at our table in the center of the main dining room and admired the elegant exposed ceiling, the new neon sculpture, the tasteful lighting throughout the restaurant, I realized that Fatty's is in fact the loveliest space in Eagle Rock.

And to tell the truth, the food has never been the problem here. Fatty's is one of the best vegetarian restaurants I've been to. Granted, I'm not a vegetarian or vegan, but I was a vegetarian for several years, and I'm not a big carnivore: I've been to all sorts of vegetarian restaurants. Most serve insipid, boring, tasteless pabulum.

The Zeppelin pizza.

Fatty's, on the other hand, works small wonders with their vegetarian fare. Their Sloppy Joe (veggie ground meat) is deservedly famous. I've known people to finish off the Sloppy Joe and wonder if it was meat or not. I have a strong, undeniable monthly urge for the Garlic Feast (a sort of DIY bruschetta with toasted bread arranged around a mass of diced tomatoes and raw garlic, sprinkled with dry jack cheese). I'm also a fan of the Fatty's Salad (a massive meal-sized heap of greens, cherry tomatoes, red onions, toasted pecans, golden raisins and cheese). Mrs. Octopus likes their pizzas, and is partial to the Margarita and the Zeppelin. (The Zeppelin features an intriguing mix of cheddar, provolone, and brie).

I may like their appetizers best. I could eat about 100 of the stuffed dates (baked dates stuffed with dry jack cheese, wrapped in veggie bacon). We've had the potatos skins (filled with corn, black beans, green chili, red bell peppers, onions, chipotle cheddar, and salsa) a few times, and they are very satisfying, though they could stand to have a little bit more kick. Perhaps a slightly spicier salsa?

I've never been blown away by dessert here. We've sampled most stuff on the dessert menu and everything is fine, not earth-shattering. It's just not really a dessert place, in my view (though I know many people who are big fans of the dessert menu).

They have an extensive selection of wine (and a decent selection of beer). Indeed, they currently market themselves as "A Vegetarian Food and Wine Restaurant". Translation: you probably won't be eating here much if you're trying to pay off student loans or credit card debt, or save for a down payment. Fatty's is expensive. They've purposefully turned themselves into an expensive restaurant. Dinner for two, with appetizers, drinks, dessert, etc., is probably going to cost you $65-80. It raises the question: to whom is Fatty's aimed? My current guess is the standard yupster class one finds at CoWineCo, tenured Oxy faculty, Oxy parents taking their cultural studies-majoring children to dinner, and people who drive in from Pasadena and Silverlake in their Audi sportwagons.

The Pinky (wedding cake, with strawberries and lots of strawberry frosting, topped with frosting).

What can you do? This is part of the struggle our neighborhood is currently going through with its identity. Are we a Tritch Hardware and The Bucket kind of place? A Dave's Chillin' & Grillin' place? Or are we about Mia Sushi's valet parking and Eurotrash vibe? Both, maybe? I don't know. It saddens me a bit that Fatty's has decided to jettison its more laid back brunch and lunch identity in favor of a full blown embrace of the trappings of bourgeois latte-liberalism, but I can't really judge Fatty's owners. They obviously have an image of what they want for the place in mind, and maybe they are making more money this way.

Save up and splurge here every now and then, and feel better as you go to the bathroom and pass the portrait of the happy pig on the wall. You're a good person.

Don't Mourn for Ted Kennedy -- Fight for the Cause of His Life

2009-08-26T18:32:00.000-07:00

Brownstone Pizzeria in Eagle Rock

2009-08-25T21:14:00.001-07:00

Casa Bianca this, Casa Bianca that. Every night (except Sunday and Monday) you'll see the people lined up, patiently waiting, sitting in white plastic chairs, standing around, waiting up to an hour, on the corner of Colorado and Vincent, for that famed Casa Bianca pizza.

Others would see Casa Bianca and its citywide legend as an intimidating force that could never be defeated. Did not Casa Bianca own the pizza market in Eagle Rock (putting aside Pizza Man and Capri for the time being)?

Brownstone Pizza saw Casa Bianca's outsized reputation and its overflow of demand as an opportunity. Brownstone had the temerity to challenge the supremacy of Casa Bianca on Colorado. And as an eight-year resident of New York City, I'll tell you this: Brownstone is giving Casa Bianca a run for its money. There's more than one pizza game in town, and Brownstone is not to be slept on.

They've got a thin New-York style crust at Brownstone. The crust is crispy and light, with just the proper amount of thickness. The pizza dough has a great flavor that I haven't found at any other L.A. pizza place, and haven't come close to since I left the East Coast. The amount of sauce and cheese is just right. The slices are neither too hard nor too floppy. There can be a tendency for things to slide when the pie is hot, with extra cheese or a lot of toppings and you're bringing it home in the car -- but with the standard cheese, margherita, pepperoni, vegetarian, etc., the pie will almost always be excellent.

The owners at Brownstone realize they're still making a name for themselves and that their main competition has a nearly sixty-year head-start on them. But the people at Brownstone are savvy. They've teamed up with the good people at Colorado Wine Company, next door. It's easy to order a pie from Brownstone, go into CoWineCo for a nice glass of wine or beer, get your pie, and enjoy it in the sweet lounge area at the back of the wine store. Of course, Brownstone has a decent selection of beer available in their store.

Another possibility: call ahead, pick up a pie at Brownstone, and take it down the street to The Black Boar. The Black Boar will let you bring in whatever food you want. They've got nice big tables at The Black Boar that would work great for a few pints and a huge extra-large pie from Brownstone. Result: easy and convenient good time in your neighborhood. If delivery to the pub could be arranged, I might never leave the 90041 again.

I can't help but root for Brownstone. They're the new kid on the block, and they're offering the neighborhood an excellent product. I've never been disappointed. Keep waiting in line at Casa Bianca if you want, by all means. But know that just a few blocks away, a great New York-style thin crust is available in just a few minutes, with no waiting around. Heck, you can even have a glass of wine and chat with the friendly folks at CoWineCo while your pie cooks.

Inexplicably, Brownstone closes at 9 p.m. -- just when some people are working up an appetite. Brownstone, stay open later! We will come and eat your pizza late! I guarantee you that.

What a neighborhood. Count your blessings.

A Catalog of Collapse: The Shuttered Storefronts of Eagle Rock, Summer of 2009

2009-08-23T16:17:00.000-07:00

Shuttered storefront on Colorado, next to Tobacco Planet. I don't remember what it used to be.

recession: the decline in aggregate economic activity following the peak of a business-cycle expansion; officially defined as real GNP falling for two consecutive quarters. It is usually associated with rising unemployment of people and resources.

- Hughes & Cain, AMERICAN ECONOMIC HISTORY

The former site of Regeneration, the unlucky national face of hard times in Eagle Rock.

I recognize that, in doing these reviews, I often come off as a shameless Eagle Rock booster. And it's true: I have unbounded optimism for our neighborhood.

Still, the signs of economic distress, the very tangible effects of the Great Recession, are all around us. A closed storefront is startling at first, but then fades into the unnoticed landscape, and is forgotten.

The former site of Another World Comics, and planned site of Green Goddess, a proposed medical marijuana site that appears to have been scrapped.

I am posting these photos of closed storefronts throughout Eagle Rock at what I hope is the bottom of the downturn, our inverted Brenschluss point, where our downward trajectory flattens out and we begin an upward arc.

And if we are in fact at that bottom point of the cycle (n.b. here how much the theory of economic cycles has in common with the ancient image of the wheel of fortune), then these pictures are not solely images of decline and economic devastation -- though, make no mistake, each closed storefront represents a world of anxiety, fear, crushed hopes, loss of security. Recognizing the pain the owners of these closed businesses have endured and continue to endure, it is unavoidable that we also recognize that these images may also be seen as images of possibility and opportunity.

This appeared to be a former kitchen remodeling store on Eagle Rock Boulevard. The documents posted on the door are eviction notices.

I don't want to sound like I'm on the new Warren Buffet cartoon for kids, but it's true that it often makes financial sense to be fearful when others are greedy -- but greedy when others are fearful. (The other standard thing to note here is J.F.K.'s observation about the Chinese character for "crisis" contains the character for "opportunity" or something.)

The remaining shell of Blue Heeler Imports, a store that specialized in Australian imports. Nothing at all against Australia or its products, but this always seemed like a tough business proposition.

These spaces are currently available in Eagle Rock. These are empty spaces that will be filled with new ideas and new ventures. Perhaps someone reading this site right now has been nursing a fantastic idea for a small business in Eagle Rock. Now is the time.

Empty storefront on Colorado near Caspar.

But there I go again. Despite my opening attempts at getting back to objectivity, I've returned to my boosterism. I can't help it. Despite all of these depressing images, I do feel that better days are ahead.

Empty storefront in the Colorado Plaza mini-mall. I don't remember what the last business was in this space. I think a couple things have opened and closed in this space in the past few years.

The fire that consumes the forest often helps give rise to new growth.

Space for lease near Colorado Wine Company.

Former site of 808 Video, in the Colorado Plaza mini-mall. Most video stores' days are probably numbered.

Dead office building at Colorado and Hartwick.

The muffler place has not shut down (I thought it had, with the fence and the way it looked). It just looks like it's shut down.

Even the foundational, no-nonsense businesses in the neighborhood, like this tire place on Colorado and Glen Iris, have suffered.

This space used to house a music store. I remember walking in when I first moved to the neighborhood, asking if they had any tenor saxophones for sale. They didn't at the time, but asked if I wanted to order one. I thought about picking up a banjo there instead.

The former site of SW Hill Country, a store devoted to Western wear. This place was symptomatic of boom thinking, in my view. Only in an economy where people had more frothy disposable income from "endlessly" rising real estate and stock prices than they knew what to do with would a place like this even think it had a chance to survive.

Has this black-and-white building on Colorado next to 50/50 Grind ever been anything? It looks like it's abandoned.

I think someone tried to open up a bodega in this small little space on Colorado last year or the year before. It apparently didn't work out. This space looks like it would work as a taquería , maybe.

The scuba shop in Eagle Rock did not survive.

Store-sign palimpsest above Elvira's (very much still in business).

The Machu Picchu of the Bubble Times in Eagle Rock: the failed and abandoned condo development project near the entrance to the 134 -- a lasting monument to the boom mindset. As an aside, it's interesting how the gentle curve drawn by the the tall pillars holding up the hill suggests the sine curve of economic cycles.

Larkin's Joint in Eagle Rock

2009-08-21T16:25:00.001-07:00

[The master] did not always provide utensils. Without these, cooking was a simple process, as a former slave recalled: "When the corn is ground, and fire is made, the bacon is ... thrown upon the coals to broil.... The corn meal is mixed with a little water, placed in the fire, and baked. When it is 'done brown,' the ashes are scraped off, and being placed on a chip, which answers for a table, the tenant of the slave hut is ready to sit down upon the ground to supper." The majority of masters provided iron pots, for cooking vegetables and fat pork and "grits," and frying pans for preparing bacon and corn pone."

- Kenneth Stampp, THE PECULIAR INSTITUTION

One wonders what Marx would've made of a place like Larkin's Joint (Colorado & Loleta). In thrall to the vampiric dictates of Capital, slave owners kept their slaves alive as cheaply as possible, often feeding them offal meats (i.e. pigs' feet, oxtail, ham hocks, chitterlings (pig small intestines), pig ears, tripe, skin). Lard, hard to come by, was reused again and again. The offal meats were made palatable with deep frying in lard. The slaves brought their own vegetables with them (okra), and made do with what was at hand (dandelions, tops of turnips). The origins of soul food are misery and pain.

What does one make of this history of pain? Food is almost always a refuge -- and that's what we think of soul food. But we often forget the nightmarish origins of this original comfort food: the need to survive, to make do on the unsightly scraps left by the master, the need to cook one's own meal with rudimentary tools after a day of hard labor. Each greasy bite of soul food is a taste of a sordid, shameful past.

Chef Larkin Mackey (LA Weekly photo)

What does one do with this? One elevates it to art. One reclaims it and makes it beautiful. One makes it into an expression of self and possibility. One absorbs the pain of the past, and uses it as fuel to construct the future, a future framed by the past, but with no borders, and no frontiers.

Larkin's is the most futuristic restaurant in Eagle Rock. As Saint Augustine wrote, praesens de praeteritis (the past is ever present), and nowhere is it more true than at Larkin's, where each meal is, in some way, a history lesson, full of pain and hurt, if you dig deeply enough, but at the same time, an exuberant expression of American possibility. This is America. This is a country built on the backs of slaves and the organized extermination of Native Americans. But this is also a country where Chef Larkin Mackey, a native Californian, can take his training in French and Asian cuisine, the Latin influences of his home state, and create neo-soul food. This is a country in which a Muslim born in Connecticut can marry a Buddhist and love his adopted neighborhood in Los Angeles with all of his heart. America was born in pain and violence, but aspires toward the new, toward a transcendental unity.

The top step of Death.

Soul food will never be good for you. It is soul food -- it comes from profoundly humble origins of hoarding lard, of prizing pork and bacon, of frying the unrecognizable parts to make them palatable. The dumbest thing in the world is to come into Larkin's and complain that the food is "heavy."

Dining room.

The fried chicken here is among the best I've ever tasted. The catfish is perfect -- almost too perfect -- the cornmeal hitting all of the notes of comfort, heartiness, and texture that you didn't think possible in the plastic world of everyday food. The jambalaya is spicy and rich, a massive platter too large for any one diner. The weekend brunches are even better than the dinners, in my view, with glorious pancakes, and fantastic herbed omelets and scrambles. And cornbread. Always cornbread. Mmmm. Take a Lipitor and wash it all down.

