This morning's shooting outside Les Deux has the nightlife scene buzzing in alarm. WTF happened? According to the club’s co-owner Sylvain Bitton, Les Deux is “guilty by association.” He doesn't want to blame Element, the club next door, per se. But he did tell us that he feels Element attracts riffraff and says Les Deux's suffering because it's better-known. “Every single fight that’s been on TMZ has been from [Element],” he said before pointing out that the shooting happened at 2:05 a.m., a half hour after Les Deux had closed. When called for a response, Element owner James Sinclair was surprised. “It’s a weak attempt to deflect attention," he said, "and I refer you to the official LAPD statement.”



—Alexandra Le Tellier

I used to hate the mail. Between bills, KFC coupons, chinese take-out menus and issues of Redbook from a previous tenant, I spent years avoiding my mailbox.

But here in the glamourous world of Metromix, my mail has been transformed into a treasure trove of goodies that make me as happy as a schoolgirl with backstage passes to a Hannah Montana show. Like this super-fancy 7-inch single from our friends over at The Fader magazine:

 

Produced in conjuction with Southern Comfort (and who doesn't love whiskey?), it features a track from Daft Punk manager/Ed Banger label owner/international scenester Busy P on one side, and one from Baltimore bad boy Blaqstarr on the other. Super-fresh designer Tomoe Hayama whipped up that eye-popping cover. And yes, it does sound as good as it looks. 

After sloshing my way into the office this morning through the downpour (cue Zeppelin's "Fool in the Rain" here), any mood dampness was immediately wiped away when I found this little gem of a coffee table book waiting for me:

 

For those that don't know, CREEM was the greatest rock magazine the world has ever seen. Originally produced in Detroit (rock city, baby!) before moving up to the suburbs of Birmingham, MI, CREEM featured the kind of real, raw and truly inspired journalism that's sadly lacking in the pages of pretty much every music mag out there today. Just flipping through it, I found a piece on the Rolling Stones penned by Charles Bukowski, a Lester Bangs interview with Iggy Pop from 1974 and a shot of Jefferson Airplane singer Grace Slick baring a boob for the camera. While there might be all sorts of controversy behind the scenes regarding ownership rights and revisionist history, it doesn't diminish the tremendous impact between the covers of this brilliant tome. Any true rock fan should run over to Skylight Books or Book Soup and pick up a copy. It should be enough to send you to ebay in search of original copies from back in the day. 

-Scott T. Sterling 

 

 
There are like five straight bars in WeHo and there’s news to report about three of them.

» Reza Roohi, who quit SBE after his now ex-girlfriend Daniela Danilovic was fired from the company, has opened Villa in the old Monroe’s space. It’s his first venture since his departure from SBE and with promoters/investors Chuck & Vinny on his team, there’s no doubt the place will be a blockbuster success in the celeb and A-list scene. The place itself has the feel of an exclusive house party in the hills—there are even beds upstairs! But don’t worry! I’ll have a shiny review of the place up for you by next Thursday.

» Something is up at Guy’s. Danny Masterson’s weekly jazz event Kids Cotton Club recently moved from Guy’s on Sunday nights to an unnamed Hollywood club space on Tuesday nights; his camp claims it’s because the city of West Hollywood finally noticed that Guy’s doesn’t have a cabaret license. And, yesterday, Eater LA discovered a “demolish and construct” sign on the exterior. They’re probably remodeling, something they originally planned to do in January 2006. But maybe someone bought them out. I always get suspicious when my calls for comment aren’t returned.

 
» Lobby Supper Club is reopening early next year as Foxtail. Lobby, you’ll remember, is best known as the place where LC and Jason Wahler had their blowout fight on New Year’s Eve. (And, before it was Lobby, it was The Lounge where Britney and Justin had their infamous dance-off.) Anyway, Foxtail will be a restaurant, lounge and club and have an “art deco meets ‘60s London feel.” Frank X. Medrano and Steve H. Brabson of Franklin Studios are the masterminds behind the redesign; here’s what they had to say about it earlier this year.

