The Twilight Dance Series at the Santa Monica Pier is the most fun you will ever have ignoring a band. This is not to say that the bands aren’t worth your attention (track down Kokono #1, a Congolose dance-trance outfit that rocked the stage earlier this month.) But they’re up on the pier, and the real action is down in the sand…

As the sun sinks, the beach becomes checkerboarded with picnic blankets as revelers stake their claims. Sangria gets sipped from plastic cups; tendrils of sweet smoke drift past, hinting that your neighbors may be engaging in the deplorable practice of smoking marijuana; laughter flows. Unlike the Hollywood Bowl, where the sound-system overpowers conversation and the rows of seats provide a semblance of privacy, the Twilight series seems almost designed to help you meet the people around you. Pretty soon, you’re surrounded by no-longer-strangers and doing the merrily unsteady barefoot-in-the-sand dance.

This Thursday, they’ll be featuring Kailash Kher, an Indian pop-folk singer who fills stadiums back on his native subcontinent despite vaguely resembling the little brother in Spy Kids. It’s spacey, kick-off-your-shoes music, a nice fit for a setting lit by the lights of a ferris wheel. Get there early, the beach fills up quick.

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WHAT: Weekly concert series on the beach
WHEN: Thursday evenings, 7 pm
WHERE: The Santa Monica Pier
$$$: Free

Let’s get one thing straight: “The Association” is a terrible name for a bar. It’s something a dyed-in-the-wool asshole would come up with, the linguistic equivalent of a popped collar. It’s not a coincidence that the fake-tanned tardonis from Jersey Shore calls himself “The Situation”, or that Boondock Saints director/weapons-grade douchebag Troy Duffy dubbed his entourage “The Syndicate.” Unless you are Fat Tony from The Simpsons, you do not get to go around naming things in this manner.

In 1988, my grandmother was gunned down by a guy calling himself “The Association.”  I don’t like to talk about it.

Anyway, the place is a speakeasy in a section of downtown where the speakeasies — The Varnish, The Crocker Club, etc — actually outnumber the regular bars. (It must have been fun to be an LAPD cop during Prohibition; all you had to do was go out to 6th and Main with a very large net.) Tucked away down a flight of stairs and through an unmarked doorway redolent of hot roast beef (from the unbeatable Cole’s French Dip adjacent), The Association manifests into a long, red-lit space flanked by private hideaway booths and one of the most well-stocked bars I’ve ever seen in Los Angeles. You look at all that booze and wonder if this is might be like one of those in-home libraries where some of the books are secretly fake.

The batrenders — a handsome bunch who look like their day jobs involve fawning David Geffen with palm fronds — know exactly what the hell they’re doing. The pisco sours, with the perfectly frothed egg whites, are some of the best in town. The French 75 — a potent, tangy-sweet concoction of gin, champagne, lemon juice and sugar — kicks like the artillery shell its named after. And they’ve got tall cans of Young’s Double Chocolate Stout, a liquid that creates joy and merriment wherever it goes.

You could get lost in here.

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WHAT: Downtown speakeasy
WHEN: Monday-Sunday, 7 PM – 2 AM
WHERE: The Association
$$$: $7-$10 a drink

I was sure that there was a Heathers joke to be had in that headline (”Teen Tetricide — Do It”), but you can’t win ‘em all.

ANYWAY.

This Saturday at 8 PM, the underground Echo Park gallery Pehrspace is hosting the opening night of Tetricide, a month-long exhibit of old-school-video-game-inspired artwork. It’s going to be wall-to-wall 8-bit awesomeness, with an emphasis on “interactive and experiential” pieces, with more pixelated imagery than you can swing a flaming arm of fire at. Featured artists include such avant-garde luminaries as J.R. Baldwin (known for creating the “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” board game, which I suppose makes him like the Parker Brother who doesn’t get invited to family reunions anymore) and Sam Yurick (a genre-jumper known for rapping over laptop beats while wearing a homemade Spiderman costume, amongst other great feats of what-the-fuckery.) They’re even hosting the premier of director Felix Lee’s “Back to the Future the Ride” music video, and although I have no idea what that means, I’m deeply intrigued.

The place is extremely difficult to find, detailed directions are here. Plus, it’s free. (Power-ups not included.)