Southern caviar (black-eyed peas, other stuff), w/ fried pita

Jambalaya!

There have always been issues here. The top step on the front steps is a death trap. I've tripped over it myself about half a dozen times. They've got a "CAUTION" sign up there now, but they need to spend the money to just fix it.

The restaurant is nearly invisible. Our waiter -- we always seem to have the same guy, and he's awesome -- said they've thought about a neon sign or some other kind of sign, but they've decided they'd like to try to stay on the downlow a bit. When I mentioned that a lot of people in the neighborhood didn't seem to really know about Larkin's he said something like "And we don't want everybody to know about it."

With all due respect, this seems dumb. Larkin's, with its not-cheap fare, is obviously hurting. (Side note that it's remarkable that people have no problem putting down serious cash for French food at Beaujolais, but balk at paying for soul food, though it's prepared with exquisite care and thought here. Vive la différence?) Larkin's no longer accept credit cards - it's cash only, which is absurd for a place where some of the entrees run to $20. They say they're working on a franchise place downtown and their energies are focused there.

Whatever. We want Larkin's to survive and thrive. It's a crucial part of Eagle Rock, and we'd be poorer without it. Put up a sign. We see the goofy chalkboard with the "WE'RE OPEN" sign from Staples. Put up a real sign, be visible, and put away the pretensions about wanting to be a secret club for only the initiated. Your food deserves to be appreciated by a wider audience.

Catfish, like ham, is actually not kosher.

Larkin's says that it strives to be a modern day "juke joint." "Juke" derives from "jook" or "juk" from Gullah, and before that from West African languages, "in a Wolof word 'jug,' meaning to lead a disorderly life, and a Banbara word 'jugu' meaning a wicked, violent, or naughty person." (See also "jukebox".) "Juke joints" were apparently originally social rooms built for slaves to socialize, evolving into roadside shacks that featured gambling, drinking, dancing, and, occasionally, prostitution. We've got a "juke joint" on the corner of Colorado and Loleta now. Chef Mackey is taking that term and, Humpty Dumpty-like, bending it to his will. His "juke joint" is a place to remember, to savor the past, and to embrace the future.

We are all Tashtego, Daggoo, and Queequeg now, riding in the same whaling boat. Know the past, embrace the new. Eat at Larkin's.

Eagle's Landing in Eagle Rock

2009-08-18T18:54:00.000-07:00

On days when I stayed home sick in elementary school, I would often spend much of the day under a blanket, on the couch, watching PBS. Most of the daytime programming on PBS seemed to have been imported from Canada. There were all these programs starring kids with Canadian accents addressing teen issues like drunk driving, peer pressure to do drugs, and depression. One of those shows has stuck with me: it was a program about the perils of keeping suicidal thoughts and ideation to yourself. In the show, this kid has a full-blown fantasy about his own funeral: he watches as the girl who spurned him weeps standing by his open casket, saying how sorry she was that she never got to tell him how much she really did love him. He yells at the bizarre scene, shot in mostly darkness with garish green and purple lighting: "I bet you're sorry now!" (In the end, the kid shared his feelings with his friends, who, being Canadian, were thoughtful and articulate in helping him back toward health and happiness.)

That all doesn't have much to do with anything. Eagle Rock has a new coffee shop, Eagle's Landing Coffee House (Townsend & Yosemite), in a location convenient for residents who live south of Colorado. Eagle's Landing reminded me of the Canadian public television programs because it's run by a non-profit organization and 50% of its profits go to support the R.O.C.K. ("Reach Our Community Kids") Teen Center, which is physically connected to the coffee shop.

The R.O.C.K. Teen Center features a few big couches, several computer terminals, free wifi, a pool table, and some gaming systems. When you get your coffee at the coffee shop they let you know that you're welcome to hang out in the Teen Center, which they refer to as the "Community Center" (presumably so you don't feel creepy hanging out there if you're above 19). You just walk through the open doorway. The R.O.C.K. space can apparently be rented out by anyone. There are scheduled meetings during the week for Narcotics Anonymous, a bible study, the Eagle Rock Multi-Cultural Society, and a teen-tutoring and mentoring group.

The R.O.C.K. Teen Center was originally founded in 1996 by a pastor from Eagle Rock Baptist Church who organized several neighborhood churches to get behind the idea (hence the bible study, presumably) to create a safe space for Eagle Rock teens. It's unclear what the religious organizations' connection might be to Eagle's Landing coffee shop, though I assume there's still some involvement. The kids at the counter mentioned that the coffee shop was run by a non-profit organization -- I'm guessing it's connected to the 501(c)(3) created by the churches when they founded the R.O.C.K. Teen Center.

The R.O.C.K. Teen Center.

The coffee shop itself is perfectly serviceable, nothing extraordinary. I had an iced coffee, which was fine. The coffee menu had all of the standard options, and there were some pastries available as well. The seating inside the coffee shop was pretty rudimentary, though the blue couch did look comfortable. The kids working at the counter seemed very earnest: the place felt like a non-profit coffee shop run by idealistic college students.

One unfortunate detail: when I was there, the two kids at the counter were watching WALK THE LINE on the big flat screen above the soda fridge and ice-cream freezer. They had the volume up really loud. I was the only customer there and they saw that I was writing in a notebook, but they didn't seem to consider turning the volume down. No big deal, probably just another sign of my advanced age and crotchetiness. But still, Eagle's Landing is probably not the place to try to read Proust or compose your screenplay about escaping a difficult teenhood in the suburbs of Salt Lake City with your dream to one day make it to a happening place like Eagle Rock. It probably works better as a place to quickly grab a cup of coffee in the morning or on your way somewhere else. Unless you feel like walking over into the teen center and perusing the reading material (the bible in several languages, SAT prep books, magazines, some other random books) or playing SPIDERMAN on the Xbox.

Coffee shop interior.

Regardless of your religious leanings (I'm on record as an agnostic Muslim -- whatever the hell that means), another coffee shop is not a bad thing for Eagle Rock, especially one at a location not on Colorado or Eagle Rock Boulevard. I assume there's no obligatory religious indoctrination that goes hand-in-hand with kids using the Teen Center. The place doesn't have that kind of feel about it. There were some kids at the Teen Center when I stopped by, reading quietly, checking their email, playing video games and pool. I don't really care who or what organization runs the place: kids do need a safe, quiet place that's always open to them, and the Teen Center gives them that. I'm going to try to support this place. I encourage you to do the same.

Early Look inside The Black Boar in Eagle Rock (formerly The Chalet)

2009-08-18T09:16:00.001-07:00

As you may have heard by now, or noticed, if you've driven or walked down Colorado in the past week or so, The Chalet is no more. It's been replaced by an English-style pub called "The Black Boar". The new place does not officially open until Thursday (8/20/09) but your intrepid neighborhood blogger has done some reconnaissance on your behalf to bring you these ~~grainy, low-resolution~~ images, giving you an idea of what is afoot inside The Black Boar.

First, the big news: the pub has three flat-screen TVs. When I walked in on Monday evening to check the place out, all three TVs were tuned into a Manchester United vs. Birmingham English Premier League game (without the sound on, thankfully). I spoke to the bartender (a very friendly guy who I believe also worked at The Chalet), who explained that they had purchased a big soccer cable package and would be showing a lot of soccer, in addition to rugby, baseball, and football. I forgot to ask, but assume they would also show basketball for big games, finals, etc. He also said that they would plan to turn the TVs off at 10 p.m. every night.

I believe the Chalet had four beers on tap. The Black Boar has eight: Hoegaarden, Downtown Brown, Old Speckled Hen, Harp, Fuller's ESB, Fuller's London Pride, Murphy's Stout, and Strongbow, I think my dark cell-phone-camera pics don't show the full line-up. All beers are $5, I believe. They've got a number of bottled beers. I was a little concerned by the presence of PBR on the bottled menu. The controversial PBR is well documented as the douchey hipster beverage of choice. I don't think anyone (aside from dangerously inebriated college students) has ever argued that the evil swill tastes good; certain people just seem to think it looks good to be seen drinking it. Picking PBR undermines any argument that one is stocking only the best beers. < / gratuitous_editorial >

They don't have food at this point, but apparently they are cool with people bringing in food. Tacos from CaCao, a burger from The Oinkster, or slices from Brownstone with an Old Speckled Hen to wash it all down? YUM.

The jukebox is where it was before, and apparently has 75% of the same music as it had at the time The Chalet closed. The walls still have the same stone look. The carpet has been taken out; there's now a hardwood floor. The booths have been replaced by rustic-looking wooden tables. Pub tables, I assume. There are lots of candles everywhere, and hanging lanterns and old-English-pub-style hanging candelabras or whatever. Rustic rustic pubby pub. The wall decor is now English-pub-style decor (bulldogs, English things, etc.). As before, a (fake?) fire glows in the fireplace.

The Black Boar was not fully open at the time of my visit, so I couldn't gauge the crowd. There were a couple friends of the management or bartenders hanging out. The discussion focused on the pot dispensary that had opened up next door and the gangbusters business the pot dispensary was doing. Someone at the bar mentioned that the dispensary had a "Wolfgang Puck" baker or chef on site to make goodies and snacks for the dispensary's customers as they treated their ailments in the dispensary's groovy lounge. (Review of new pot dispensary coming soon!)

This was just a very initial taste of the new place. I have to be honest, I mourn a bit for The Chalet. The Chalet was impeccably done, with a great theme, and a warm, cozy ambiance. It's funny that I now pine for a place that sought to simulate a place from yesteryear (old-time ski lodge) now that it's been replaced by yet another simulation of a different idealized past (the archetypal English pub with a weird, vaguely ominous name involving a lion, bear, boar, dog, or pig). Nothing lasts. That lovely old neon "Chalet" sign may be in a dumpster somewhere, or a recycling bin, or perhaps lit up and hanging in some lucky teenager's bedroom. Hold onto your old Chalet matchbooks! They're a piece of Eagle Rock history now.

All beers, on tap and in bottles, $5.

Everything changes, including the places we love. I'm going to give The Black Boar a chance. It's still our neighborhood local, as it was when it was The Chalet, and when it was Toppers before that, and as it will be when the next makeover comes around. Perhaps all will seem right in the world when I wake up at dawn next year, walk down to The Black Boar, and have a pint with some friends as I watch the World Cup.

Yogurt Haven in Eagle Rock

2009-08-16T08:21:00.000-07:00

You walk into a recently opened yogurt shop in a mini-mall on Colorado Boulevard and Rockland Avenue, next to Starbucks. The store's sign features something that looks like a spoon lifting a dollop of some type of yellow-white substance. Presumably yogurt.

The store has gray picnic tables in the middle, and benches along the big glass windows looking to the north and east. The walls are covered in layers of undulating wood screwed on top of each other. Directly in front of you is a large cup dispenser hanging on the wall to the left of five yogurt-dispensing stations, featuring the following flavors: Vanilla, Cake Batter, Cookies and Stream, Taro, Cappuccino, Pineapple, Pomegranate, Chocolate, Banana, and Tart.

To your right is a fixings station that looks like a salad bar, with various fruits, chocolate chips, gummy bears, nuts, and breakfast cereals. Also to your right is a lone attendant, standing silently behind the counter. In front of her is a small scale, hooked to the attendant's cash register.

This is the scene when you walk into Yogurt Haven, where the model is Choose-Your-Own-Adventure-In-Frozen-Yogurt-Sundaes. When you walk in for the first time, it's not immediately clear what you're supposed to do or how you're supposed to get your yogurt. The store is spacious and a bit empty inside. After a moment or two, someone at the front counter will probably explain the process: you take a yogurt cup from the dispenser (there's only one size of cup (large)), and then dispense yourself as much yogurt as you want, of whatever flavors you want. You then go over to the fixings station and pile on whatever toppings you want. You then take your yogurt cup to the cashier and put it on the scale. The price is simply by weight of your finished yogurt sundae: $0.35 an ounce. (The person at the front counter may also explain to you that the somewhat abstract undulating forms on the walls are meant to depict the hills around Eagle Rock. They may also point out the painting of the Eagle Rock itself on the bathroom door.)

On my first visit, I put together a cup of vanilla low-fat yogurt, with strawberries and blueberries. It came out to about $2.75 or so. On my most recent visit, I put together a cup with the tart non-fat yogurt, and heaped on mangoes, blueberries, kiwi fruit, and bananas. It came out to $3.50. The fruit was fresh, and the yogurt was creamy and tasty. They appear to rotate the flavors from time to time.

Eagle Rock appears to be heading toward a small-scale experiment in the effects of a competitive marketplace, with numerous pizza places (Casa Bianca, Brownstone, Capri, and now Cornerstone Pizzeria opening soon), two Vietnamese places across the street from each other (Lemongrass and Blue Hen), two Mexican restaurants a couple blocks apart (Taco Spot and CaCao) and now two frozen yogurt shops in close proximity. (We've already seen the results of two comic-book stores located directly next-door to each other -- Mini Melt won out. I can't even remember the name of the old comic book store that went out of business now -- though I did pick up an Atari simulator there before they shut down.)

I am no worshipper of the free market or its purported Invisible Hand (long-time readers know I lean far-blue), but I think we Eagle Rockers stand to benefit from all of this close-contact competition. Casa Bianca was the only pizza game on Colorado for a while, but now Brownstone offers a very fine option, with a different taste and crust (with no hour-long wait necessary). And while Blue Dot (just down the street) offers a spare environment with two basic options (tart yogurt and acai), Yogurt Haven takes a completely different approach, offering a bevy of flavors and the do-it-yourself approach. As the different shops realize that people in the neighborhood have options, they're forced to try to compete, improve their service and food -- everyone gets better, we the consumers win, blah blah blah. (Now I'm sounding like Mitt Romney or something -- I'll put away the Econ 101 flashcards.)