 
—Alexandra Le Tellier

 

Everyone’s buzzing about 86, the basement club formerly known as Rudolph Valentino’s speakeasy. But is it actually open? Well, sort of. For the month of December, it’s open strictly for private parties. Rumor has it that the grand opening will go down on New Year’s Eve, but the official word is “mid-January.” To tide you over, Metromix is hosting a holiday cocktail party here next Friday, December 7. We’ll have free appetizers, dessert and vodka, not to mention gift bags for the first 200 attendees—but I assume the real reason you’d want to come is to hang out with me. I kid, I kid. But seriously, email me at aletellier@metromix.com if you want to come and I’ll make sure your name makes it on the list. Need some photos to tide you over until next Friday? Poof! Here are pics from a recent visit.

The smokers' room looks more like a hallway than a lounge, but you'll find it, if not for the odor than for the photos of smokin' celebrities. 

It's hard to miss 86's gold motif...

 
Even the plumbing in the bathroom is painted gold!

Here's our marketing manager Jessie Rubin standing on the stage and remarking how our music editor Scott Sterling's favorite band Deerhunter couldn't play here because the lead singer is too tall.

As for the other gossip on 86... I'm sworn to secrecy for now.

—Alexandra Le Tellier

Much has been made about The Doheny, Cedd Moses’ members-only drinking room, scheduled to open downtown in December. Aside from the steep membership cost, which doesn’t include the $2,175 initiation fee, there are rules up the wazoo. You can’t talk on your cell phone, brownnose or scream and you certainly can’t order a Red Bull or mixologist Marco Tello will freak—he's like the Marcel of the cocktail world. But here’s something they didn’t print on their “house rules.” According to an insider at the bar, you have to be a democrat to join. Sign me up!

...Oh right: I can’t afford to join.

 

Photo via Eater LA via LAist

—Alexandra Le Tellier 

The folks at Red Pearl Kitchen are fighting the good fight by offering 25% off the entire meal to all WGA card-carrying members. It's a bit of holiday cheer for those wearing themselves thin along the strike lines as well as some good publicity for an embattled restaurant that's been on "deathwatch" in some circles. 

We don't know if the special is offered for the length of the strike, the holiday season or whichever comes first, but nothing says Christmas like a sale on (inflated) goods or sipping lychee cocktails and noshing on Asian tapas in a red-lit, chinoiserie-lined dining room.

Take a look at what 25% off could get you:

—Jiyeon Yoo

Happy post-gluttony. How's the cinch of your waistband treating you today? 

As it isn't the holidays with some good old-fashioned grinchiness, I've already had my share of unfavorable retail service. My woes started with Thanksgiving dinner. No turkey this year, but my sister and I do a fantastic côte du boeuf—a recipe from NYC's Balthazar—if I do say so myself. We finish off the slices of beef with a sprinkle of gourmet sea salt, which gave me a perfect reason to crack open a tin of fleur de sel from NapaStyle that I had received earlier in the year.

As I broke the plastic ring, I knew something was wrong. Lo, this is what I found.

 

 

 

 

Ew. That black stuff seaping around the rim is either rust or an alien symbiote with Topher Grace's mug trying to creap out of its bourgeois-gourmet prison. 

 

 

 

 

 

The top of the lid didn't look any better.

And the inside even worse.  

 

The salt itself had a faint enough yellowish hue that we entertained the idea of bumping up our iron intake for the meal. Don't worry, we didn't.

I won't bore you with the details of the back-and-forth e-conversation with NapaStyle, but let's just say that the "style of Napa" doesn't include proper packaging of its very expensive products or taking responsibility for something as egregious as this. As I was told by Luana, Kimberly, then "Anonymous" and another "Anonymous," the fault lies inside my very cool, very dry spice cabinet. Merry effin' Christmas to me. 

—Jiyeon Yoo

 

OK, let's just get down to brass tacks: The Van Halen concert at the Staples Center last week was the most amazing musical moment of my entire year. Yes, even more than my beloved disco robots Daft Punk and the Ziggy Stardust 2.0 spectacle of Kevin Barnes and Of Montreal, the almighty VH cranked it up to 11 and handily blew away any and all competition.