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WHAT: Old-school-game-inspired art show
WHEN: Saturday, July 10th, 8 PM – Midnight
WHERE: Pehrspace
$$$: Free

Part art gallery, part restaurant, part Japanophile’s fever dream sprung to life, the Royal/T teahouse proves that Father’s Office isn’t the only reason to explore the hidden nooks of Culver City. Housed in a minimally tricked-out warehouse off of Washington Blvd, with a brick facade brimming with ivy and a pink neon crown, the interior seems big enough to house several small airplanes, with walls of glass separating the diners from the bold, oversized exhibits. With its gift shop full of hallucinogenic knick-knacks, S&M-themed photography, sound system playing the uncensored versions of stuff you’d hear on the radio (there’s something refreshing about going to a restaurant and hearing “mindfuck” get thrown around), and waitresses dressed up in mildly titillating Japanese maid outfits, Royal/T is just on the tasteful side of prurient. Don’t think Hooters; think “Hooters for hipsters who read manga and love Murakami.”

The food is determinedly not-bad. The tuna tartar comes rimmed in a crust of spices that are more New Orleans than Nagaski, but you won’t hear anyone complaining, and it comes alongside seaweed-wrapped rolls of crispy rice topped with pungent mango salsa. The salmon salad features a fillet of tender pink fish so well grilled, it’s like not a drop of juice escaped onto the coals. There is hoisin-braised pork belly atop faintly spicy soba noodles, which is pretty damn good; there are 5-spice mashed sweet potatoes, lukewarm and lurid purple like someone tried to turn Grimace into Soylent Green, which… ain’t. The saving grace, though, is the tea. The drink coined from the joint’s namesake is an ice-chilled mixture of black leaves, creamy vanilla milk and, in an inspired touch, rose petals. It’s like a subtle, silky cousin to coffeehouse chai, and maybe my new favorite summertime drink that doesn’t rhyme with “schmimosa.”

On your way out, don’t forget to go through the back — there’s a brilliant art piece there called the “Port-O-Party”, which is like a Port-O-John shaped like a giant white Ipod. You go in, shut the door, pick a song from the (actual-sized) Ipod inside it, and rock out under the mini disco-lights overhead. It’s the kind of thing Billy Murray and Scarlett Johansson would have wound up inside during some lost night out in Tokyo.

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WHAT: Japanese art gallery/teahouse
WHEN: Everyday, 10 AM-6 PM
WHERE: Royal/T
$$$: $7-$10 a plate

Recently, some altruistic genius sat down and thought to himself: “What are the things that Angelenos love above all else? What common ground do we share in this sprawling multicultural metropolis of ours?”

Hmmm. Hauling ass in our cars around Dash buses that are going 11 mph and taking up two lanes? Sure, we all dig that.  Burning shit down whenever the Lakers win/lose? That’s something we can get behind. Rooting for each other’s failure? Yes, but mostly in Hollywood. Bitching about the lack of carpool lanes on the 405 like a fat guy who thinks that buying bigger pants is the answer? Hallelujah, we are one. But those are all surface traits. If you really want to dig deep into what unspoken bonds unite as brothers and sisters in the City of Angels… then I have four words for you.

Outdoor movies. Food trucks.

And starting this weekend, the good people at the Outdoor Cinema Foodfest will bring those two timeless LA infatuations together. All summer long, they’ll be screening classics like The Big Lebowski, The Breakfast Club, Pulp Fiction, and The Princess Bride (as well as The Hangover, for anyone who wants to get their drink mickey’d by that movie’s legions of backwards-white-baseball-cap-wearing fans), all while serving victuals from such mobile luminaries as The Grilled Cheese Truck, Canter’s, The South Philly Experience, and Nom Nom’s.

This Saturday they’ll be showing Swingers, one of the all-time great love letters to this town, that rare movie about a flash-in-the-pan subculture that still remains funny, poignant, and truthful for years (sixteen years, oh my God) after its release. Insert “you’re so money” joke here.

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WHAT: Outdoor movies + food trucks
WHEN: Saturdays, all summer, doors open at 6:30
WHERE: Grand Hope Park
$$$: $8

Gunplay. Bombings. Cheese-grater torture. For the real deal in ultra-violent thrills and nihilistic giggles this summer, forget the movies — just trek over to the Mark Taper Forum for their presentation of The Lieutenant of Inishmore, running now through August 8th. For anyone familiar with the work of Martin McDonough, the depraved Irish playwright behind such affronts to human decency as The Pillow Man and The Beauty Queen of Leenane, (as well as 2008’s Oscar-nominated screenplay for the hilarious splatstick crime-comedy In Bruges) you know what you’re getting yourself into. Everyone else, brace yourselves; shit’s gonna get medieval.