My sense is that Blue Dot, with its somewhat higher prices and art-gallery aesthetic, will appeal to a slightly higher price point and fancier crowd than Yogurt Haven, which to all outward appearances, aspires to someday become a national chain. Yogurt Haven seems like it will be a bigger draw for families and kids, who will love making their own sundaes and mixing the various flavors they have there. (There's also a bit more room at Yogurt Haven than at Blue Dot.) Yogurt Haven would fit in perfectly at a place like the L.A. Zoo or the La Brea Tar Pits. (It may have less appeal for some of Eagle Rock's arm-tattoo-and-vintage-t-shirt crowd, who may not be able to take the decor, the whimsical signage, or the picnic tables.)

A few constructive suggestions: the dining area could use something more: it's a bit wide open and empty. Some pictures or posters on the walls might help. The option of a smaller cup might be helpful for those who want to limit how much yogurt they get (or their kids get). Finally, a few instructional signs could orient new visitors and help them figure out how the process works. You could have a "START HERE" sign over the cup dispenser, with an arrow showing how you proceed, step-by-step, with, perhaps a "FINISH", "FINAL STEP", or "PAY HERE" sign at the scale and cashier.

Yogurt Haven's owner, Mike, told me that the shop is currently open until 11 at night, and they hope to eventually be open till midnight. Yogurt Haven is an excellent addition to the neighborhood. The choice is yours.

Colorado Wine Company in Eagle Rock

2009-08-12T17:02:00.000-07:00

As others have observed, it appears that many of Eagle Rock's newer residents moved to the neighborhood to nest and spawn. The schools are decent, there's a big park, you can push the stroller on a long walk up and down Colorado or Hill, etc.

For many of these newer residents, Eagle Rock is a place to deal with the long put-off business of growing up. We're still wearing our Converse and Pumas, and illegally downloading new indie bands, but we've now amortized a lot of debt, and are concerned about life insurance and property taxes. (Is this the wrong place to note that "amortize" and "mortgage" derive from the root "mort", meaning "death"?)

Colorado Wine Company is here to help with that growing-up process. CWC's owners know that an appreciation of wine, much like a non-feigned appreciation of classical music, is something many of Eagle Rock's yupsters aspire to, but have often not yet achieved. It is a marker of sophisticated, urbane adulthood. We want to be the people we imagine we should be by now. CWC is here to help. It functions as a type of hip and modish educational institution for the newer residents of Eagle Rock. As CWC says on its site, its owners "wanted to create an environment where anyone, no matter what level of wine knowledge they had, could enter the store, receive personal service and recommendations, try a sip or two of the daily selections at the bar, and leave feeling more comfortable and educated about wine (and hopefully more relaxed after a hard day at work)."

In short, CWC is here to help us with the business of growing up and learning to endure the drudgery of full-blown adulthood. To be fair, the people at CWC make every effort to reach out beyond their natural yupster audience, and emphasize wines under $25 (though you can, of course, find some more expensive wines here): Wine for the people! as improbable as that rallying cry may be.

CWC stays true to its promise. The owners and staff are unfailingly helpful, approachable, and non-judgmental. This is not a place where someone will snicker at your French pronunciation or mock you for not knowing if a pinot grigio is a white or a red. In fact, the staff here are so friendly, that I've often wanted to stop by for no real reason, just to say hi, and maybe have them tell me about some new kind of wine. I recognize that I am the target audience for CWC: I know basically nothing about wine, but am always interested in learning about it.

The store (up front) has a very basic and functional look. Bookshelves serving as wine display cases, with a long set of wines displayed along the hallway to the back lounge. The floor is a basic, heavy-duty black linoleum, evocative of the type of flooring you might have had in your eighth-grade science classroom. The website and the store interior feature cork. [Update 8/18/09: on closer inspection, it may be eco-friendly composite wood.] Cork, in my view, is the perfect decoration for yupster places like CWC. It projects humility and practicality, while also suggesting creativity, openness, etc -- cherished yupster qualities. See also Gingergrass. In any event, the purposefully downplayed and simple decor at CWC says to the visitor, "Don't worry! We're not going to judge you. This will be a fun educational experience. Like school!"

The back lounge is a little different, but similarly inviting and comfortable. It looks a bit like something off of a Morcheeba album cover, or maybe a bachelor pad in MAD MEN. It's a very tastefully appointed (retro-modern) small square room surrounded by curtains. There's a small bar, behind which stands a friendly and helpful staffer, who is happy to help teach you about the various wines the store is featuring that day and give you a few sample sips. There are a few raised tables, a couch, and some other chairs. It's the perfect place to have a glass of wine and meet some of your neighbors, perhaps talk about where you went to school, what you majored in, etc. CWC has tastings on weekends. There's an entire event calendar posting upcoming themed tastings. (Even CWC's events calendar feels faintly academic.)

The overall effect of the store, front and back, feels to me a bit like a training simulator for real-life adulthood in a Sophisticated Urban Environment. You bone up on some basics in front, pick up some materials, and then head back to the lounge area, to develop and try out your wine knowledge in a safe space where you're unlikely to be injured.

CWC has a fantastic sangria on Saturdays through the summer. It involves peach slices, cinnamon, mint, and champagne (I think) and some other stuff, I'm not sure what -- but the stuff is liquid crack.

The CWC usually has art available for purchase displayed around the store. In addition to their fine selection of domestic and imported wines, they have a nice selection of sake at the front, and a fridge full of interesting beers.

CWC is an Eagle Rock treasure. It may be the single most agreeable and attractive location in the neighborhood. In its gentle, non-patronizing way, CWC helps teach us striving yupsters, filled with dread and Weltschmerz as we age out of the edgy and coveted 18-34 demographic, that adulthood is not really so bad. And there's always VH1.

Spitz in Eagle Rock

2009-08-11T12:51:00.001-07:00

As noted economic thinker Stringer Bell once observed, location is overrated. Or as he put it, “territory ain’t going to mean shit if your product is weak.” It’s all about product.

Spitz (Colorado & College View Ave.) is a place Stringer would’ve approved of, and probably would’ve stopped off at on his way to his UCLA extension economics class or to check out a new real estate development. Though he would probably have had to find street parking in his burgundy Camry: Spitz has a grand total of three (3) parking spots, and one of those is a handicap spot.

Still, as Stringer noted, it’s all about the product. And Spitz has the product. Their standard fries are in stiff competition with The Oinkster's Belgian fries for the best fries in Eagle Rock (and thus, the city). I am also a big fan of their delicious sweet potato fries. Their chicken döner is the best sandwich of its kind in the 90041. (Unfortunately, haven’t tried the Classic Döner, due to my general no-mammals rule.) They have excellent salads, and good vegetarian sandwiches, including a falafel sandwich. And they can make the stuff spicy, with a special spicy sauce and pepperonchini. And they have gelato. (One quibble: I wish Spitz had better drink options. Maybe some fresh lemonade? Different iced teas? Beer?) It’s a lot of great stuff in one tiny place, in a difficult location: up the hill from Eagle Rock Boulevard, across from the massive Orange Monster Colorado Terrace and the Thai massage place, next to the Sizzler.

I can’t say how authentic this place is. But does it matter? Do you really care? Their stuff is delicious.

Far from the commercial heart of Eagle Rock (the Colorado strip between Eagle Rock Boulevard and Townsend), Spitz can count on essentially zero foot traffic. But their product has people trekking up the little hill from Eagle Rock Boulevard and making the effort to find parking on a busy strip of Colorado near Eagle Rock Plaza, just to score another döner and some more of those fries. (The fries in particular may well be laced with some of Stringer’s own product.)

Spitz, which was started by two recent Occidental College grads, has made the most of its less-than-ideal location. They’ve created a nice outdoor patio with umbrella-shaded tables, where one can munch on a döner and contemplate the hills of Eagle Rock behind the traffic on Colorado. The interior of Spitz is not quite as inviting; it gives off the impression of an efficient product-delivery and money-making machine. That’s the vibe here, and it works: put out the strong product, sell it, make the profit, the end.

Like Stringer, Spitz is always on the lookout for a good business opportunity. They’ve recently expanded with a new location in Little Tokyo.

Adjourn your asses. And get to Spitz to re-up on those fries.

50/50 Grind in Eagle Rock

2009-08-08T15:24:00.000-07:00

Fab Five Freddy changed my world. I was in middle school in suburban central Connecticut, and then there was this show, Yo MTV Raps. It was more than just a show: it was The City, it was a wildly new musical form, it was a new language: it was a way out.

The a la carte identity options for suburban kids are well rehearsed (a nod here to John Hughes, R.I.P., even though he didn't quite know how to deal with certain outsiders [i.e., Asians, Blacks, etc.]): skater, goth, jock, prep, art/drama, church, math club, hacker, debate society, homeschool, delinquent/drug dealing, etc.

For a Bengali kid in leafy Connecticut, unable to accept being the perfect obedient, religious, traditional Bengali son, and unable to accept trying to pass as a white boy with a deep tan, wearing boat shoes and two collars, the world of hip hop felt like a welcoming home. The shoes, the music, basketball -- the shared sense of a struggle against something (often vague and amorphous), of being misunderstood, etc. -- it was something I could connect to, as a dorky misfit with a serious chip on my shoulder. I went out on the court in our town basketball league rocking Kareem racquetball goggles with "Run's House" blasting in my mind.

Recognizing how ridiculous and silly this all was (see, e.g., me pulling into prep school for classes on a Saturday morning at 7 in my dad's old 1984 Eldorado, blasting FEAR OF A BLACK PLANET, dressed in a suit for a J.V. basketball away-game against Choate), I have never lost my deep attachment to hip hop. I suspect that many other of my fellow native suburbanites, growing up in Long (Strong) Island, Jersey, Upstate, Maryland, Florida, the South, etc., regardless of race or whatever, had similar experiences, and share my abiding connection to hip hop culture.

All of this embarrassing exposition is here simply to explain why I think 50/50 Grind is going to make it. It might seem like a bizarre move to open a hip hop shoe and apparel shop in Eagle Rock, but I think it makes perfect sense. This neighborhood is full of former suburbanites like myself who religiously watched Yo MTV Raps in our cul de sac neighborhoods, in between prepping for the SAT and reading THE ILIAD, dreaming of escaping the tedium of suburbia, maybe later buying turntables in college and trying to DJ, trying to freestyle in our basements or in a friend's apartment. A lot of these people are now accountants, lawyers, middle management, gastroenterologists. But we are still grateful to hip hop, and we want to show it.

50/50 Grind (Natasha at 50/50 explained to me that "50/50" refers to the 50/50 partnership she shares with her husband, Robert McKay, and "Grind" refers to the grind of chasing the almighty dollar -- they were apparently unaware of the skateboarding maneuver of the same name, though, confusingly, they display skateboard decks under their front counter) has a decent selection of certified fresh sneakers (New Balance, Nike, Adidas, Puma [the presence of the New Balance kicks just shows that 50/50 is aware of the make-up of their clientele; CaCao Mexicatessen displays the same awareness with its sign about potential allergens]), a good selection of "hip hop" themed t-shirts (though a lot of the women's t-shirts I saw had no apparent hip hop connection and could have been sold at Regeneration), some hats, and some art. Anything you buy here will probably make you a little more legit. (We can discuss the problematics of this kind of cultural appropriation some other time.) Some of the t-shirts are sort of expensive, but there's always a sale rack in the middle of the store with t-shirts at 50% off. The shoes seem to be pretty reasonably priced. The husband and wife team that run the place are very helpful and willing to tell you all about their merchandise and their store.

This place is, in my mind, a critical ingredient in the rich and hearty tossed salad that is Eagle Rock. (50/50 might be that Bacos in that salad, or maybe the fat beets -- *sorry*.) You'd have to give me a thousand Heather's Stores for one 50/50 Grind. 50/50 is giving you a chance to connect again to that vibrant, rich culture that sustained you through your angst-filled youth. You know you were listening to "It Ain't Hard to Tell" before squash matches at Brown, your AP Econ exam, or the GMAT. Now it's time for you to show some love back.

You deserve some new kicks, and a fresh t-shirt. 50/50 Grind has what you need. Visit today.

CaCao Mexicatessen in Eagle Rock

2009-08-07T05:13:00.000-07:00

Hope springs eternal. Even in these dark economic times, we suddenly find ourselves with a new contender for best place to eat in the neighborhood. Rejoice, fellow citizens of Eagle Rock: CaCao Mexicatessen (Colorado & Townsend) has finally opened, and exceeds all expectations.

I drove down to CaCao for lunch yesterday, driving past the shuttered and graffitied SW Hill Country Western wear shop and the abandoned condo project near the entrance to the 134; I parked near the Colorado Donuts mini-mall and its gapingly empty storefronts, including the abandoned former 808 Video space. CaCao, which has been in the works for two years, is making an audacious entry during a brutal economic climate.

CaCao is a wonderful space, inside an adobe-style building it shares with Eufloria Florists (the owners of the Eufloria apparently also own CaCao). There is a nice fenced-in patio outside the restaurant. There's more seating inside, where the walls are a warm orange, with paintings and photos on the walls. Spices and Mexican imports line the counter. There's a deli case featuring homemade salsas of various heat levels, guacamole, cheeses (Queso Oaxaca, Spanish manchego, etc.), grasshoppers, chiles in vinegar, etc. They had set up a little tasting table near the counter with chips and two types of salsa to try (habanero [heat level 9] and salsa roja [heat level 5]).

The people at CaCao were very friendly. During my two visits yesterday (I took Mrs. Octopus back for dinner), I spoke with Nino up front. He explained that CaCao's pretty extensive (and creative) menu (I like that it looks like it was written in a comic-book font) tries to represent various types of Mexican cuisine, and that they've tried to import ingredients and items from all over Mexico.