The party started from the minute I pulled into my free parking spot a few blocks away from the Staples Center. Across the street, a circle of fortysomethings were blasting "Runnin' With The Devil" and shot-gunning bears with abandon. By the time I made my way to the box office, I spied Foo Fighters drummer Taylor Hawkins (with a gaggle of girls) hop out of a limo and head into the VIP entrance.

When I got my ticket, it came in an envelope with a note from the band's publicist and a sheet of official Van Halen letterhead. Being something of a major nerd and music memorabilia hound, I of course framed the letter and ticket. I am not ashamed:

When a found my seat, I nearly fainted. It was a mere six rows up from the floor, with the stage maybe 10 yards away. My inner 15-year-old didn't know whether to start screaming like a little girl or weep uncontrollably. Instead, I simply shooed away the squatter camped out in my precious real estate and reveled in it's awesomeness. 

As for the show, it was absolutely everything a VH fan would dream of and so much more. The setlist was a fanboy's fantasy come true: they reeled off everything from the sure-fire hits ("Runnin' With The Devil," "Dance The Night Away," "Panama") to deep album cuts that had us diehards freaking out ("I'm The One," "Little Guitars," "Romeo Delight"). 

Bar none, Eddie Van Halen is the greatest guitar player of his generation. His solo was so amazing that even the crotchety older usher busy clearing the aisle near me stopped to watch him play in open-mouthed awe. His brother Alex is still the man on the drums, and his nephew Wofgang did the family name proud on bass and backing vocals.

Of course, it was the inimitable David Lee Roth at the center of this three-ring circus, and he held it down as well as he ever did back in the day. Although there were no striped bodysuits, Roth can still wail with the best of them, doing his whole martial arts thing and even playing the guitar. Seeing him and Eddie smiling and having such a great time together onstage was the best Thanksgiving present ever.

Other celeb sightings: a very blonde Robert Downey Jr., Steve-O, Cypress Hill rapper B-Real and Korn guitarist Munky. 

For those unfortunate souls that missed this unbelievably night of truly classic rock, Van Halen is kind enough to bring the whole she-bang back to the Southland two more times before the holidays. See them light it up again at the Staples Center on December 14, while our friends down south can catch them at the Honda Center on December 18. Miracles can happen!

--Scott T. Sterling  

Take comfort, my friend, in the fact that you're not the only one who feels fat. I myself ate way too many carbohydrates at a Thanksgiving potluck hosted by Meghan (you may know her as the Derby Dolls' very own Judy Gloom).

We all then ventured to the Cha Cha Lounge for some post-tryptophan cocktails,

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where two chicks dressed as pilgrims got drunk in the photobooth. We've come a long way, America.

However, my comrades and I abandoned Cha Cha in search of pumpkin pie shots at Bigfoot Lodge. They were out. This is how we felt about that:

But Georgia made a call on my cell phone flask, and the merriment continued into the wee wee wee hours.

While the remainder of the country hit the mall on Friday, I slept like a drugged walrus. The sleep served me well, as Saturday night was utter roller disco madness at World on Wheels, as we gathered for the aforementioned Derby Doll Meghan's birthday. Egyptian Lover spun funktastic electro, and people generally fell down a lot.

Short shorts and gravity, above. Below: Ward on WheelsÃ�Â��Ã�Â��Ã�Â��Ã�Â�Ã�Â

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There's a bar upstairs from World on Wheels which has wickedly awful highly entertaining karaoke (above), beers that cost exactly $4.06 and a range of liquor to provide the fortitude one needs to rollerskate fearlessly. Which we did.

Sunday involved the discovery of a few new bruises and a nice long hike into Griffith Park, which I highly recommend during these frenetic and caloric holiday times.Ã�Â��Ã�Â��Ã�Â��Ã�Â�Ã� A graffiti muralist recently painted a draining ditch/skate pipe at the end of Bronson Canyon, and I'd been meaning to take a photographic evidence for you all. As if the Griffith Park wildlife isn't dangerous enough—now we have to deal with sleeping dragons.Ã�Â��Ã�Â��Ã�Â��Ã�Â�Ã�Â

The one thing I didn't manage to accomplish this weekend: Grocery shopping.