Starring Chris Pine, the unfairly-good-looking centerpiece of last year’s Star Trek reboot, Inishmore follows the adventures of Padraic, a young IRA terrorist whose sadism and sociopathy are matched only by his love of his pet cat, Wee Thomas. When Wee Thomas turns up dead and Padraic returns to his hometown to investigate, barbaric sociopolitical farce ensues. The show has only been out a week, and there are already reports of horrified old people walking out of it. This deserves our support.

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WHAT: The wildest night of theater in town
WHEN: Now – August 8th
WHERE: The Mark Taper Forum
$$$: $25-$35

Hey all, you asked for this. What, you say? It’s best described as a screening of 10 short films featuring interactive elements (Phantom of the Opera style sing-a-long anyone?) Some of the films include: A lascivious magician that makes husbands disappear and then beds their wives, The awkward moments after an inter-racial swingers party, Paula Deen facing off against the Busch Bean’s Golden Retriever, A tribute to porn’s greatest boom operator, A tickle fight that goes on for too long, and at least one of the films feature Michael Cera and Elaine Carroll. How are you not intrigued? This Saturday there will be a screening of these gems at Synchronicity Space; the event is the culmination of General Delight’s creative output thus far. General Delight is, well, click on the photo and read for yourself. Oh yeah, and, open bar!

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WHAT: General Delight; new video works, comedy and otherwise screening/reception

WHEN: Saturday June 26th, Screening @ 8:00pm; reception to follow
WHERE: Synchronicity Space, 4306 Melrose Ave
$$$: gratis

The Ahn Joo Korean fried chicken truck made its splashy debut outside the Los Angeles Film Festival this week, and I was totally going to go check it out, but then I realized that would put me in close vicinity with people willing to pay money and stand in line to see mumblecore movies. Eff that noise, Jack.

Luckily for me, OB Bear exists — and this place, besides having a fun name to yell repeatedly, is manna from heaven for those who like it hot, crispy, and spicy-sweet. This is where Ludacris, the guy who named an entire album after chicken and beer, is going in the afterlife if he behaves himself. It’s that great.

Tucked away between the lovely pocket-parks of Southwestern University Law School and the anarchic bustle of Vermont/6th Street, OB Bear’s exterior resembles a dive-bar and the interior is somewhere between the set of “Cheers” and a pirate ship — all wood paneling, cherry-red lighting, dark leather booths and shadowy corners, with a secret attic dining-area upstairs. There’s a faint tinge of cigarette smoke in the air, and you get the idea that this might be one of those clandestine K-Town after-hours spots where the closing-time is as lax as the anti-smoking regulations. The booths have buttons in them that you can push to alert your waiter when you need something, because they sure as hell are not going to come to you (World Cup’s on, bitchez.)

The basics: cheap pitchers of Korean beer abound (go with Hite or Cass; OB Blue is secretly Bud Light, I’m convinced of it.) The kimchi is cold and fiery, the sugary-vinegary pickled radish cubes make a perfect counterpoint to the later proceedings, the cabbage salad would be refreshing if not for the overabundance of a vaguely Korean-fied thousand-island dressing. The vegetable pancake that arrives complimentary with main courses comes off like a thin, subtle, more graceful version of a latka. (Do not order the seafood pancake; it’s a slab of egg, undercooked veggies, and “krab” meat that’s the size of a throw pillow and half as tasty.)

But about these wings…

I know there are some of you out there who swear by Kyochon. I, too, was once amongst your ranks. Those small, crackle-skinned bombs of soy sauce and hot garlic flavor are undeniably excellent. But what OB has over Kyochon is A: it doesn’t make you feel like you’re in a glorified Wendy’s the way you do when you sit down inside the latter’s sleek, sterile, multi-franchised confines; B: their kitchen-time isn’t slower than a mid-90’s dial-up connection in an Uzbekistan outpost, and C: when the menu says “spicy”, it means fucking spicy. The wings come out billowing steam, dusted with sesame seeds and coated in a sizzling orange-plum glaze that sticks to your fingers like tasty napalm. The outside is crunchy, the inside is tender, and by the end of it, you’ll find yourself sucking bones like you were… I’m gonna stop that joke there, my mom reads this blog.

Trust me on this — you’ll never eat another buffalo wing again.

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WHAT: bad-ass Korean fried chicken joint
WHEN: Seven days a week, open from 6 until ?
WHERE: OB Bear
$$$: $12-$17 a plate (each plate serves 2-3)

“The difference between being ‘naked’ and being ‘nekkid’ is, that when you are naked, you have no clothes on. However, when you are nekkid, you have no clothes on and you are up to something.” — Tom Robbins, “Skinny Legs and All”

This Saturday, happening in 70 cities and 20 countries across the globe, is World Naked Bike Ride day — a world-wide celebration of all things bicycle and body-image. Anyone with a bike and a willingness to go balls-out (or, y’know, whatever-out) is welcome to join. And as part of my quest to make the unsuspecting civilians of Los Angeles see things they can’t unsee, I too will be participating. Ladies, please, CALM YOURSELVES.