During both trips yesterday, I had tacos ($2.75-$2.55 each): I tried camarones enchipotlados (shrimp in chipotle citrus), calabacitas (zucchini, corn, cotija), hongo de portobello (spinach, onion, queso fresco), flor de cabeza (squash blossoms, poblano strips, queso fresco), and chicken. The shrimp tacos were wonderful -- the chipotle citrus sauce was rich and hearty. The calabacitas taco was the stand-out veggie taco for me, though I did like the very interesting flor de cabeza quite a bit as well. All of the tacos were presented very thoughtfully and tastefully. The fresh hand-made corn tortillas on which the tacos were served were very good. I washed it all down with a mandarin Jarritos (they have a number of Jarritos flavors, Coke and Sprite imported from Mexico (they taste better than our sodas for some reason), and a couple other Mexican drinks). CaCao is waiting on its liquor license -- they'll have beer in the future.

Mrs. Octopus opted for a light dinner of the sopa de tortilla. The bowl serving ($5.95) was a generous portion. The soup was thick and pretty tasty, though I thought it could have benefited from slightly more heat. (But I tend to think that about most dishes.)

Perhaps the highlight was the Azteca mocha latte (sugar, cinammon, almonds, chile de arbol, chipotle; $3.75 for a double). Nino recommended I have it hot, the better to bring out the heat of the chile de arbol and chipotle. I was very glad to have taken Nino's advice. It was one of the best coffees I've had in recent memory: rich, nutty, and foamy, with the glowing warmth of the chile and chipotle on the tongue and lips.

CaCao is a family-run place, and you can tell. There is a real warmth here. You get the sense that CaCao's owners have put a lot of thought into the presentation, the menu, the ingredients, and the atmosphere. The attention to detail is very impressive -- from the excellent "Hecho en Eagle Rock" logo throughout the store, to the decorations on the refrigerator, to the private labels they have on their hot sauces and condiments. The prices are not cheap, but for the Eagle Rock residents who have complained that $2.75 or $2.55 is too much for a taco, I have to call bullshit. CaCao is clearly not trying to be Tacos Estrella or Elvira's. It is a little more expensive, but I think you are getting what you are paying for, with the whole experience. Plus, let's face it: this is the Mexicatessen for people coming out of Trader Joe's, or on their way to Blue Dot, or coming out of Cardio Barre: it's a place targeted at the types of people who comment on Yelp.

(This might be the appropriate time to note that CaCao got a "B" from the Health Department -- a result that must have shocked the detail-conscious management. I attribute the relatively meaningless "B" rating to kinks in the start-up. I'm sure they'll get an "A" in the next inspection. But the "B" rating does raise interesting questions about authenticity (especially in relation to places like, say, the immaculate Taco Spot).)

CaCao clearly intends to be sticking around for a while, and this is good news. You can taste it in the chile in the Azteca coffee at CaCao: better days are ahead.

The Economic Recovery Starts Here: Shop Eagle Rock

2009-08-05T18:45:00.001-07:00

The New York Times has already made a national story about how the recession has changed Eagle Rock. Regeneration, which was the subject of that story, is gone. The Yarn Store is also gone. There are a disturbing number of empty storefronts on Colorado and Eagle Rock Boulevards.

Times remain difficult for many, but there are undeniably signs of hope. It looks like the economy has hit bottom, and things are starting to turn around. It may take a while to feel it, but the recovery appears to be on its way. What we need now is a willingness to put our fear behind us and believe that better days are ahead.

If you have the ability, I'd urge you to get out and support local businesses in Eagle Rock. As part of my Review Eagle Rock project, I've been spending a lot of time visiting our local shops and restaurants; while some places are doing fine and seem as busy as ever, other places are clearly struggling or just holding on through the downturn.

We've all heard how difficult it is to keep a small business going, and how many of them go under. Please do what you can to support the local businesses that make our neighborhood what it is. It would be a terrible shame if a lot of the small businesses that make Eagle Rock what it is and give it its identity -- the small shops and restaurants run by people we like to see and talk to all the time, people who know us as their neighbors and regular customers -- were to be lost and replaced by things like Starbucks, The Coffee Bean, H&R Block, another gas station, or a boarded-up storefront.

We all have a stake in this, and your support for our local businesses will ultimately redound to your benefit and your neighbors' benefit. So the next time you're looking for a gift, a plant, a new t-shirt or shoes, a book or magazine to read, a place to get a quick bite, or a place to meet your friends for a drink, think local. Shop Eagle Rock.

Swork in Eagle Rock

2009-08-02T20:18:00.000-07:00

Last month, someone driving east on Colorado Boulevard fell asleep at the wheel and woke up to find he had driven into the front window of Swork. Luckily, it was three in the morning at the time of the crash, and no one was seriously hurt.

In 2006, someone drove into Swork's front door -- very slowly. That accident happened in the middle of the day, but the car was moving so slowly that the people typing on their laptops outside Swork had time to pack up their things and get out of the way. (The driver apparently had a seizure or heart attack.) No one was seriously hurt during that accident either.

After last month's accident, Swork put out hastily printed out slips of paper by their cash registers; on these little slips, Swork's management noted that the shop had been hit "again" by a car, and asked their customers to contact Councilman Jose Huizar and to demand that he have safety barriers installed around Swork.

The image that immediately came to my mind when I read the slip was Swork as Eagle Rock's version of the Green Zone. For the most recent wave of the neighborhood's residents (semi-artsy/yuppieish types, priced out of places like Los Feliz and Silverlake, and looking to spawn), Swork is much more than just a coffee shop: it's a beachhead. It's our Plymouth Rock, our Tranquility Base, set at the dead-center of Eagle Rock, in the cross-hairs of Eagle Rock Boulevard and Colorado Boulevard.

But Swork as Green Zone may be a more timely analogy. Swork, opened in 2000 on the very vanguard of the "discovery" of Eagle Rock (one imagines its owners with those boots visitors to the real Green Zone like to wear), is the original headquarters and nerve center of the ongoing "liberation" of Eagle Rock: we self-appointed liberators come to free the neighborhood (whether the existing residents wanted it or not) from the oppression of its muffler shops, its smog-check centers, its martial arts studios, its sad nail salons -- the general tyranny of unhipness. That glorious liberation, which was off to such a strong and promising start during the last decade, began to show signs of trouble around the time of the first Swork car incident.

Swork is a place where one could sit after last month's accident, sipping one's double nonfat latte, contemplating the boarded-up windows at the front of the store, and consider whether the liberation of Eagle Rock had been premised on concocted and hyped intelligence. Did we liberators buy too readily into an echo chamber of rising prices and breathless hype about those rising prices, blather about the "next Silverlake," delusions about nowhere to go but up?

That it feels like you're back in a time where the dot-com bubble is still inflating when you're in Swork is appropriate. The interior of the shop (which has a vaguely Scandinavian, Ikea-snack-bar decor) features a set of computer terminals on which customers can use a code given out with a purchase to check their email and browse the web: a business model that was cutting edge sometime in 1996. (I've never seen anyone using the computers. They have wireless as well.) Even the name "Swork," some kind of unholy amalgamation of "success" and "work," with the umlaut above the consonant W (as if to say "We love The New Yorker but don't actually know what these two cute dots are for,") smacks of an era of Pets.com, of futurists waxing rhapsodic about a new, forever expanding economy free of the cycles of the old, non-Wired past.

Do not get me wrong. I love this place. I have never been to the Eagle Rock Starbucks. Mrs. Octopus and I start every day with a few cups of Swork's Truck Driver (extra bold) blend at home. I go to Swork whenever I can, just to hang out. The people that work there are unfailingly nice. Their coffee and pastries are very good -- though not cheap by any means. Every now and then I will get one of the more rococo Sworkuccinos, which are delicious but seriously unhealthy. The seating, inside and outside, is comfortable, and there's a nice play area for babies and toddlers and their Alternamoms and Alternadads in the back of the store. Swork gets busy when Occidental College is in session. (I do sort of enjoy being in the very late-90's environment of Swork surrounded by students highlighting their biochemistry textbooks and trying to write their papers about Weimar culture -- it takes me straight back.)

This is a place that is absolutely central and crucial to the identity of Eagle Rock today -- a place obviously still in transition. It's here to stay as the cornerstone of modern-day Eagle Rock. The "liberation" may not play out as many of the neighborhood's newer residents might have imagined, but Eagle Rock will continue to change -- and Swork will remain at the center of all of this for the foreseeable future. Though they will need to hunker down and watch out for the incoming traffic.

Swork is open every day until 10.

Mia Sushi in Eagle Rock

2009-07-29T23:47:00.000-07:00

I think it's fair to say that Eagle Rock is on the Eastside of L.A., insofar as it's on the east side of the L.A. River. I agree that it's probably inaccurate to refer to Los Feliz or Echo Park as Eastside.

But that's neither here nor there. Whatever Eagle Rock is, it's definitely not Westside. What is Westside? It's an Audi convertible, a $125 haircut, a perfect tan, a small dog, an $80 t-shirt, a fixed nose, a botulized forehead, a waxed back, and non-ironic sunglasses.

Someone at Mia Sushi (Eagle Rock Blvd. & Las Colinas) must have misheard the numbers on the zip code when they were shopping for their location over the phone, because Mia Sushi is a 90049 or 90401 place plopped down in our very un-Westside 90041.

It’s telling that Mia Sushi is one of the few places in Eagle Rock that offers valet service. The presence of the valet booth in front of the restaurant is a bit ludicrous, given the restaurant’s location on a ramshackle, utterly inglorious stretch of Eagle Rock Boulevard, stuffed between apartment buildings, near the bowling alley and Señor Fish. It’s as if the owners ripped off the standard template for a swanky Westside place (dim lighting, water feature, anonymous Eurotrash music, pebbles in the bathroom sink, valet parking, etc.) and just slavishly followed that template on a grungy block on Eagle Rock Boulevard. (I will note that the décor is dumb (and borderline offensive), with the Buddha heads throughout the restaurant inscribed with the Katakana (the Japanese syllabary used for loanwords) characters for “Mia” on their foreheads – but I’m probably overreacting to that.)

Perhaps Mia Sushi is a self-conscious and farsighted anachronism, a visitor from what its owners see as Eagle Rock’s possible future: where smartly dressed valet attendants are instructed to keep the BMWs, Porsches, and Lexus convertibles prominently parked right in front of Casa Bianca, where the Ultimate Fighting Club has been replaced by an Equinox, a plastic surgery center, or a colonics clinic, and where all of the car repair shops have been taken over by Persian rug shops, antiques dealers, and a Design Within Reach. (Indeed, Mia Sushi’s site announces that it “is the new restaurant reinventing the Eagle Rock community with stunning art décor, an intimate patio setting, and serving [sic] the freshest ocean fare.” Or perhaps it’s just one of those things that’s not like the other, the way The Bucket would stick out in Beverly Hills. (Perhaps, if The Bucket did move to Beverly Hills, some Bizarro Grigori Octopus would be writing a review bemoaning how bizarre it was that a place like The Bucket would open shop in the 90210 – although, these kinds of things don’t work on a perfect parallel. The Bucket might in fact work in Beverly Hills: it would just be six times more expensive (“authenticity” and “back to basics” don’t come cheap) and a lot cleaner looking.)

The food at Mia Sushi is fine, not great. I’m not a huge fan of sushi to begin with, but even an amateur like myself can tell that it’s basically sushi-by-the-numbers here, with a set of “creative” special rolls, which mostly involve filling things with cream cheese, flavored mayonnaise (“special sauce”), or fried bits and naming the rolls after things around the neighborhood (e.g., “Colorado Roll,” “Occidental Roll,” “Highland Park Roll,” etc.). They also have a set of “Special Salads,” which are basically your standard Asian-fusiony salads with pieces of chicken, fried noodles, and red cabbage mixed together under an “Asian” dressing. The service is usually fine, if a little more self-consciously fancy (and coolly distant) than at other Eagle Rock establishments. The prices are a bit more Westside than at other Eagle Rock places as well. It is sushi, after all, I guess – though Nobu, it isn’t.

I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining. I think it’s probably a good thing to have a place like Mia Sushi in the neighborhood. It’s surprising to come across, not what you’d expect to find – like Seafood City in the mall. I highly doubt that Eagle Rock Boulevard will ever become the Westside-style stretch of high-end furniture and clothing boutiques and pricey restaurants that Mia Sushi apparently foresees in its on-going project to “reinvent” Eagle Rock (and I sincerely hope this never happens), but, still, Mia Sushi’s somewhat absurd ambitions and pretensions are kind of cute, if silly.

Not open for lunch.

Read Books (Bookstore) in Eagle Rock

2009-07-28T00:15:00.000-07:00

In future trademark litigation, the owners of Read Books (Eagle Rock Blvd. & Chickasaw Ave.) will argue that the name of their store is not simply descriptive of their products and therefore unworthy of trademark protection. Instead, they will surely argue that the name of their store is in fact an exhortation, a command, a mandate.

For a long time, I would moan that Eagle Rock lacked two things: (1) a movie theater (any movie theater would do, even a tiny one like the Los Feliz 3), and (2) a bookstore. We had Imix Bookstore (which isn't so much a dedicated bookstore as much as a bookstore/t-shirt, handbag, and stationery shop/performance space) and the Occidental College bookstore, which is kind of collegey, but features an excellent sales shelf), but no dedicated, general bookstore, new or used. Read Books arrived on Eagle Rock Boulevard a few years ago. I remember telling the owners of the store, with real emotion in my voice, how happy I was that they had opened their store in Eagle Rock: I meant it.