(Yes, this is actualy my fridge, and yes, it only contains coffee creamer, pickles, a lemon and one beer. It's embarrassing.)

Okay, Happy Official Holiday Season, folks, and have a lovely week!

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High Five,

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-Alie WardÃ�Â��Ã�Â��Ã�Â��Ã�Â�Ã�Â

 

If you're like most red-blooded, blue-state Americans and only step into a ecclesial place once a year, you might as well do it for a good cause. Charity, yes, but we're talking about making your stomach happy in the process. (Oh dear, did that sound blasphemous?)

      

Though it's available throughout the year, the reknowned pumpkin bread from The Monastery of the Angels in Hollywood doesn't really register in our conscience (read, our belly) until the holidays when it actually makes sense to infuse ourselves with the potpourri of all-spice, cloves, cinnamon and nutmeg. 

And, the sisters do make a mean pumpkin bread. It's moist without being overly greasy, dense with a good crumb. It's nearly two pounds, doesn't come with any nutritional information (probably a smart thing) and costs about eight dollars. Yes, hefty in every sense of the word. Especially considering that the nuns are wickedly good at upselling their goods. We wanted one. The good sister at the register insisted we needed two. Uh, okay...

Yeah, it felt kinda scary like that, so you can understand why we didn't say no.

We also thought we saw his royal Councilmember-ness Tom LeBonge—who's rumored to carry a trunkload of bread as impromptu gifts—in front of us with eight loaves. Lugging 15 pounds of pumpkin bread stuff? That's impressive. He must have had to restock after encountering the Victoria Secret's Angels last week during their Walk of Fame ceremony. You know what porkers those Angels are. You should really get a load of them naked.

 

—Jiyeon Yoo

 

There’s nothing like living within stumbling distance from a bunch of bars and restaurants. Especially the bars. 

This weekend, my 'hood (a.ka. Franklin Ave, a.k.a The Strip, a.ka. Franklin Village) had their annual street fair, which ended up pretty packed and pleasantly chaotic. I set up a booth to sell my paintings and artwork, was visted by loyal comrades, and drank a mini bottle of chardonnay surreptitiously to avoid the eye of John Law and/or the Scientology guards who seemed to be hovering a little too close (No, I would not like a personality test. Thank you.)

 

If Franklin Ave isn't conjested with cars, it's congested with humans.  

 

Two choices: early holiday shopping, or selfish indulgence.  

 

 
Local musicians took the stage, instead of just playing their guitars in front of the Bourgeois Pig like they usually do.  

  
Indulging in my second, somewhat neglected, identity as a painter and shirt hawker. Yes, I am wearing a jumpsuit. 

 

Tasty bracelets 

 

 

In all, good times. Comrade Georgia bought a baby cactus from a vendor, I sold some art, and then a few of us hit Palms Thai to spend my spoils and listen to the croonings of an Elvis impersonator wearing a spangled, sequined necktie. Not too shabby for a lazy Sunday.

 
High five, as always,

-Alie Ward 

Yeah, I'm the music guy and all, but I also enjoy the occasional Hollywood industry party—especially ones that come with sweet gift bags. At last night's riotously fun "Young Hollywood" party thrown by our friends at CAA, VIPs were able to cart off with massive canvas sacks loaded with free shwag. Here's just some of what was found inside:

 

Not bad, right? Let's take a closer look:

 

1. A brand-new pair of Hurley boxer shorts. Score! There are few things in life I love more than clean underwear. That's one more day I don't have to do laundry. And that's always a good day.

2. The recent solo debut CD from Black Eyed Pea Will.i.am. While I have yet to listen, I have to give the super-producer props for sampling the eternally cool song "Don Quichotte" by 80s synth-poppers Magazine 60 on the single "I Got It From My Mama."