Is nudity mandatory? Not at all — this thing is “bare as you dare.” (Although for anyone who’s seen me with my shirt off, it’ll be more like “bear as you dare”– zing!) Everyone’s going to meet in Echo Park at 1:30 PM for a body-decorating party, with the ride leaving at 4 PM sharp. It’ll be a medium-paced 13-mile loop around the East Side, ending in a barbecue/after-party at a to-be-disclosed location. (Please say “Pat Robertson’s house”, please say “Pat Robertson’s house.”) RSVP on Facebook to get ride directions and info.

We’re gonna get a medal for this one, kids.

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WHAT: World Naked Bike Ride Day
WHEN: Saturday, June 12th, pre-ride at 1:30, ride at 4
WHERE: Echo Park (rsvp for details)
$$$: Free

Picture, if you will, a world where George W. Bush never became president, but instead started a delicious chain of chili restaurants.  Let’s look back and imagine for a second, shall we? Al Gore became president in 2000, the CIA memo warning of a Bin Ladin attack was read by someone who can read, the September 11th attacks were thwarted, the Patriot Act was never written, Green Day discovered it faced no large-scale problems and released an album about doing whippets outside Wal-Mart, torture-porn never became a genre and Eli Roth was forced to go back to work as Quintin Tarantino’s foot-masseuse, we never declared two insane wars, and our money remained blissfully not on fire. Meanwhile, Bush Jr, finally earned his father’s respect and learned the value of a hard day’s work when his foray into the dining industry — Big W’s House of Chili n’ Stuff — became a raging success.

I’m supposed to be doing a restaurant review here, aren’t I?

In my parallel fantasy universe, George W. is running a place that looks exactly like Tub’s Fine Chili. The logo features a big cheesy cowboy hat, the barstools are shaped like saddles, a dude in an old-west outfit waves a sign outside, and the menu steadfastly refuses to recognize that certain words end in the letter “g.” This is not the kind of place you want to take a date, unless you’re dating Hannah Montana. (And if you are, and aren’t in jail, high-five!) But anyway, that chili…

There’s a reason why amateurs go pro. Just ask frontman Rick Hodges, a Culver City native, who started off DIY-style, cooking up his personal turkey chili recipe for friends and family. Too bad for him, his food was so good that the “why don’t you open a restaurant” questions soon reached critical mass — and the result is one of those holes-in-the-wall where they only do one thing but do it damn well. (Think In-N-Out, The Ramones, machine guns, etc.) His turkey chili became the Turkey Drive bowl — with its fire-roasted poultry alongside kidney beans, cumin, and a splash of Tecate — and it’s potent, rich, and nowhere near as half-assed as the term “turkey chili” implies. The Smokin’ Pig features diced bits of pork, dry-roasted for 8 hours and mixed in a hearty base of black-eyed peas and southern spices. The vegetarian Cattleman’s Pass, with three different types of beans and corn, packs a sweet kick.

But the Steak Town is where Hodges real genius comes into play. Rather than mixing hunks of overcooked flank into his chili and hoping to eventually simmer them into something palatable, he barbecues the perfectly-marinated beef and then tosses it into the chili at the last minute, thus giving you the best of both worlds: grill-fresh meat steaming atop a long-smoked pinto bean base. As if that weren’t enough, if you are (like me) one of those people who loves some spiciness but hates to add the vinegary flavor of hot sauce to everything, Hodges came up with a perfect solution: a habanero pepper oil that’s flavorless but fist-pumpingly spicy. And they have frosted mugs of root beer floats for desert.

Forget George W; I’ll take Rick Hodge’s culinary brilliance any day of the week.

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WHAT: kick-ass chili restaurant
WHEN: Monday-Saturday, 11:30 – 8:OO PM (noon to 5 PM on Sundays)
WHERE: Tub’s Fine Chili
$$$: Nothing over $10

The Venice Beach Carnevale will not be televised. Nor will it actually be held in Venice; apparently, tonight’s hedonistic costume contest/dance-party/annual gathering of LA’s freaky people has somehow gotten too insane for the uptight streets of Venice Beach and has been moved to a secret location around Jefferson/Sepulveda. (If this were a grindhouse movie, the announcer would now solemnly intone: “It‘s a party so wild they had to move it to Culver City… where life is cheap!”)