Read Books is a tiny little used bookstore. It would take up just one small room in one of the larger used bookstores in nearby neighborhoods (e.g., Brand Bookstore in Glendale, or Book Alley or Cliff's Books in Pasadena). The store has a wonderful, cozy family feel to it. It's run by a husband and wife team, and occasionally, their kids, who seem to often be hanging around the store after school or on the weekends, doing their homework, talking to their parents, helping out, or just reading quietly on the couch at the front of the store. The store's owners seem to have a goofy, maybe black sense of humor: the store's blog features, in addition to a Literary Fight League, a literary Death Watch, and there are a few shelves reserved for the work of the Recently Deceased. I've noted in the past that the owners are very nice and fun to interact with about books, book buying, and putting potentially embarrassing books into inconspicuous brown bags.

Read Books has a wealth of options for such a small place: a decent collection of first editions (in the glass shelf), good selections of mystery and sci-fi on top of a wide range of standard fiction and classics (why is MATING always prominently featured in used bookstores? and why does no one ever seem to be reading it?), a respectable drama section, a rotating rack of old and recent literary journals, the NYT and the LA Times, and a surprisingly extensive array of current magazines.

On my frequent visits, I tend to browse through Read Book's two shelves of foreign-language materials. A foreign dictionary or textbook, to me, is never a bad deal. I bought a German self-study book at Read Books a few months ago for three dollars or so and have been studying it for a few weeks now: I've definitely gleaned more than three dollars' worth out of the book so far -- Das Buch war preiswert. This is why used bookstores are so fantastic: you spend two, three, or five dollars, and it's almost always well worth it. But it's also this kind of thinking that gets me into trouble. For a long time, I was going to Read Books every week, buying several books -- partly because it always seemed like a good idea, and partly because I wanted so badly for Read Books to survive and stay in our neighborhood.

Sometimes I worry that Read Books does not get the attention it deserves, given its relatively anonymous location on Eagle Rock Boulevard, a little bit away from all the action on the Swork-Imix block up near Colorado. I would exhort you to go to Read Books, and to heed the store's admonition (preferably after you've made some purchases). Please tell them that the Octopus sent you and that he enjoyed his brown-bagged book.

Seafood City in Eagle Rock

2009-07-26T15:06:00.000-07:00

It's always fantastic when you come across things sitting right in front of you that you know nothing about. The sense that one knows hardly anything about anything -- even the places in our own neighborhood -- creates a dizzying sense of possibility. I don't know, and can't pretend to know, much about Filipino food, but it's to Seafood City's credit that my handful of trips there have made me want to learn about it.

Seafood City in Eagle Rock Plaza is probably what you would expect a Filipino market to be -- it's just not where you'd expect to find it. The grocery store occupies one of the anchor store sections of Eagle Rock Plaza. The other anchor stores are Target and Macy's. So right there, in between GameStop and Footjoy and the anime store is a big grocery store with a huge seafood selection.

Most of the people I know who visit Eagle Rock Plaza begin and end their trips to the mall at Target, almost never venturing out of Target into the center of the mall itself. When I visited Seafood City on Friday afternoon, I went in through the mall's central entrance on the ground floor. The first thing you see as you enter is Manny Pacquiao on t-shirts hanging at Fil-Mart on your right, with the PNB Remittance Center on the left. As you walk into the center of the mall, you pass Jollibee, a kind of Filipino fast food place (apparently the most popular fast food in the Phillipines), which serves American-style burgers, fried chicken, and Filipino dishes. As you cross the center of the mall toward the entrance to Seafood City, you are hit with a bouquet of smells not usually associated with a trip to the mall: vinegar, fish, ripe mango, curry mixes, banana catsup, etc.

I went to the store for mangoes and some fruit. They had plenty of that: I knew I was in the right place when I saw a wall of ripe Mexican mangoes in boxes for $5.99 each. I got what I came for.

But Seafood City also has: a table of glutinous rice sweets, often covered in coconut shavings, in various colors, approximately 30 different types of rice, including a house brand of jasmine rice available in 40-pound bags (stacked six feet high), a wall of baked goods (e.g., pan de coco, bean cakes, yam cake, pan de pina, pan de sal, ube cakes), an entire freezer case full of one flavor: Nestle Classic Luscious Mango, a full aisle of different types of vinegar (e.g., coconut vinegar, palm vinegar, various fish sauces), four-kilogram jugs of UFC Banana Ketchup, Red Horse Malt Liquor from Manila, an encyclopedic array of ramen (including Pancit Canto [chow mein chili and citrus flavor]), Japanese and Chinese candies and snacks, an aisle full of different types of Zojirushi rice makers, a corner full of standard U.S. (military?) style hot dogs and cold cuts (and Filipino variations), dozens of Filipino chips and fried things (e.g., roast beef chips, Crispy Porky pork-flavored chips, ham-and-cheese-flavored chips, prawn chips) and, of course, a very fine selection of fish and seafood (e.g., milkfish, rabbit fish, baby octopus, gigantic carp, tilapia, etc.), laying out on ice right there to be inspected with tongs by the customers.

I picked up some bibingka (glutinous rice cakes), some little square cakes filled with ube (a type of purple yam apparently popular with Filipinos -- there was a big selection of ube-flavored ice cream in the frozen section), and some kababayan (Filipino cupcakes). I also picked up a bag of the Porky chips for Mrs. Octopus.

Filipino singer, actress, and TV host Sharon Cuneta's image appears on the walls everywhere in the store, and on a video-commercial playing at checkout. The store is, by most accounts, the heart of Eagle Rock's substantial Filipino population. Many of the customers seemed to be pretty familiar with the cashiers at check-out; the place felt like a neighborhood corner store that people came to all the time.

I had a snack afterward at Chow King, a Filipino fast food place attached to Seafood City that features a menu of Chinese-influenced and Filipino-style dishes (and a very impressive-looking Halo-Halo, which I will have to try next time; when I do try it, I will probably attempt to draw connections between the "mix-mix" dessert and the fascinating crazy-quilt nature of Tagalog). I had noodles with a shrimp sauce at Chow King: the sauce had a (to my taste) weird but intriguing vinegary taste and smell that grew on me as I ate.

Eagle Rock Plaza has been referred to as the Mall of Manila, given the significant number of Filipino shops and restaurants that have opened there over the past several years, and the prominence of the place in Eagle Rock's Filipino community (as of 2005, 6,000 of Eagle Rock's 30,000 residents were Filipino).

After you're done picking up toilet paper, shampoo, and garbage bags, it's worth wandering out of Target to get a glimpse of the vibrant heart of our neighborhood's Filipino community.

The Taco Spot in Eagle Rock

2009-07-23T10:25:00.000-07:00

You know the tired old joke about how an “ethnic” place (read Mexican, Chinese, Thai, Indian, etc.) can’t really be all that good if it gets anything higher than a B rating from the L.A. County Health Department? I admit to having made this joke myself. (It’s notable that the joke doesn’t apply to Italian, French, or Japanese [the honorary European cuisine].) It’s as if some level of squalor or grime is the required badge of authenticity for truly “ethnic” foods.

The Taco Spot, where just last night I enjoyed a wonderful vegetable soup (tomato base with large, perfectly softened chunks of carrots, celery, and potato) and the Ahi Pueblo special (Ahi tuna chunks in an excellent spicy brown sauce full of onions, served with tortillas, rice, and beans) flips the old joke on its head. At The Taco Spot, which is probably my favorite restaurant in Eagle Rock, the immaculate surroundings – everything is spotless, attractively simple and minimalist – reinforce the simple, clean, non-ostentatious presentation of the food. Neither soulless corporate chain with margarita specials in gigantic colored plastic glasses and sombreros on the wall nor grimy hole in the wall, The Taco Spot carries the authority and legitimacy of the taco truck or the roadside taco shack to a fully and unapologetically bourgeois level. This is the kind of taco spot where they play Massive Attack and The Doors. It’s an interesting maneuver at a time when many new companies are so eagerly attempting to appropriate the perceived authenticity of the food truck, or, more specifically, in L.A., the fabled taco truck.

I am sure that some will complain that The Taco Spot is just Mexican food for yuppies, by yuppies, that it lacks “authenticity,” etc. I don’t agree. The food is excellent, and thoughtfully prepared and presented, without being watered down into typical chain-like suburban ersatz-Mexican goop. The reasonably priced (but not cheap) menu features a wide range of vegetarian options, a full array of breakfast choices (served all day – the soyrizo burrito is a favorite of mine) and a number of healthy options (tofu tacos, grilled vegetable burrito, etc.) that are less cheese- and cream-heavy than usual Mexican restaurant fare.

The Taco Spot, unlike, say, the fabled "secret" taco truck, or the "hidden" restaurant in Boyle Heights, or on Broadway downtown, is not the kind of place you will brag to your friends about “discovering.” Instead, The Taco Spot comes directly to you, a proud participant in the yuppification of Eagle Rock. You could say, in fact, that the Taco Spot has “discovered” you.

Service is sometimes spotty. For a while, the registers were manned single-handedly by a young Latino guy, who I think is the owner. These days, it’s goofballs with silly blonde goatees wearing trucker hats singing along to Bon Jovi. (I believe these trucker-hat guys sometimes commandeer the stereo. And how can you have two goofy guys in trucker hats manning the registers?) The Taco Spot is undeniably a hit now: it was packed on a Wednesday night with families, people coming in after work. It seems like the trucker-hat guys and the kitchen are still adjusting to the place's relatively newfound popularity: it can take a while to get your order during the dinner rush.

I would be wildly excited if a group of young South Asians opened up a place like The Taco Spot: fresh, young, fun, relatively "authentic," and, yes, spotless. It would be the product of the children of immigrants, a first- (or second-, or third-) generation place, run by kids who were neither here nor there, with something to prove.

The Oinkster in Eagle Rock

2009-07-21T22:04:00.000-07:00

What is the point of life? Is it to live forever with Vulcan restraint, limiting caloric intake, surviving on water, celery sticks, and tempeh? Or is it to revel in carnal indulgence? To have animal juices and fats dripping down your chin?

These are the questions posed by The Oinkster. The Oinkster has, in the popular consciousness of L.A., become a type of synecdoche for Eagle Rock. It sort of sums up the Zeitgeist of the place neatly: an old building revamped, selling sort of old-time food that's now a little pricier and souped-up, with a "hip" ironic name, and t-shirts that say OINKSTER in the format of the old Run-DMC logo. The Oinkster proclaims on its site that it is an "[i]nnovative and affordable, stylish and fun" place, that "aims to be Los Angeles’ antidote to both, expensive gourmet meals and their cheap fast food counterparts," from its location "on Eagle Rock’s newly hip Colorado Boulevard . . . ."

The Oinkster is probably the only restaurant in the neighborhood that one could call sexy. But it's not sexy because of the decor, the location, or any of that. Rather, it's the attitude of the place.

In an age of eco-conscious veganism, food allergies, gluten intolerance, "heart-healthy" diets, Lipitor, etc., The Oinkster is an orgiastic celebration of our irresponsible, bestial side, with its menu of pastrami, pulled pork, burgers, rotisserie chicken, Belgian fries (called the best fries in the city by Jonathan Gold), aioli mayo, and cupcakes.

It's notable that The Oinkster, despite its name, is invariably populated by many young, svelte people who don't appear to be headed for coronary thrombosis anytime soon. In fact, those eating at The Oinkster seem to often be involved in the type of counterintuitive Zahavian handicap signalling of genetic fitness involved in smoking cigarettes, where one displays one's superior fitness by purposefully engaging in dangerous or unhealthy activities: "From lion-hunting Masai warriors to cigarette-smoking, drag-racing American teenagers, people (often young) perform risky acts to prove that they are so fit or skilled that they can afford to be daring." (MIT Media Lab.) That's probably what creates the sexiness.

As my friend Colonel Mortimer noted elsewhere, my general abstinence from eating mammals hamstrings me a bit in offering a full review of The Oinkster. However, I can attest to the magnificence of the Belgian fries, which have a crisp outer shell inside of which the puffy lightness of the fry is preserved, the moist and juicy rotisserie chicken, the wonderful microbrews on tap and available by the bottle (with great specials and happy hours), the fabulous red cabbage slaw and beet salad, and the delicious cupcakes. And I have had a guilty bite or two of Oinkster pastrami and burgers from Mrs. Octopus' plate: they are pretty awesome, and probably worth the artery-narrowing. The Oinkster features an array of delicious "homemade" condiments: they've got Homemade Ketchup, Chipotle Ketchup, Roasted Garlic Aioli, Ancho-Lime Mayonnaise, Dijon Mustard, and Dijon-Horseradish Mayonnaise.

There are two flat screen TVs at either end of the inside seating area, usually showing sports. There's a nice outdoor patio. The building, which has a red, high-peaked, HoJo-style roof, used to be inhabited by something called Jim's Burgers. The Oinkster's "summer hours" are Mon.-Thurs. 11 to 11, Fri.-Sat. 11 to midnight, and Sunday 11 to 10.

Dave's Chillin' & Grillin' in Eagle Rock

2009-07-20T22:05:00.000-07:00

There's only one scene I can remember from Atom Egoyan's film FELICIA'S JOURNEY: in the scene, Bob Hoskins' creepy character, who works for some kind of food company, is explaining to a salesperson from an automated catering company why fully automated food dispensers will never replace human food service: "Food must be served by caring hands, not machines," he says. It's one of his character's only touching moments.

This is what Dave's Chillin' & Grillin' is all about. If Dave's had a tap, it would be the local bar. People would hang around all day, watching basketball on TV, sharing their troubles with Dave, whiling away the hours.