3. Season 2 of "In Living Color" on DVD. This is classic American comedy. Jim Carrey was at his nut-case best on this show. The "Fire Marshall Bill" character alone is worth the price of admission. Oh wait—it was free!

4. That pic of Jessica Alba is from the soundtrack to her movie with Dane Cook, "Good Luck Chuck." The film didn't have much luck at the box office, but the CD does boast tunes from Art Brut, Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings and goth legends Bauhuas, represented by the timeless club dirge "Bela Lugosi's Dead."

5. Marc Jacobs cologne. While I'll never have reason to wear one of the man's coveted purses, I'm all for smelling like a NYC metrosexual. I hear the ladies love that stuff.

6. Metromix earbud headphones. Hey, that's us! And we have our own headphones. That's pretty bad-a** if you ask me.

7. American Apparal ad on the back of the latest copy of "Vice" magazine. Our grandparents had Hugh Hefner, our parents had Bob Guccione, and we get Dov Charney. Nice work, if you can get it...

8. My current musical dilemma: Next Tuesday, November 20, I have to decide between three concerts: Van Halen, Mary J. Blige, and Isis. Signs are pointing towards VH and runnin' with the devil. But Mary J always kills it live, and I've never had the pleasure of seeing Isis melt faces in real time. Decisions, decisions!

9. Hooray for the weekend! Time to start hitting the gym in preparation for the coming food orgy next Thursday. Watching all of that football on an overstuffed belly is hard work.

10. Dear God, please let Michigan beat Ohio State in football tomorrow. Jim Tressel must be stopped. Amen.

—Scott T. Sterling 

Are you concerned you won't get your due portion of breast meat on Thanksgiving? Not to worry. The MMX crew is hooking up with Red Carpet events and KROQ's Stryker on Thanksgiving eve to throw a bash at Area. If you've never been to Area, let me tell you: The girls that come here love to show what their mommas gave them. —Alexandra Le Tellier

Still looking to satisfy more of your Thanksgiving cravings? Look no further.  

Last night, Green Door hosted an event for the exclusive debut of Kubler, the first authentic Swiss absinthe to hit the US market since it was banned in 1912. I couldn't make it, unfortunately, but I'm betting the party wasn't much of a rager. My brother and I shared a glass of the stuff when we were in Europe and we both passed out in the bar. Seriously. The folks at Fraiche in Culver City are also getting in on the Absinthe trend. Not only do they serve it, but I also hear that their bar chef Albert Trummer will host an absinthe show on New Year's Eve. Sounds like fun—provided you don't nerd out like me.—Alexandra Le Tellier



Here's what I'd like to try, but then I really would be a nerd.

Glitterati magazine is crashing La Cita tonight for its weekly Dance Right fiesta in hopes of finding "sample-size people with a real look" for its urban cowboy fashion spread. So if you fit that criteria, you best dance your sample-size self right over there. It's hard to find fame in L.A., so every opportunity counts.—Alexandra Le Tellier

We stopped by the new Fresh & Easy in Glassel Park on opening night to check out the goods. And the yummy mummies and daddies…who knew NE LA had such a high fertility rate? We couldn’t taste-test the hotties themselves, unfortunately, but we went nuts on the food. Here’s a pic of what $24 will get you at the food emporium.

The chain seems to be ganking the best of the competition: they’ve got packaged goods, fresh and frozen, just like Trader Joe’s, they carry enormous items like Costco (yeah, that is a 96-ounce Stouffer’s lasagna taking up half the freezer), and, just like your average Von’s or Ralph’s, they carry every kind of junk food you could imagine. We went solely for the Fresh & Easy brand products, of which there are plenty. We experimented so you don’t have to: here are our picks and pans from the F&E shelves. (Items pictured in packages as an homage to F&E’s obvious love of plastic packaging.)

California roll: Nothing special here. But we love the reusable, packable, adjustable chopsticks they come with.

Yogurt: We tried two flavors, strawberry and pina colada. They weren’t as good as hippie brands, but better than Yoplait.