Ok, let’s take a step back and think about this for a moment — how, exactly, does one get kicked out of Venice? Have you been there lately? You could walk around with a severed head and tourists would still ask to take pictures with you. Last time I was hanging out on the boardwalk, a guy in a leopard-print vest and bootie-shorts tried to sell me some meth, as well as (I am not making this up), a live, 5-foot python. Anyway so now I’ve got all this meth and a live python and my friends no longer like to come over. Point that I’m making here, people, it takes a lot to get your ass 86′d from Venice Beach. This event deserves your consideration.

Will there be a full-size intergalactic pirate ship known as the Space Wench to gallivant around? There will be. Will there be floor-shaking beats from the likes of Fatfinger, Todd Spero, and divaDanielle (who I’ve pimped so many times on this site, people are are going to sooner or later think I’m involved in some kind of payola scheme?) Bet your ass. Will there be a masquerade costume contest that lands somewhere between Salvador Dali and Eyes Wide Shut? Most definitely. Will there be a certain amount of public nudity? Yes ma’am. Will there be acrobats and fire performers and go-go dancers? What do you think this is, the Republican National Convention? (Ok, bad example.) Just remember to come in costume — “exotic and erotic attire encouraged.”

And if you want to get in, RSVP here today to get the address and final details for tonight.

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WHAT: Carnevale masquerade party
WHEN: Saturday June 5th, 8:30 PM – 3:30 AM
WHERE: Culver City (RSVP to get address)
$$$: $15 (or $35 for VIP/open bar)

Apparently, the glee-club nerds grew up to be sexy.

Meet the Silverlake Chorus — a choir group described by its founding member Sam Rader as “warm-hearted Angelenos gathering to create harmonies aplenty while wearing oversized glasses and skinny jeans.” They’ve got no backing band, no choreographed dancing, no Broadway showboating  — but what they do have are lush, all-vocal covers of indie staples like Beck and Regina Spektor (and for all five of you who saw MacGruber, that was them singing the opening theme.) They’re making their splashy debut this Friday at El Cid. Good times are sure to be had by all.

Joining the plethora of talent onstage will be underground stalwarts Alex Lilly (Obi Best), Joaquin Pastor, Pi Jacobs and John Gold. Also performing (and producing their upcoming album) will be Ben Lee, the demon responsible for such Up-With-People-by-way-of-Guantamo-Bay atrocities as “I Love Pop Music”, and  “I’m A Woman Too.” This man needs to get got. However — we cannot hold that against the group at large. Get out to El Cid, people. Gleefulness awaits.

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WHAT: The Silverlake Chorus
WHEN: Friday, June 4th, 8 pm
WHERE: El Cid
$$$: $10

In a world where Blockbuster Video is getting slaughtered by Netflix, Red Box, and my cousin Tito who sells DVD’s out the trunk of his 1996 Nissan Sentra (email me, I’ll hook it up), it takes an LA institution like Laser Blazer to thrive. Formerly co-joined with Kevin Smith’s comic shop Jay and Silent Bob’s Secret Stash (before Smith went off to make his documentary about gun owners with Down Syndrome) Laser Blazer is an old-school, brick-and-mortar movie-aficionado haven, with regulars ranging from Benicio Del Toro and Laurence Fishburne to Matt Groening and Jonah Hill (even Michael Jackson used to stop by back in the day.) Think Amoeba Records, but less overpriced and with fewer people who look like this hanging around. I love it; it’s like the barbershop from Barbershop for geeky film guys.

Another reason to love it: this Saturday at 2 PM, the brilliant internet sketch group Derrick Comedy — creators of such genius bits as a self-defense video made for sociopaths and a 24 parody that somehow manages to be more ridiculous than 24 – will be at the store for a Q&A and a DVD signing. They’ll be autographing copies of Mystery Team, their debut comedy that blew up the Sundance Film Festival and plays like a mash-up of Encyclopedia Brown and Superbad. (Watch the trailer; do not watch it at work.)

You’ll also get a chance to high-five the guy who could (if there is any justice in this world) become the next Spiderman. Team-member Donald Glover, of NBC’s hilarious Community, has just become the center of a Betty White-style internet campaign to make him the star of the Spidey reboot. (My two cents: Peter Parker is from Queens. Tobey Maguire would get his ass kicked in Queens. Donald Glover would not. Edge – Glover.)