Unfortunately, you can't really nurse a sandwich for hours, and most people don't finish a turkey sub and say "Another round." Still, Dave's succeeds in some ways in becoming Eagle Rock's one true hang-out joint. Less college and mommy-circuit than Swork next door, a little more informal and welcoming than The Coffee Table a block or so away, it's a place you would want to spend the day at, if you could.

Dave's is decorated like a common room in a shared off-campus apartment, with random bookshelves, out-of-place office swivel chairs, old overstuffed easy chairs, a random high chair, a bongo drum, a battered upright piano, ancient video games, assorted knickknacks, random potted cacti, etc. The work of local artists adorn the walls. Some wooden baby toys are a recent addition. You get the sense Dave wants everyone to settle in and hang out.

There's something stridently Luddite about Dave's. There are two old TV's (projection, color) that are usually fuzzily tuned to whatever channels they can pick up with their jerry-rigged antennae. There are cassette tapes, a boom box, and VHS tapes lying around: presumably, Dave puts on REPO MAN or BULL DURHAM when there's nothing better on to watch.

I haven't talked about the food yet. The sandwiches at Dave's are locally famous, for the great care with which Dave makes them. And Dave Evans -- the Dave -- will more often than not be the one making your sandwich. He's usually there at all hours of the day. My favorite is the veggie-hummus. I don't (usually) eat beef, but am advised that the meatball sub is out of control. The ingredients are unfailingly fresh. The bread is chewy, fresh, perfect. I can't think of a better place in L.A. to get a sandwich.

Amazingly enough, the food is almost secondary here: the most important factor is Dave himself, and the other people he's got working with him. Dave seems to genuinely care about the food, and to really want his customers to be happy. After you order, he'll often say, in his thick Boston accent "We'll take care of ya. I'll make you a great sandwich." And he will. I often suspect that he gives me the 10" sub when I order a 6" because, why not? I've often been there alone; as he brings my sandwich out to my table, where I'm sitting and reading alone, Dave will often say something nice like "Bon Appetit" or something, to make the experience of eating alone a little more pleasant. And when you're done, Dave will almost always ask "How'd that treat ya?" And you will invariably tell him that it was fantastic.

Perhaps this is the point of Dave's defiantly Luddite motif: no matter how amazing the future gets, technology will never replace the joy of eating at a place like Dave's, where you're made to feel a little less alone, and where a sandwich can be a reminder that the world can be a very good place.

Tritch Hardware in Eagle Rock, or, a Yuppie Reflects

2009-07-19T16:21:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, Eagle Rock has a real Riverdale, Archie & Jughead feel about it: you're driving down Colorado, past all these businesses that have been here since the 40's or so (Cindy's Diner, Casa Bianca, Colombo's, etc.), you see the "Historic Route 66" signs, and you feel a bit like you're in BACK TO THE FUTURE or something. Nowhere is this blast-from-the-past feeling more pronounced than in the venerable Tritch Hardware in Eagle Rock (SW corner of Colorado and Townsend).

Tritch Hardware is the kind of place where an American flag is hung up with no irony, where most of the grizzled staff probably spent some time in either Vietnam or Korea at some point, and where people really care how the Eagle Rock high school football team is doing. It's a throwback.

I've purchased the following items at Tritch Hardware in the three years we've lived in Eagle Rock: a shovel, six tomato cages, several bags of potting soil, a hammer, nails, hooks, duct tape, a hand juicer, and a wheelbarrow. The people in Tritch Hardware are famously helpful. They'll answer all sorts of questions in detail, and will always help you find the stuff you need. A French friend of mine was in there yesterday, asking them about how to restore the finish on aluminum. The guy helping him, an older guy, carefully went over my friend's project, and what he wanted to accomplish, and pointed him in exactly the right direction.

The staff at Tritch are not all bubbly and fake-friendly, but more sort of the gruff and to-the-point helpful types: you'll come out of there with the stuff you need and will probably feel like you learned something useful about hardware/home repair/the American way. You might also feel like going and having a Miller and watching the Dodgers. And changing your own oil and filter.

They've got basically all the hardware you might need, in addition to other random household stuff (appliances, kitchen stuff, etc.). They also have a cooler full of ice cream bars. Behind the counter they've usually got a baseball, football, or basketball game on on the tiny TV they have next to the register.

I might have to agree with those who argue that Tritch Hardware, and not the car-accident-prone Swork (which I love), is the true heart of Eagle Rock. Of course, Tritch Hardware is often posited as some kind of touchstone of "realness" and "real people" against which the invading yuppie hordes are juxtaposed: see the NYT article comparing the now-defunct Regeneration shop vs. Tritch (the faint odor you detect as you read the article is the sickly sweet musk of Schadenfreude).

Tritch Hardware and the other businesses that have been in Eagle Rock for the past sixty years are what make this neighborhood what it is. They are the core of the place. Newer places (Swork, Colorado Wine Company, The Oinkster, Señor Fish, etc.) are inexorably becoming part of the fabric of neighborhood as well, but Eagle Rock likely never will be a copy of Silverlake or Los Feliz: the set up and the nature of the place are too different.

Young and old are working out a happy medium in this neighborhood. The new places that will go up over the coming years as we come out of the current downturn will all go to the same place for the tools they need to start building: Tritch Hardware.

All Star Lanes in Eagle Rock

2009-07-18T23:00:00.000-07:00

After a nice dinner at Mia Sushi on Eagle Rock Boulevard tonight, Mrs. Octopus and I continued our evening at All Star Lanes in Eagle Rock. Mrs. Octopus won two out of three games, with a high score of 134 in the second game. In my three games I bowled 109, 59, and 78. Not my best night of bowling.

All Star Lanes is a lot of fun on the weekends. It's full of families, teens on dates, groups of friends. It's got a bar, a full Chinese restaurant (The Red Dragon) attached to the bowling alley -- so you can get a beer and some dumplings to snack on while you wait your turn to bowl. After nine or so, they dim the lights and turn on the black lights and everything gets all freaky and day-glo. The music is good, too. I did a little Hammer dance to "Can't Touch This" and waved my hands in the air to "Insane in the Membrane".

The technology of bowling has come a long way since I used to go duck pin bowling as a kid. Everything at All Star Lanes is totally computerized. You get speed and direction information on your bowls, and goofy computer-animated sequences after gutter balls, spares, and strikes. The scoring (the rules of which are still sort of a mystery to me) is completely automated.

The one thing that hasn't changed is that you still have to figure out what weight ball, with what type of finger holes, works for you. You have to figure out how many steps you want to take before you release. You have to figure out if you stand straight on, to the right, if you're going to have a long windup, or a tight, compact motion. And you have to figure out why no matter how hard you try to make the ball go straight down the middle, it ends up going everywhere else.

Blue Dot in Eagle Rock

2009-07-16T22:37:00.001-07:00

I'm excited about Blue Dot, the new yogurt and acai place that recently opened here in Eagle Rock. It's on Townsend, just off Colorado (north), next to the Loft hair salon and Pollen, in the same building as Cardio Barre. The landlord of that entire building is the guy that owns the framing place next to Cardio Barre (the one that never seems to be open). He's done a really nice job with the building: all of the businesses that have opened there are great.

Blue Dot is run by a brother and sister team ~~I believe Mike is the brother's name (I don't know the sister's name yet)~~, Mike and Grace. They're both very nice and are always happy to chat with customers about the store, their plans for future developments at the store (exotic flavors, an oatmeal bar in winter, etc.)

The store has a very interesting interior. It's very 2001: stark white and minimalist, with a bare-bones menu on the wall behind the yogurt and acai equipment. (All they're missing is a glowing red eye somewhere in the wall.) Right now, Blue Dot has tables set up with pictures of people who sit on the various boards that had to give them approvals to open up the store. On the walls, they've taped up, with blue electrical tape, the original forms (dozens of them) of various permits and approvals they obtained, along with the receipts showing how much they had to pay for the various permits and licenses. The effect is one of an art gallery, with the shop itself as a type of kooky (edible) performance art. This must be sort of the idea the owners of Blue Dot have: on their Twitter account they're inviting local artists to hold their openings at the store. [UPDATED 8/12/09]: Mike confirmed for me that he was in fact a recent Art Center grad and that the design of the store was his senior project. This explains the SoHo-art-gallery look of the place. [UPDATED 8/25/09]: Blue Dot currently has a new photography exhibition up. The tables in the middle of the store are gone. There are now two large, round seating things.

Red Dot. Would you like some toppings with your yogurt, Dave?

The yogurt is tangy and tastier than Pinkberry's, in my opinion. The acai is a bit more expensive that the yogurt, but very good (and apparently good for you). You have the same general set of toppings for the yogurt that you would expect, based on the ubiquitous Pinkberry model (i.e., kiwi chunks, Capt. Crunch, Fruity Pebbles, blueberries, etc.). The acai comes in different pre-set varieties involving granola, strawberries, and other stuff. I tried "The Original" acai, and it was very tasty. The large size serving of the acai can probably serve as a breakfast or lunch meal.

Blue Dot is open from ~~8 a.m. to 9 p.m. every day~~ 10 a.m. to 10 p.m. starting Friday, July 24 [updated 7/21/09]. Cash only for now, though Grace told me they will be accepting credit cards soon.

Money I$ Magic

2009-07-15T23:18:00.001-07:00

I was buying some food today, holding a ratty $5 bill that I was about to hand over for some fries and a sandwich. Let me make clear that I was not high. But as I was handing over the bill, I was struck with a thought that overwhelms me from time to time: money is really fucking weird.

I was standing there, able to convert my ratty, purposeless piece of paper into food because of a magical belief system. I believed in the efficacy of money, as did the guy at the cash register; we believed in money because everyone else believed in money. Our collective faith in the floating ~~signified~~ signifier of the dollar (I WENT TO COLLEGE IN THE 90'S) infused it with power over all of us. It becomes the ultimate measure of all things. As Marx said, money "transforms fidelity into infidelity, love into hate, hate into love, virtue into vice, vice into virtue, servant into master, master into servant, idiocy into intelligence, and intelligence into idiocy." (Marx, 1844) And thus it enslaves us, and holds us in its thrall.

The practical effect of this: my willingness to sit in an office all day typing things for other people so they would give me magical paper that I could convert into things I needed to live (and things I didn't necessarily need to live).

That, of course, is just one view of money. Another view is that money is simply a shorthand, a way to translate values, a way to allow complicated transactions to be measured by one all-purpose measure of value -- the only way to conduct business in a complicated economy.

Ron-Ron Comes To Town

2009-07-05T14:28:00.000-07:00

Watching the Lakers pick up Artest, I feel somewhat like a kid in Yemen or Pakistan watching the U.S. elect Barack Obama: it makes them a whole lot harder to hate.

Artest completes Kobe. Kobe is a silent void from which no light escapes. Artest is bursting with earnest, crazy-ass humanity.

Or, Artest is pure id to Kobe's pure superego. Let's see if Jackson can manage in his role as the ego, riding the wild horse of the id, tormented by a swarm of bees above (the superego). (Metaphor via Peter Gay, building on Freud's image of the ego riding the id.)

It's like the Marx Brothers. That would make Jackson Chico.

R.I.P. the King of Pop

2009-06-25T15:42:00.000-07:00

At his best, Michael Jackson was the best ever.

View from the Tank: Valu-Pak

2009-06-22T22:42:00.000-07:00

What follows is essentially a compilation of my recent movie review tweets, with some elaboration beyond 140 characters (elaboration on tweets and/or multiple tweets indicated by long dashes).

At screenin[g] of THE GRADUATE at Hollywood Forever cemetery. Crazy crowded. People love watching movies while picnicking. --- The movie is still sort of funny, after all these years. Is Michael Cera doing a young Dustin Hoffman mumbly dreamboat thing? Some of the flashy editing seemed a little dated. Also, only in Los Angeles does the line about driving in "all the way from Tarzana" get a laugh. Four tentacles.

Tempted to give DOUBLE INDEMNITY five tentacles. Can't think of a better movie I've seen. Wilder & Chandler double each other's powers. --- Barbara Stanwyck is a pretty hot femme fatale. And how can you not love a movie where the protagonist/villain is an insurance salesman?

ENTER THE DRAGON 3.5 tentacles - a little stupid, but still a must-see for everyone. "There is no I." --- I had forgotten that the black dude gets killed in ENTER THE DRAGON. Lame, but par for the course at the time. Also, the 70's loved turtlenecks. --- The famous Hall of Mirrors scene in ETD - most literal interpretation of a Shaolin master's teaching ever. --- The Hall of Mirrors scene is high art.

CITIZEN KANE is overrated. Acting and story are better today. It may have been groundbreaking, but I don't care-still boring. 3 tentacles.

ROMAN HOLIDAY is a fantastic film. Seeing it again, ending is much sadder than I remember. Understand finality better now that I'm old. 4.5 tentacles

They were definitely not hypermiling in MAD MAX. --- MAD MAX may have been Detroit's finest hour. --- Re final scene of MAD MAX: lucky thing the Interceptor is an automatic. 4 tentacles.

UP was almost uniformly fantastic and pretty moving at points. The most human Pixar film to date. 4 tentacles. No need to see in 3D. --- On my second viewing I was less sanguine. The movie does become sort of pedestrian and prefab after the characters land in South America. Too many ideas tossed in (the rare bird, the talking dogs, the old explorer, etc.). Still good, but probably closer to 3.5 tentacles.

DRAG ME TO HELL was a lot of goofy, campy, gross fun. Not a classic, but thoroughly entertaining. 3.5 tentacles.

So, there it is: I gave DRAG ME TO HELL a better review than CITIZEN KANE. OCTOPUS GRIGORI, your source for accurate movie criticism.