Cinnamon rolls: Well, you’d have to try pretty hard to eff these up. We actually quite enjoyed these, but remember to pop ‘em in the toaster oven!

Chocolate cheesecake: It’s a chocolate cheesecake. It’s not spectacular, but it gets the sweet-tooth job done.

Chicken tortilla soup: Ew. It’s not right when flour is one of the main flavors.

Methi malai chicken: One of F&E’s many Indian frozen dinners (perhaps a nod to their British roots, along with the enormous turkey drumsticks and pate with aspic). The chicken was pretty good, the rice was gross, and the beans seemed unnecessarily spicy. But it’s a frozen meal, so it’s not like our expectations were high anyway.

 

Steak & blue cheese sandwich: Ding ding ding! We have a winner. They aren’t afraid to pile on the sautéed onions and the blue cheese, the steak was pretty good quality, and the bread never got too mushy or stale. We’d definitely get this again. And again.

—Katherine Spiers

Why happy Monday, my esteemed comrades! It's been an eventful time in Los Angeles. I myself have been busy turning one year older and eating large portions of this ice cream cake:

 

As for this weekend, it was filled with much Angeleno randomness. First, Sean Carlson from Fuck Yeah Fest sent a text out regarding a house party in the deep, leafy goodness of Echo Park Saturday night. After scaling steep hills and getting our car stuck on the side of a mountain, we enjoyed a set by the lovely Moonrats  (as pictured in this, The Worst Photo Every Captured), followed by a set by Brother Reade who, lacking any room for a stage, simply wormed into the crowd and performed mid-mob. 

 

(Moonrats, above.) 

When it got packed to the point of people bribing their way into the bathroom line, a gaggle of charming urban hippies decided to split. At this point, we all determined it would be a good idea to have a bonfire like hobos. I'm not sure if dismantling a matress frame and burning it without a permit on the fringes of downtown is illegal, but if it is, please don't tell anyone. 

So Saturday night ended with our new "free spirited" comrades playing some sort of mouth harmonium (our pal above mastered the theme to "Beverly Hills Cop") ...then it was bedtime for The Ward. 

Until next time,

-Alie Ward

 

The temperatures outside may be plunging, but the Los Angeles music scene November 2007 is hotter than July.

Last night saw Kevin Barnes and his band Of Montreal (above) stun a packed Avalon with an amazing display of his sunshine disco circus fully realized. Running through his exhaustive catalog, songs from the brilliant 2007 release “Hissing Fauna, Are You The Destroyer?” really got the candy kids into a sweaty lather. Barnes’ Ziggy Stardust 2.0 show came complete with lions, sword fights, silver glitter footballs and a slew of costume changes. It was easily one of the best shows to grace our fair city this year. Lucky for those that missed it, Of Montreal crank up the party train once more tonight. Do yourself a favor and see something awesome for a change. Tickets are still available. You’ll thank me in the morning. Brunch at Nick’s will suffice...

Thinking about catching one of the big girl power gigs tonight by M.I.A. or Joanna Newsom? Yeah, both of those shows are “sold cold,” as in sold out. If you feel like playing the corner and throwing some money around, there will surely be some friendly resellers in front of the respective venues happy to sort you out (not that we advocate that sort of thing)…

Tomorrow night, good money is on the revved-up proto-rock of Chicago bright lights The Ponys. This muscular Chi-town crew never fails to bring the noise in the best way possible. Feel their heat at the Echoplex…

The NPR Nation will be well represented at the ultra-cool Alice Russell/Mocean Worker/Koop gig downtown at the Barker Block lofts. If you’re looking to get that one started early, check into the KCRW-sponsored pre-party. There’s craft beer and wine involved, which is always a good thing…

Then again, Saturday night is thick with sweet shows. Jens Lekman, The Swell Season, She Wants Revenge and Stars and are all somewhere in the Southland that evening. Crazy, right? Choose wisely…

Oh, you want to get high? Join me and my friends DJ Suprema and Take at club Elevate next Wednesday night for “BKS,” a new monthly party featuring lots of good music and a dramatic setting for your nightlife shenanigans. Elevate is like 21 stories above downtown Los Angeles, and you can't get much higher than that. It’s a penthouse, so there are lots of places to smoke, you nicotine fiends. It’s free, too. Just RSVP here and we’ll make sure to put you on the list. It’s the next best thing to the Moby gig at Elevate the night before! 