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WHAT: Derrick Comedy DVD signing
WHEN: Saturday June 5th, 2 PM
WHERE: Laser Blazer
$$$: Free

If you haven’t noticed, the food truck world is a little oversaturated at the moment; the next generation of LA’s food truck scene involves not only edible delights, but art, technology, and fashion as well. Welcome the Summer Fling Truck- a crazy conglomerate of Blood Is the New Black t-shirts (check these out- they are pretty rad- www.bloodisthenewblack.com), I Make My Case- a division of case-mate, and Coolhaus- custom-made ice cream sandwiches. What the hell could be better than T-shirts and ice cream sold from a truck at a summer shindig? Nothing, I say. The T-shirts are seriously awesome and designed by various artists especially for the Summer Fling truck, and the ice cream sammies, as I’m sure you’ve heard by now, are phenomenal, with custom flavors like chocolate cookies + red velvet ice cream, oatmeal cookies + black truffle pistachio ice cream, and chocolate cookies + dirty mint chip ice cream (rawrrr).

This Saturday kicks off the lunch of this particular Summer Fling (maybe you’ll meet yours at the party- holla), at a mobile pop-up shop at Nomad Gallery from 8pm-12am. There will be a live performance by Dunes, DJing, live screenprinting, and of course Case-Mate, Blood is the New Black, and Coolhaus products!

As Natasha Case of Coolhaus says: “Taking the ‘taco truck’ or ice cream truck concept and co-opting it into mobile fashion could inspire other industries to go mobile as well. We are speaking to our Echo Park community and showcasing all of the creativity that is coming from this area.”

Come kick off the summer in style and ice cream; I’ll be there.

WHAT: Summer Fling Launch Party
WHEN: Sat. June 5th 8pm-12am
WHERE: Nomad Gallery 1993 Blake Ave, Los Angeles, CA 90039
$$$: RSVP here http://bloodisthenewblack.com/summerfling/

Because what’s more punk rock than romping around the notoriously kitschy redwood forest themed bar, Bigfoot Lodge? Hanging out in an alley contemplating disestablishmentarian notions you say? Poppycock! (Or perhaps you’ve simply become bored that your only other social options on Tuesdays are being stuck in Hollywood, pretending to be pretentious. Bleh! That’s not punk rock at all!)

Starting this Tuesday, Some Nerve, the new bi-weekly punk rock n’ roll themed night invites you to take a few hours off from your anarchy planning to go have fun dancing around with Smokey The Bear while drinking cheap Colt 45. They’re on special (when are they not?) along with other drinks sure to unleash your wilderness rock monster. The various music providers of the evening (commonly referred to as “DJs”) include Helleion, Jacob Safari, and TNT, along with the roaming photographic stylings of Shadowscene, so don’t forget to get that studded leather jacket and mohawk in tip top shape!

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WHAT: Some Nerve punk rock n’ roll party
WHEN: Tuesday, June 1st – 9pm – 2am
WHERE: The Bigfoot Lodge, 3172 Los Feliz Blvd, Los Angeles, CA 90039
$$$: Free!!!

Two years ago, a gang of spirited young hooligans armed with MP3 players invaded Mann’s Chinese Theater to hold a very public dance-party. The invasion started quietly, done in plain sight, everyone simply mingling and pretending to examine celebrity handprints outside… until 10:07 PM, when everyone busted out earphones like gunslingers in a Robert Rodriguez movie and danced their ass off to whatever was on their Ipod — a silent, joyous collision between flash-mob and discotheque. There was also a conga-line at one point.

Tourists were mystified. Employees were stymied. Security was unable to stop laughing, even as they escorted us out. Undeterred, the party continued, West Side Story-style, down to Hollywood and Highland, where street performers, celebrity impersonators, and random passerby joined in on the festivities. (A guest appearance was made by several stone-faced, video-camera-brandishing members of the LAPD.) Footage of all this epic-ness is available right here.

Anyway — this year, rather than hold our party at some Hollywood tourist trap, we’re instead going for a prized LA institution, something this city holds near and dear, a place where regular folks go to peacefully shop, dine and take trolley-rides. That’s right, kids: we’re gonna storm The Grove.

Meet-up point is in front of Pacific 14 Movie Theater, by the fountains. Get there by 10 PM. Come ready to boogie in public (do what you need to do here, guys.) Mingle, act normal, do not attract attention from civilians. Headphones go in at exactly 10:07 PM, and then we dance like lunatics until security shows us out, at which point we respectfully go find a new “dance floor” elsewhere and repeat.  Afterparty at The Kibitz Room bar at Canter’s.

RSVP on Facebook here.