A quick thought about driving

2009-06-11T17:23:00.000-07:00

Blue car with a snub nose driving all around Los Angeles. Up the upramps, down the downramps, into traffic, waiting its turn, patiently, driving west on the 10, driving north on the 101, driving south on the 110, a computer code of pathways under the June gloom.

Remembering being in Madrid in 1999

2009-06-11T17:18:00.000-07:00

Dragging bags down to a train station to put them in a locker while we visited the Prado. In a full hall of people moving around looking at Las Meninas. The photo I took shows everyone in the hall moving and the figures in the painting standing still. Poking our heads into galleries and wings full of vases and sculptures and deciding they were boring. Sitting down looking at paintings and not really knowing where they were from. Buying postcards from the gift shop. A very dry-feeling city, no waterfront, no big bridge over water.

General Motors

2009-06-01T22:02:00.000-07:00

This was my first car: my dad's old 1984 Cadillac Eldorado, silver hardtop with red leather interior. You read that correctly: red leather. (This picture is just one I found on the web, but our car looked exactly like this.) I remember the midsummer day when we drove down to the Potemkin dealership in New York City. My dad spent a few hours working out the transaction. My brother and I passed the time sitting in all the Cadillac models in the showroom, messing with the windows and knobs.

My dad bought this car during his period of automotive nationalism, when he strongly believed that all Americans should buy American cars. We bought two Caprice Classic station wagons in a row during this period. Much of my childhood was spent hanging out in the back of those station wagons, sleeping, reading, listening to a Walkman, staring out at the scenery in Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Maine, New York, New Jersey, Rhode Island.

When I first sat in the driver's seat of the Eldorado, I couldn't imagine ever being able to actually steer the thing. The hood seemed to run on for miles. The first few times I drove the car, I would steer by using the hood ornament as a target that I would aim where I wanted to go, since the absurdly long hood made it hard to actually see the road. Luckily, the Eldorado handled like an aircraft carrier. Everything was soft and plush: the brake pedal, the steering wheel, and especially the hydraulic car leveling system.

The Eldorado met its end flying off an icy road into a telephone pole in the winter of 1992. Middle Brother Octopus was at the wheel, and luckily was unhurt. But before the end, the Eldorado was a vehicle for fantastic memories: eating Pop Tarts and shaving with an electric razor as I rolled into our prep school in Connecticut blasting Public Enemy and EPMD while Middle Brother Octopus slept under a blanket on the massive back seat, tearing down dark streets in Manchester, South Windsor, and Glastonbury trying to get home before my 11 p.m curfew, driving up to a mountain in Vermont, which I climbed with a friend, and the name of which I've forgotten, and could never find again.

The American auto industry as we knew it is over. It'll continue, but it likely will never be the same industry we all grew up with.

I loved that Eldorado, and I still like American cars. The 2003 Dodge Intrepid I'm still driving has to be one of the most reliable and comfortable cars I've ever had, even now at over 110,000 miles. I know it's past time to let go of car culture as we've known it in America. But today, for me, is a day to remember American cars we've all loved. I know it's stupid and sentimental, but I grew up largely in American cars, and for much of my childhood I buckled a seat belt with that blue GM logo across my lap. Some dumb part of me, the same infantile part that pledged loyalty to the Mets in 1985, still feels that if I do buy a car, it should be American -- though what it means to "buy American" is not such an easy question these days.

I had an American childhood, and was driven through that childhood in gigantic American cars. Those cars will always be with me.

Audio View from the Tank: DOOM, Born Like This (2009)

2009-05-18T22:07:00.000-07:00

By special request. (Shout out to Upstate NY!)

I had been waiting a while for the return of MF DOOM (now just DOOM), filling the time by playing his previous albums over and over. DOOM has ruined most other rap for me: everything and everyone else sounds stale, tired, bogus. Is there anyone else out there in hip hop as funny, as vibrant, or as mind-blowingly clever as DOOM/MF DOOM/King Geedorah/Victor Vaughn?

First, sighs of relief: Born Like This is mostly awesome and miles better than the misbegotten The Mouse and the Mask. DOOM has somehow managed to stay fresh and compelling over more than a decade now. His longevity is probably due to his humor and his unwillingness to ever grow up: the samples from Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, Star Trek, The Fantastic Four and all other manner of Saturday morning and afternoon detritus are served up here.

There are some uneven patches here: the excessively long samples of police reports, the litany of disaster from Charles Bukowski at the beginning of "Cellz" (which is interesting only the first couple of times you hear it), etc.

But these minor bumps in the road aren't enough to take away from the joy of the ride. There are several tracks I wanted to go on forever -- especially "Yessir!" (featuring Raekwon in fine, energetic, mid-90's form and DOOM production consisting of a sick ESG sample), "Angelz" (with Ghostface Killah and some very fine late-70's action-drama production from DOOM), and "Still Dope" (with a shockingly good staHHR). There are some interesting experiments, most notably the collaborations with Thom Yorke on the "Gazillion Ear" remix. And the late great J Dilla makes a couple triumphant appearances.

Perhaps not DOOM's greatest album ever, but featuring flashes of extreme brilliance. DOOM is still "in effect like alternative side of the street parking rules." 3 1/2 tentacles.

When Trekkies Attack

2009-05-13T22:27:00.000-07:00

An open letter to the New Yorker:

Re "Highly Illogical" by Anthony Lane (a review of Star Trek)

I'm quite sure this letter will end up a thick file labeled "Angry Trekkies," but I will send it anyway. Anthony Lane gets Lieutenant Uhura, the Enterprise's linguist, quite wrong, in an amusingly ironic way. He says that she is "said to have 'exceptional oral sensitivity.'" Uhura is a linguist who spends most of her time listening to faint transmissions in alien languages: her exceptional sensitivity is "aural" -- not "oral."

Unfortunately for Lane, his aural sensitivity isn't quite as exceptional as Lieutenant Uhura's. Subtitles might help him with those confusing English homonyms.

Octopus Grigori
Los Angeles, California

Yeah, I know. I wouldn't publish it either.

View from the Tank: Star Trek (2009)

2009-05-11T22:44:00.000-07:00

I was worried about this movie, and hesitant to embrace it, especially as everyone began raving about how exciting, sexy, and action-packed it was. I was, in fact, like the fanboys The Onion parodied, worried that it was a thrilling, accessible blockbuster.

But I had no reason to fear. Star Trek is the best film in the series, with the possible -- possible -- exception of Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan. It is thrilling, it is slick, and it's even sort of sexy. But it is also true to the essence of the series, to Gene Roddenberry's vision, to what makes Star Trek the most important and influential science fiction series in American television history. The film captures the optimistic vision of the universe so many of us were entranced by in the Original Series, The Next Generation, and the other progeny of Star Trek. At its heart, Star Trek is about the hope that logic and ethical actions will win out in the end and that we must approach the universe with an openness to new ideas and new ways of thinking.

After seeing this film twice in four days, I appreciate this film most for its faith in the fans of of the series. J.J. Abrams and the screenwriters recognized something that maybe some of us had forgotten as Star Trek became steadily ossified in an endless series of lifeless museum pieces in films numbers three through ten: Star Trek is about accepting new ideas and new realities. This film has the faith in its fans to take away (almost) everything we know. The arrival of a Romulan ship from the future (and a very special Vulcan ambassador) fundamentally alters the course of Trek history at the very beginning of the story of James T. Kirk, Spock, and crew. As Spock explains mid-way through the movie, the arrival of the Romulan ship has changed the course of history and set them all on an alternative timeline: as he says, their destinies have changed. The Original Series, the Next Generation, etc. -- none of these "exist" any longer as we know them. The new series can go anywhere it wants, almost entirely unconstrained by any of the previous Trek series.

What is especially wonderful is that this creation of an entirely new "reality" for the crew of the Enterprise is done in a way that honors the very best of TOS: the greatest episode in the original series, City on the Edge of Forever (written by the great (and litigious) Harlan Ellison) featured a similar diversion of history, when McCoy travelled back to 1930's America and accidentally prevented the entry of the U.S. into W.W.II. There are other ingenious quotations from earlier Trek: e.g., Kirk's goading of Spock, straight out of This Side of Paradise, the upgrading of Uhura's abilities to expertise in xenolinguistics (from Hoshi Sato in Enterprise), etc. And don't miss the tribble hidden in the film. (Hint: you'll hear the tribble cooing and purring before you see it.)

The casting is phenomenal -- as in perfect. I liked the controversial casting for Chekhov quite a bit: the whiz-kid math genius angle works. John Cho as Sulu seemed a little shaky to me at first, but you will be won over once he pulls out his sword -- I almost jumped out of my seat cheering. Zoe Saldana as Uhura is a revelation, and I do appreciate the efforts of the filmmakers to add some depth to this crucial character. Simon Pegg is delightful and appropriately zany as Scottie (I even liked his ewok-like sidekick as a frivolous add-on). Karl Urban is phenomenal in capturing McCoy, and his performance is the closest to impersonation, though it's much richer than that. Chris Pine won me over, despite my initial impulse to dislike him, with his thoughtful balance of Kirk's narcissism, cocksureness, and comic side, while avoiding falling into easy caricature. Finally, Zack Quinto has offered us a deeply textured Spock, bringing his emotional torment to just below the surface -- constantly simmering. (Never before have the words "Live long and prosper" so clearly meant "fuck off" as they do in a key scene here.)

Eric Bana does what he can with the Romulan villain Nero: he's got no real story and no real depth to work with. The much ballyhooed presence of Leonard Nimoy is just okay: I found some of his lines a bit cheesy and manipulative. (I thought the use of the line "I have been and always will be your friend" was an unforgivable abuse of that historic and moving line.) There are some stupid and cheesy monsters, and more than a few holes in the plot. And perhaps you will be as put off as I was by the less than convincing reaction of some of the characters to the destruction of an entire planet. Finally, what was with all the lens flare?

It's not a perfect movie -- but it's pretty damn good. It's a fresh and thrilling reboot (paging Daniel Craig), opening the door to a new chapter of Trek. Oh, and the opening scene may be the single greatest scene that I know of in all of Star Trek.

I've decided to bump up my rating after my second viewing: four and 1/2 tentacles.

More than 140 characters -- but not much more

2009-05-10T23:24:00.000-07:00

Looking back at the weekend now that I've reached the very end again: reading Less Than Zero, watching several episodes of Star Trek TOS, going for a hike in Runyon Canyon with all the dogs and beautiful people, window shopping for a new car, swimming at the Rose Bowl, visiting Mrs. Octopus' parents in Orange County, seeing Star Trek (the new movie) again, and now heading off to bed. There were many things I forgot to get around to doing. That'll all have to wait until next weekend.

My sunflowers are starting to get a bit taller, and the leaves on the plants are getting huge. There's still nothing resembling a flower on any of the plants yet -- maybe by June. The vegetables in the back are doing fine; we'll probably have some vegetables ready to eat by July or August. Plants were not made for the age of the blog post or twitter update.

We visited a model home near Mrs. Octopus' parents' house this afternoon, just for kicks; it was my first time inside a model home. I found it kind of creepy and fascinating how the real estate marketers chose to decorate the model home: they had decided that the fake family inhabiting the model home was Asian, and filled the house with seemingly random pictures of Asian people. I was also fascinated by the choice of books they placed around the house. In the "teenage boy's room" there was a copy of Modern Electroanalytical Chemistry and The Real Anita Hill. The master bedroom featured a copy of Modern Physics. The plants in the model home were, to my surprise, real. It was a strange touch. There were jars filled with cereal, goldfish crackers, etc. I thought about eating from them, but didn't. I checked the fridge: it was empty, except for a box of Arm & Hammer.

You Are a Reaction

2009-05-05T22:49:00.001-07:00

What is memory? And by that, I mean, what is it made of? If consciousness is a set of chemical and electrical reactions and impulses, memory itself must be nothing more than certain chemical compounds and reactions in the brain. Human memory is undoubtedly a material thing, stored in wet, slimy, material form.

It's beyond debate, but still feels strange, somehow. Perhaps because memory seems like such a ghostly, spectral thing -- appearing in visions in our dreams, in our minds as we recall faces, views, words. Memory -- like consciousness itself -- seems too elevated and ethereal -- too incorporeal -- to be nothing more than simple chemical compounds. In the end, everything is something -- as in something physical. My physics professors always used to lord it over their colleagues in biology and chemistry: because, in the end, everything boils down to physics. I guess the question is whether that is depressing or liberating.

Update 5/6/09: Better living through chemistry: BBC reports that scientists at the Alzheimer's Research Trust have had success with a drug that apparently reverses the effects of Alzheimer's disease by boosting the chemical processes involved in memory formation and retention.

Save a Prayer

2009-04-27T16:35:00.000-07:00

Washing my hands a lot lately. Thinking twice before taking some gummy bears offered by someone at the office. Who knows who’s touched those gummies a very simple way of thinking paranoia very simple desire pleasurable in some ways even to want to keep perfectly clean to be extra mindful of one’s hands and fingers not touching things you don’t need to keeping an extra foot or two between people L.A. is probably a good place to avoid catching anything as you can just stay in your car stay in your house keep your distance all the time some guy in my office building spending his lunch hour in his car in the parking garage listening to the radio and eating a sandwich the safety of being totally alone and not having to touch or rub up against anyone normally the people in New York sneer at the selfish Los Angelenos but how must it feel now to be riding a packed 9 train uptown with someone sneezing in your face of course we can’t live like we do in L.A. forever and the world would collapse faster than it already is if everyplace became more like L.A. it’s times like these when you become extra conscious of how few opportunities for face-to-face contact one actually has in L.A. and how easily almost all such interactions can be avoided there are no crowded sidewalks most people don’t take public transport times like this you sort of want to pack your car with provisions and head to some place in Idaho or Wyoming and just wait it out what bugs me is people who get off on aestheticizing disaster people who invariably have good health care and all sorts of financial and social safety nets and who can get off on the pornography of disaster from their secured locations and they are in their perverse way loving the current situation because it’s so dystopian and awesome just a high-brow form of sensationalism and more than a little titillation felt in being able to describe death and destruction while knowing that the privileged describer faces little chance of being affected by said death and destruction. Wash your hands and say a prayer.