 
Drum roll please…

After close to a year of delays, Steve Adelman of Spider Club and Avalon fame is finally opening 86, an intimate club space next to Lift. The venue, which allegedly belonged to Rudolph Valentino during the prohibition, will cater to celebrities, or at least that’s what I heard last December when there were plans to have Vogue or Vanity Fair (one of the “V” magazines) host the grand opening party. As for now, the venue is still under construction, but promoter Jenn Laskey is taking it for a test run next Thursday, November 15. As for the grand opening: It's anticipated to go down the second week of January, just about when people decide to 86 their New Year’s resolutions.—Alexandra Le Tellier

 
After being open for three months, the dudes at Vice have finally revealed the super secret celebrity investor behind the club. It’s Jesse Metcalfe! I learned about this in July, but true to my word I actually kept my mouth shut—and that’s very hard for a yenta to do, let me tell you.

Anyway, the owners didn’t want to use the celeb angle to build a clientele. That’s savvy, sure, but something tells me they were also nervous about tying his name to the club given that he just got out of rehab. What’s the “Desperate Housewives” hunk thinking, you might ask? I hear his mom’s been by his side every step of the way on this business venture. Isn’t that so supportive? —Alexandra Le Tellier

Why hello! If only he would always hit the clubs in this, um, outfit.

Want to become an instant mini-celebrity without going the reality show route?

Between November 5 and 11, the folks at Paper magazine will be photographing regular dudes and dudettes in their Levi’s 501 jeans for inclusion in the February issue.



Here’s what you do: Hit up Paper's "Cultural Storefront" at 233 S. La Brea in Hollywood any day this week (just look for the “5:01” mobile studio with the red Levi’s tab parked outside). Make sure to bring your own pair of Levi’s 501 jeans—they can be “short, long, old, box-fresh, shredded, crisp, or fashioned-out” (or, in our case, BeDazzled). Each day at 5:01 p.m. (get it?) they’ll have a crew of photographers snapping photos of regular joes and janes in their own jeans.

When you hit the big time, don’t forget your friends at Metromix who helped you land your first big photo spread...—Amir Kenan
 

The wee little La Buca is little no longer. There may be a big piece of plywood in the middle of the restaurant, but Osteria La Buca's expanded dining room is officially open for business. At least, I hope they are because I ate there over the weekend. (Yes, be very jealous.) 

 

Despite some hearty blog-sip about pending permits and on-the-sly spillover manuevers last week, by Saturday, it looked like everything was signed off and ready to go. Guests were only being seated in the new room, which feels cavernous in comparison to the mite that was the original space. Speaking of which, the adjacent 22 seats were sidelined.

 

As you can see, even with my sh*tty photography, the security gates were pulled over the windows "next door," although the expanded kitchen was firing on all cylinders. More on that later.

The owners hope to have the complete and unified room before Thanksgiving—though early December may be just as likely—at which time Osteria La Buca will be closed for about four to five days. When it's all said and done, Buca-lovers will have 100 seats to fight over. 

For now, floor-to-ceiling plywood boarded up the space between the new and old and the black and whites on the floor were obviously awaiting their final place...somewhere. There isn't much wall space anymore, what with the beautiful glass front and new bar. The wall opposite (not shown) has been left whitewashed, however, so that should be a good a place as any for the photos. Couldn't tell whether they are same ones that hung in the original space. 

The chandeliers made of wine bottles are definitely new. In fact, Osteria La Buca seems to be celebrating their new license with gusto—wine bottles are everywhere, hanging above and lining the walls. 