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WHAT: Mobile Dance-Club Party
WHEN: Friday, June 18th — dancing starts at 10:07 PM, sharp
WHERE: The Grove, in front of movie theater
$$$: Free

People talk about Runyon Canyon as being an “escape from the city.” Nonsense, I tell you — Runyon is basically a Crunch’s gym with sunlight. I see more Blackberry users there than at Insert Upscale-Beverly-Hills-Restaurant-That-I-Don’t-Go-To Here. If you want a real escape from the city, listen close…

Hidden directly off Los Feliz Blvd, right around the corner where it turns into Western, there’s a hidden woodland oasis that looks like something straight out of J.R.R. Tolkien’s subconscious. I’m talking about a place called Ferndell Park — which, you notice, even has a vaguely Middle Earth-y sounding name. You turn in near the sculpture of the dancing bear, and from here, you follow a densely shaded path, ensconced in California sycamores, winding up along gently trickling streams, past wooden guide-barriers and under stone bridges. The sound of the distant traffic fades out, and is replaced by that of birds, running water, and even — that rarest of LA commodities — silence. And yet you are still only a short walk from snacks.

For short men with hairy feet, i.e. me, this place is a dream come true.

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WHAT: hidden LOTR-esque mini-hike
WHEN: good all year round
WHERE: Ferndell Park
$$$: Free

Let me be clear on this. I would never presume to — and those words are almost always followed by whoever said them proceeding to do exactly what they just said they would never presume to do — but I would never presume to tell someone how they should feel about something. That said, let me make something else equally clear: Hard Times serves the best pizza in LA, and anyone who disagrees with me on this issue is both wrong, and un-American. And a tea-partier. PUT ‘EM IN THE STOCKS!

Now, when I talk about pizza, I don’t mean the fancy-pants artisanal pies they craft at Mozza (delicious as they are), or the steroidally doughy Sicilian squares they serve at Damiano’s. No, I’m talking straight up New York-style – fat, floppy, thin-crusted slices of calorically-daunting goodness. And if that’s what you’re in the market for — and why wouldn’t you be? — then Hard Times should be at the top of your short-list.

LA needs this place. Like a culinary version of that guy in San Diego who went joyriding in a tank, Hard Times lays waste to all pretenders in its path. Mullberry St. can keep its soggy-ass slices in Beverly Hills, proof that the sharks at William Morriss Endeavor will eat absolutely anything. Garage Pizza in Los Feliz, despite having awesome late-night hours, tastes like they bake old copies of the Orange County Register into their crusts. Abbot’s in Venice comes reasonably close to HT’s level of East Coast nirvana, but still, no cigarro. (That’s Spanish for “no cigar.” I’m bilingual!)

A neighborhood favorite since back before the skinny-pant brigade invaded Silverlake, Hard Times is a clean, spartan kinda place, with walls covered in Polaroids of happily well-fed regulars. The gal behind the counter will have more tattoos than you. The delivery men look like something from Grand Theft Auto 4. And the pizza itself?…

Let’s start with the dough. It’s imported directly from Brooklyn, where the water is soft — which, for reasons that I’m too lazy to research right now, gives the crust a better “body.” Either way, there’s more savory flavor in that bottom layer than most LA joints have in their entire pie. Combine that baked-to-crispy-chewy-perfection crust with a hearty spread of garlic-infused tomato sauce and a steaming layer of grated mozzarella cheese. Add in unsubtle hunks of fresh vegetables, thin-sliced Sicilian pepperoni, or (my favorite) scattered chunks of charred, spicy-as-all-get-out Italian sausage. Sprinkle some parmesan on it, soak up the orange grease rivulets. Fold it in half. Chew.

And tell me I’m wrong.

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WHAT: best pizza in LA
WHEN: 7 days a week, 11 AM – 11 PM (midnight on Saturdays)
WHERE: Hard Times
$$$: $19 for a large 1-topping

Ok. So maybe I forgot to write this post yesterday because I was playing Risk. Can you really blame me? I didn’t think so.

PICK OF THE WEEK
Alright. This is going to be relatively short. When I heard Voxtrot’s first two EPs, Raised by Wolves and Mothers, Sisters, Daughters & Wives, I was an instant fan. Any band writing solid songs that give off a Smiths vibe is going to impress me. A year or two later, they released their self titled LP, and while it wasn’t up to the caliber of those first two releases, it wasn’t that bad. They definitely had much greater potential, but with the pressure they were faced with from their instant success, they did the best they could. It wasn’t my favorite, but it did get me excited for future albums.

Well Voxtrot is breaking up. I’m not too happy about it, but it’s happening. They did, however, just embark on one last small 8 show tour that’s passing through LA on Thursday the 27th. I think we all owe them a good send off. I know these guys are all great musicians and are capable of great things. While I wish they stuck together and gave it another go, I’ll trust that this is the right decision and will look forward to their various other projects, like an opening band playing for Thursday’s show, The Black.