"The earth laughs in flowers."

2009-04-22T23:35:00.000-07:00

April coming to an end. We have vegetable beds now -- four of them, sitting in the backyard. They're made of cedar or something like that. They're now filled with 81 cubic feet of compost and soil. We've planted beans, tomatoes, zucchini, scallions, lettuce, melons, pak choi, sugar snap peas, and other stuff. There's a black tarp laid out under the beds, and various bamboo structures placed on top of the beds for the climbing plants to attach themselves to: the whole set up looks like a large science project.

My role in our gardening project has mostly involved moving a lot of dirt and digging holes for trees. I enjoy that kind of work outside: it feels like good exercise and I find it relaxing to dig into the ground and move dirt around.

I have complete control over one patch of territory -- a strip near the driveway where I've planted several kinds of sunflowers. I'm especially excited about the giant sunflowers I've planted there, which are supposed to grow to twelve or fourteen feet. I've got seven or eight sunflowers growing there now; many of the seeds I planted were unearthed and eaten by birds or squirrels. I was initially impatient with the sunflowers, but I've learned to accept that I just have to wait for the little fuckers to do their thing -- at their own rate. Nature.

Automatic Transmission

2009-04-17T00:03:00.001-07:00

Riding in the backseat of a car through the hills over the Rose Bowl in Pasadena I used to have these dreams all the time of being in the back of a car that was rolling along usually down a hill with no one driving the origin of these dreams probably had something to do with my crashing a car when I was two my mother had left me sleeping in a car seat in the back seat as she took my baby brother into the house the car was parked on our street at the top of a long steep hill while she was taking my brother in I somehow got out of my car seat got into the front seat and shifted the car into neutral and it started rolling backwards down the hill my mom saw this dropped my brother on the lawn and started chasing after the car which started picking up speed as it rolled down the hill perhaps taking out a mailbox or garbage can here and there with my mom screaming and reaching out for the car I don't remember any of this and then the story goes the car fell off the road into a ditch or a small stream -- I can't remember exactly which -- and my mom got to the car and pulled open the door and I was a little confused and scared but unhurt someone had called my dad and he raced back from his office at eighty or ninety miles an hour down the streets of Windsor, Connecticut later the back seat held happier memories as I would ride in a carpool to Montessori school with my friends and the parents would leave little picture books in the back for us to look at to acquaint and familiarize us with books to encourage us to hold and enjoy books because that would be important for us to become good students later which would be important for us to obtain positions of prestige and comfort so that we would live good lives and crashing cars before we could read was not part of that plan -- the ambitious plan for the children looking through picture books in the back seat though the thing I remember most clearly from that house in Windsor was being lifted into a tree sometime in the spring by my neighbor a girl a few years older than me named Nancy and there alone up in the tree I looked into a nest and saw the startling sky blue eggs of a robin

There ain't no Florida deal

2009-04-15T19:43:00.000-07:00

What is the rush to end every week? Racing to Friday afternoon, waking up on Thursday thinking it's Friday Mrs. Octopus on the phone with her parents speaking in Vietnamese I can understand a bit here and there and I'm watching the St. Louis Blues vs. the Vancouver Canucks in the Stanley Cup Playoffs though I haven't watched hockey much since the Whalers left Hartford in the nineties which was deeply traumatic for most people in or from Connecticut I had gone to dozens of Whalers games growing up with my uncle who had season tickets through his company behind one of the goals every time we went someone got hit or nearly hit with a puck flying off an errant slapshot there were a couple die-hard fans -- they were sort of fat and scruffy and always wore their Whalers jerseys -- who had seats behind my uncle's and apparently went to every single game and knew all the staff at the Hartford Civic Center now the XL Center and were apparently allowed to bring in their own snacks and I respected them because of their commitment it was very pure and focused at least they could really commit to something they loved I wonder why I can't do that the Civic Center caved in after a huge snowstorm in 1978 and today it's an empty husk the sun has gone down Old Time Hockey eh like Eddie Shore the days are deliciously long again spring is wonderful I was thinking as I took the long Colorado St./Eagle Rock exit ramp of the 134 admiring the young trees in bloom with tiny pink blossoms in the median spring is here the Blues and Canucks are shoving each other and falling down on top of each other even though the period's over and here comes the Zamboni

2009-04-15T19:00:00.001-07:00

Jettisoned like a spent booster rocket, tumbling to earth, burning up.

Steep my senses in forgetfulness

2009-04-14T23:39:00.000-07:00

I've deleted at least three first sentences for this post. It's one of those nights. My soccer game sucked tonight. There aren't any good movies out. I feel tired all the time. Brown couch white ceiling blue tv set miss my black and white portable set that I used to watch in the mornings as I brushed my teeth before driving to Hartford through the snow sliding down the driveway one night I was driving my brother and my mom to go get Chinese food in Glastonbury it had been snowing and we slid -- very slowly -- into a snowbank luckily nothing happened but the car had to be heated so the snow packed into the bottom of the car would melt away I felt bad about that for a while and drove much more carefully afterwards polar bear chewing on the German woman already eight every morning already eleven thirty every night the medical marijuana on Colorado seems not to be opening there's a place down the street where they started building an apartment building but they just stopped it looked neat for a little while but now it's really depressing my sunflowers are taking forever to grow they're only six inches high now but they're supposed to grow to twelve to fourteen feet I want them to be gigantic and frightening and I want that now but I'll have to wait and keep watering them every morning the state motto of New Mexico is It Grows as It Goes and Kansas' is Ad Astra per Aspera which is also my motto and I have to come to grips with the reality that my favorite activity is book shopping and not book reading I need to do some more book reading some more writing and figure out what I need to do with myself.

The View from the Tank: Valu-Pak

2009-04-08T22:41:00.000-07:00

[Explanatory note: We have some premium movie channels now, so I find myself watching a lot of movies I probably shouldn't or otherwise wouldn't. You will notice a resulting lack of commitment to most of these reviews and a general decline in analysis and care.]

Milk (2008)
Sean Penn is excellent. Josh Brolin is okay. The ending was ludicrous and unforgivable. 3 1/2 tentacles.

Ferris Bueller's Day Off (1986)
Not as good as you remember. Goes by really fast. I can't remember what it was I thought was so funny about this movie back in the day. 2 1/2 tentacles.

Sans Soleil (1983)
Bizarre and mostly fascinating. Marker seems to have been infinitely more interested and absorbed by the material from Japan. I don't see why the portions about Africa are in here at all. But then my French friend objected that I was always looking for a "purpose" in things. That's me: Anglo-Saxon empiricism and Protestant linearity and practicality all the way. And I admit to getting a little distracted during the interminable part where they visited the sites in San Francisco featured in Vertigo. Still, a movie all movie fans should see. A documentary with a little imagination. 4 tentacles.

Alvin and the Chipmunks (2007)
Surprisingly entertaining, even if it may result in minor brain damage to the viewer. Theodore is very cute. The love interest is sort of hot. David Cross is hilarious as the hip, evil record executive who wants to exploit the rodents and "turn China Chipmunk." I sense several sequels. 2 1/2 tentacles.

Juno (2007)
The words coming out of Juno's mouth seem like an endless attempt to demonstrate how with it "Diablo Cody" is. Ellen Page does a good job of working in an actual character around Cody's absurd dialogue. Michael Sera does a good job playing himself again. It feels like this movie was built around an indie song that Cody heard during an Itunes commercial. 2 1/2 tentacles.

The Perfect Storm (2000)
I don't know what kept me watching to the end. I can't believe they all died. Clooney was wholly unbelievable as the Ahab-like captain of the Andrea Gail. I kept waiting for him to crack a self-satisfied smile and hatch a plan to rob the vault at the Bellagio. Mostly I kept waiting for the climactic storm scenes to be revealed in full HD glory. They were okay. John C. Reilly and William Fichtner are strangely compelling here. Worth watching if you can't sleep or do anything else. 1 1/2 tentacles.

Waltz with Bashir (2008)
Hallucinatory and powerful. A most perfect and strange documentary. Intensely personal and political. A crucial film. 4 1/2 tentacles.

Mistaken Identity at the Border in Hanoi

2009-03-27T18:04:00.000-07:00

On our recent trip to Vietnam, I got a tiny taste of the terror and fear thousands of travelers must experience at our borders. We were at the Hanoi airport, catching a flight to Siem Reap. We got to the airport way too early. There wasn't much to do in the general ticketing area, so we decided to go through passport control and head to the gate. That was probably a mistake, as the customs agents at passport control were sitting around bored at that point. No one else was in line when we got up to passport control.

Mrs. Octopus went through first. Normally, I like to walk up to passport control with Mrs. Octopus, as standing next to her tends to make me a little less shady-looking, I think: the thirty-something Indian-looking guy with the nice Vietnamese wife is less likely to catch the interest of border guards than the thirty-something Indian-looking guy apparently travelling alone and probably up to no good. Unfortunately, the clerks at the passport control booth -- three twenty-something men and women who appeared to be texting before we walked up to their booth -- said they wanted us to come up separately. Mrs. Octopus handed over her passport, got stamped, and was on her way off to the gate.

I walked up next and handed over my passport. The young woman who was looking at my passport was about to stamp it when the guy sitting next to her said something I didn't understand and pointed to something posted at their desk. I couldn't quite see what it was, but it looked like a xeroxed or faxed picture of someone. She said something back to him, and then the guy turned to the other woman sitting at the desk and asked her to look at my passport and the xeroxed picture. I started to get a little freaked out when the guy started taking quick glances up at my face from my passport and the xeroxed picture. The sinking feeling I had dramatically accelerated when, after a minute or so of scrutinizing my passport and stealing looks at me, the guy in the middle picked up the phone.

At that point, I called out to Mrs. Octopus, who was waiting for me somewhere behind passport control, in the gate area. She came back around the front of the booth. The initial passport control clerk, who still seemed skeptical of the middle guy's suspicions, confirmed with Mrs. Octopus that I was her husband and that we were in fact American. She said something that sounded like "See, you moron?" (but in Vietnamese) to the guy in the middle, but he kept pointing to my passport photo and the xeroxed picture and saying something about "the ears." I caught a glimpse of the xeroxed picture as they were passing it around: it looked like a pudgy-faced middle-aged Indian guy who could have played a villain in a Bollywood movie. He had thick, menacing eyebrows. I couldn't really say if his ears looked like mine.

While we were waiting for whomever it was that the guy had called to show up or call back, I was getting frustrated and worried that the whole thing was getting a little out of control. I pulled out my California driver's license, my credit cards, and maybe even my LAPL card, and laid them out on the customs booth desk. The guy looked at them quickly but seemed unmoved. After another uncomfortable minute or two, two older customs officials came walking up to the booth from some back office in the gate area. As they were looking at my passport, I tried to explain to one of the older guards that I was born in America and lived in California. I said this in Vietnamese, which was probably not a good idea, because it probably made me appear more suspicious. One of the older customs officials, who looked like a nice grandfatherly type, took my papers, told Mrs. Octopus not to worry -- that it wasn't a big deal, and walked off back to his office.

Mrs. Octopus was doing a good job not appearing too flustered while we waited for the older official to come back (or send police out to take me into custody). I, on the other hand, was starting to break out in a cold sweat of sheer terror. I started imagining worst-case scenarios: we were, after all, in a communist country. Who knew how things worked there? Did they adhere to international conventions applying to travellers? What did they do in Vietnam with individuals suspected to be wanted persons? What type of interrogation would there be? What right would I have to complain about interrogation techniques as an United States citizen? Would they deport me to Myanmar or Malaysia or wherever it was that the Bollywood villain guy in the xerox was wanted?

While I was playing out scenarios that would end with me locked away in solitary in a Vietnamese prison, the older official came back and handed my passport to the clerk whom I had originally handed my papers to. He said "I'm sorry about that," in English, smiled, and walked away. The woman quickly stamped my passport, as the guy in the middle, looking a little frustrated, pretended not to watch (or care).

Mrs. Octopus and I walked around the gate area, waiting for our flight, which wasn't for another hour or so. My nerves were still totally shot and I felt really jangled. I didn't feel quite calm again until an hour or so into our flight.

I realize that my little incident was insignificant and minor, but I think it was enlightening, in opening a little window into the terrors immigrants (and, at times, citizens) face at our borders, where they are at times confronted with suspicious border agents who refuse to believe that the immigrants are who they say they are. Who knows how many people at the border have been routed into enhanced interrogation because a twenty-four-year-old border guard thought their ears resembled some terrorist's ears? We read about nightmarish stories like this all the time. I was shaken just to have a taste of what this must be like. I can't imagine how terrifying it must be to fall even deeper down that dark rabbit hole.

Just another Wednesday Night in Paradise

2009-03-25T21:06:00.000-07:00

Newt Gingrich is on Hannity right now suggesting that Obama and the Democrats are moving the country towards a "dictatorship." This is a lot of fun: Hannity and Gingrich are doing a whole fake back-and-forth, giving each other hand jobs.

I flipped it to "Lost", which I've given up on: these guys have no fucking idea what they're doing. The manipulative music, all the bullshit melodrama -- no longer working for me.

Mrs. Octopus just flipped it to Will Ferrell's HBO special thing. They were just showing an overhead projection of Bush's penis. Ferrell says "That's my stimulus package." Yeah, it's like that. Not so funny.

Mrs. Octopus's turn to use the computer now.