The bar is a lovely addition. It's just the perfect size for a neighborhood place like this. A couple guests got the right idea, eschewing a table and sidling up for a glass of vino and some antipasti. My date spied beer at the bar and tried to squeeze in an order—you know the saying "beer before wine..."—but I gave him the stinkeye and we called over for the wine list instead.

The inaugural wine list has been carefully curated—all Italian, certo—with about twice as many reds as whites, most of which range from the mid-30 to 90-dollar range for a bottle. Our server was knowledgeable and didn't shy away from my request for a more economical price point—hello, the holidays are coming and I've got to pull the purse strings. A Rosso di Montalcino was a worthy alternative to Brunello and bloomed brighter throughout the evening.

The kitchen must be handling triple the number of orders now in a given evening, and it seems up to the challenge. Our food was as good as ever—burrata, pappardelle in pesto, pizza with the spicy tomato sauce, all the usual suspects. 

I only regret being unable to check out the upstairs dining space. We could see the lucky ducks who got the lofted seating through the glass above the bar, and I was told later that there is a roof window. That sounds real pretty. This was the closest I came to the top:

I imagine the stacked tables aren't permanent fixtures, but I think I'm going to have to bum rush the stairs if I don't get a table up there next time. —Jiyeon Yoo

 

 

1. Saying goodbye is never easy. October was a really good month, and parting is such sweet sorrow. We’re still recovering from the rigors of Vegoose 2007. Um, wow. It was way more fun than should be allowed by law, and much of it was. Daft Punk ruled, the scene was super-fun, and you should start making your plans to attend next year right now…

2. Friday night, scoot on over to the Echo to catch our new friends, the heavenly Black Kites, whose dreamy shoegazing persuasions are hard to resist. For more of a religious experience, the Polyphonic Spree will show you the light at the Fonda. But if you’re insanely rich and in the mood for the eternal classics, uncle Neil Young will be keeping it real at the posh new Nokia Live...

 

3. On Saturday, only the most exclusive SoCal tweens will fill the Honda Center to witness Hannah Montana (pictured above) continue her quest for world domination. For the rest of us big kids, Yo La Tengo play two shows at the Ivar, while fellow indie heroes Minus The Bear are around the corner at the Avalon...

 

4. On Sunday afternoon, find yourself a seat at your favorite sports bar facing a TV screen to catch the NFL game of the century between the Indianapolis Colts and the New England Patriots. Pats fans should hit Little Bar to root on Tom Brady (pictured above) and the boys. We don't know where Colts fans congregate, but you can't go wrong with Big Wangs. Game on! 

5. Sunday night is for the hip-hopper in you, who’ll have to choose between LA gangsta OG DJ Quik at the Key Club, or thoughtful indie rapper Buck 65 sharing his feelings at the Fonda. Decisions, decisions…

6. This is just the beginning, people. Next weekend, L.A. welcomes everyone from Of Montreal to M.I.A. to Koop to the Stones Throw crew to Ben Harper to the Ponys. Happy November!

 
Slight problem. I’m obsessed with S Bar. I went for the first time last Friday and I can’t keep myself away. Even the doorman has taken to “welcoming me back.” To be fair, though, I’ve had to keep coming back because the drinks are so interesting that I can’t control myself. Next thing I know, it’s the morning after and I can’t read my notes. (One night I was sitting next to Jamie Foxx and I had no idea.) You can see why...
 

The Pepper Delirious (left) is made with hand-pressed yellow pepper juice, mint and gin. It sounds gross but I promise you it’s amazing. And next to it is the Bee’s Knees, which is a concoction of honey syrup, lemon and gin. (Pardon the photography. I snuck the pics on my phone.)


And here's the celery-ginger cocktail...It's perfection in a glass. The margarita made with pomegranate and horseradish, however, is not quite my speed.

Anyway, you’ll be very glad to know that I finally did sober up and write my review—it’s the main feature in the Bars & Clubs page next Thursday, November 8, so check back—and it’s pretty much a love letter to counter all the S Bar haters.

PS. I heart the valet dude on the left. On Friday he was quite the fashion critic as costumed tranny hos walked by.

—Alexandra Le Tellier