The bottom line is that we need to show the guys in Voxtrot that Los Angeles enjoyed their music over the last 5+ years. And if you just recently heard of them, now is your only chance, so make it count. Go crazy, have fun, and give them a night to remember.

OTHER SHOWS TO LOOK OUT FOR:
5/25: The Airborne Toxic Event and Amnesty International w/Red Cortez at the echo. 8:30PM. $30. All. (It’s a benefit show for the Neda Project.)
5/26: Nada Surf w/Telekinesis at the Troubadour. 8:00PM. $20. All. (I’m a pretty big fan of Telekinesis.)
5/26: Baths w/Poirier at Airliner. 10:00PM. $10. 21+. (Low End Theory.)
5/26: The Horse Thieves w/Jack Ladder//Moris Tepper//Amanda Jo Williams at Spaceland. 8:30PM. $5. 21+. (This should be a fun night of music.)
5/26: Dragonette w/Evan Voytas//White Arrows at the echo. 8:30PM. $12. 18+. (A dancy/chill night at the echo. I saw Evan Voytas a week or two ago and was pretty impressed.)
5/27: Spectrum w/The Meek//Cannoneers at Spaceland. 8:30PM. $12. 21+. (Kind of experimental. Also has some ex Spacemen 3 members.)
5/28: The Parson Red Heads w/Or The Whale//Olin and the Moon//Whispering Pines at Spaceland. 8:30PM. $7. 21+. (Don’t pass up an opportunity to see The Parson Red Heads.)
5/28: Frog Eyes w/Mount St. Helen’s Vietnam Band at the echo. 8:30PM. $12. 18+. (Carey Mercer’s band. Good stuff.)
5/28: Plants & Animals at Origami Vinyl. 6:00PM. Free. All. (Watch a live show, buy some records, and hang out.)
5/30: Miike Snow w/Canon Blue at El Rey. 8:00PM. $30. All. (Great live show. I’d be here if I were you.)
5/30: Dead Rock West//Funeral Club//Viki Hill//Tippy Canoe at the echo. 5:00PM. Free. All. (Grand Ole Echo.)
5/30: DJ Jose Maldonado at Smiths/Morrissey Nite at the echo. 10:00PM. $5. 18+. (Part Time Punks.)

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WHAT: Voxtrot Goodbye, Cruel World Tour
WHEN: Thursday, May 27th @ 8:30PM
WHERE: the echoplex
$$$: $15
Ages: 18+

You solve one problem, you create another. Take the LA river for example; back in the 1930’s, it was prone to erratic, city-wide flash-floods — most notoriously the deluge of 1938, a catastrophe that killed 115 people, caused $40 million in damage, and caused mayor Frank L. Shaw to resign in embarrassment after running his campaign on the slogan “Get Tough On Floods.” Anyway, in an effort to curb the floods’ infinitely-more-successful campaign of “Get Tough On LA”, the US Army Corps of Engineers undertook the ambitious task of paving the entire river in cement, so as to better control its flow. Which was a brilliant idea that made everyone happy, at least until everyone realized that a cement river is about as aesthetically pleasing as Rush Limbaugh in a tanning bed, and that it would soon become a crime-infested, vagrant-attracting, graffiti-covered, trash-strewn HPV-wart on the ass of the city.

Like I said: you solve one problem, you create another. But sometimes, out of that new problem, you get art.

Which brings us to the Ulysses Guide To The LA River, an exhibition happening now through July 3rd at the Pasadena Museum of California Art. It’s inspired by the book of the same name by urban explorer Christopher D. Brand, who spent years traversing all 51 miles of the concrete tributary, discovering its hidden pockets of loveliness and horror. Every piece in the show — from graffiti murals, to oil paintings, to algae-covered beer bottles stashed throughout the museum, to live plants and a prerecorded soundscape of river noises, to a full-scale recreation of an under-the-bridge canal — depicts the beautiful/blighted aesthetic of LA’s native waterway. It offers a glimpse of a place most Angelenos never experience up close — a district of overgrown greenery, 50-year-old street art, wildlife both animal and human, enshrouded in a palpable sense of gutter-dwelling danger and subterranean mystery.

It’s the next best thing to simply jumping the fence and checking the river out for real. (Not that I would ever suggest such a thing…)

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WHAT: down-and-dirty LA river art exhibit
WHEN: Wednesday-Sunday, 12 PM – 5 pm
WHERE: Pasadena Museum of California Art
$$$: $7 admission, $5 with student ID