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the skunks of los feliz
This week's Derby news has nothing to do with historic preservation: Roscoe Farnsworth, the historic club's swing dancing instructor, was involved in a horrific car accident (and if you got ahold of his long, very detailed email about the crash, you're all too aware just how horrific it was) while visiting family during the holidays.

His medical bills are substantial, to say the least, and this Wednesday, February 1st, the Derby will be holding a benefit night to help Roscoe make ends meet during this difficult time. Admission is a mere $15 (which will go directly to Roscoe) for a night that will include music by the Torchlighters and the Swing Kings, not to mention free-flowing booze and beautiful women dressed in their finest swing-era attire (also dudes in zoot suits, if you're into that).
According to this story at DenverPost.com, Kiefer Sutherland recently had a night at Ye Rustic that is strikingly similar to a night I spent there back in '04. Sadly the press doesn't cover my drinking exploits, so my fumbling, drunken stupidity seemed more like a pathetic cry for help, much sadder and more pitiable than the glamorously debauched shenanigans of a T.V. star.

In my defense, however, I did manage to land the picked-over remains of Ye Rustic's delicious chicken wings on the table in front of me.
Don't know if you've noticed, but Los Feliz has a new newspaper, the appropriately (if somewhat unimaginatively) titled Los Feliz Ledger. I usually don't expect much from free, ad-supported "community newspapers", but the Ledger seems to be an earnest attempt at providing hard news alongside the usual odd mix of amateur columnists, chamber of commerce-style puff pieces, and soap-boxing pols. It'll be interesting to see how it develops as it matures.

As of now, the Ledger comes only in the paper variety, but it looks like they'll soon be staking out a web presence here. Until then you can find it piled amongst the junk mail atop your building's mailbox.
Is it the frigid cold? The ubiquitous complimentary Stella? The Geoffery Gilmore speeches?

Dunno for sure, but attending Sundance often reduces your brain to a barely functioning pile of mush, causing a regression to a form of humor which is juvenile at best, crass and offensive at worst.

Case in point: an anonymous friend and I, during a a Stella-fueled brunch in which I sat for perhaps my best Wireimage photos ever, stumbled upon the hidden sexual innuendoes in everyone's favorite blockbuster Christian fantasy. No, not "The Passion of the Christ". I'm talking "Chronicles of Narnia" here.

Sure, C.S. Lewis is probably rolling in his grave, but we found the erotic imputations of "Chronicles" to be a gold mine of hilarity. The fact that we were sleep-deprived, suffering from mild altitude sickness, and half-crocked may or may not have played a role in the whole sordid episode.

Regardless, without further ado, here are my favorite Narnia-related euphemisms for sex:

- Taking a trip to Narnia
- Going deep into the wardrobe
- Parting the furs
- Teatime with Mr. Tumnus
- My dwarf has some Turkish Delight for you
- The White Witch is turning Mr. Tumnus to stone
- Father Christmas wants to give you his sword
- Crawling through the beaver tunnel
- Taking the icicle to the White Witch
- Getting tied to Table Rock
If you're among the many Angelenos who mourned the loss of yet another L.A. cultural landmark with the destruction of the Ambassador Hotel by the "build schools and damn the collateral damage" gang at the LAUSD (who also took the Hollywood Star Lanes away from us), take some comfort: you'll soon have a chance to gather with other preservation geeks to drown your sorrows, curse Roy Romer's name, and perhaps help plot the future of L.A.'s increasingly energized preservation community.

Seems the L.A. Conservancy and Mike of Franklin Avenue have merged their respective planned wakes for the Ambassador into one giant, booze-soaked hoo-haw at the HMS Bounty (on Wilshire, across from the remains of the once-grand hotel, and just down the boulevard from the travesty that is the Brown Derby strip mall), and they're inviting pretty much anybody who wants to come out and hoist a gin and tonic in memory of the historic site to join them.

Details are sketchy at present, as the two camps hammer out the merger terms, but expect an announcement as to time and date soon.

My humble request?

Wait until after Sundance!
Who says nobody rides the subway in L.A.? Ridership is up, and you can apparently count Leif Garrett amongst the Southland's newly converted transit-philes.

Unfortunately, he's accused of riding without a ticket (the unmellifluous L.A. counterpart of N.Y.'s "turnstile jumping"). To make matters worse (or better, depending on how much you enjoy the travails of washed-up teen idols), police say he was in possession of "suspected narcotics" to boot.

If nothing else, Garrett's arrest proves one thing: the MTA has made a trip to the Nickel to score a bag of smack car-optional. That, and the fact that the Brad Renfro bust has done little to quell demand for H amongst potential "Surreal Life" cast members.
It's January 17, which means it's time for the anniversary of Northridge stories. Of course, there's not a whole lot of new info to squeeze out of a story that's as old as your average middle-schooler, but that's not gonna stop from the local news media from trotting out the "where were you when" stories.

Still, looking back at the quake and it's aftermath is instructive in that it reminds us that it will happen again, and that there are steps we can take to reduce the loss of property and lives.

The State Department of Insurance is certainly taking this opportunity to urge Californians to take a home inventory, in order to help expedite a claim in the event that your home is stricken by an earthquake, mudslide, wild fire, or a kharmically-induced case of bad vibes.

As for myself, I will once again resolve to hoard water and food, keep a flashlight and shoes by my bed, and move out of the cunningly constructed death-trap of an apartment I call home.

What resolution will I keeep? I might remember to leave my shoes by the bed, if kicking them into the corner counts.

You can click here for the Home Inventory Guide. You can click here for that old-timey classic "Putting Down Roots in Earthquake Country" (available in HTML and PDF formats). To supplicate the supernatural to spare us from a rupture on the Puente Hills Fault, you can click here to find the seismic deity of your choice, and then provide a sacrifice, offering, or prayer as appropriate, repeated as necessary.
I know my posting has been erratic lately, but I haven't abandoned ye olde blogge. Just (blissfully) busy with a side project.

Hopefully, I'll be able to get some posts in soon before next week. If not, I will still definitely be posting from Sundance from the 19th-25th, and then it's back to the regular posting schedule.

Hope everybody is having a good 2006 so far. See ya soon.
Pat Robertson has said yet another stupid thing, inadvertently making a case for the non-involvement of God in earthly matters. After all, any engaged, heedful deity would've smote this idiot by now.
My favorite part of the Rose Bowl telecast: The awkward silence emanating from Keith Jackson's corner of the broadcast booth after a USC touchdown led Dan Fouts' to excitedly employ numerous references to Quidditch, snitches, and Nimbus 2000 broomsticks. I could practically hear ol' Keith thinking "What the hell's a Quidditch?"

Second favorite part? Matt "Sour Grapes" Leinart's post game comments: "I still think we're the best team, they just made good plays."

Is anything more annoying than the Sundance ticketing process?

Crashed servers, busy phone lines, and an appointment system that does nothing to alleviate the frustrating logjam. You'd think by now they'd have the kinks worked out, but you'd be wrong.

Oh well, back to being on hold while simultaneously refreshing the login page in the vain hope that I'll get through before my appointment time is over (which at this point is 5 minutes from now).


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