Hint, hint?

Look what looms above the corner of Batali and Silverton:
Yes, due Mozze, we get the freakin' picture.
We're pathologically social. We're professional leisurists. We're burrito lovers, bar flies, art whores and music nerds. We dish the good dirt, and we'll risk a parking ticket for a cheap sample sale. Sometimes, we blog drunk.

Look what looms above the corner of Batali and Silverton:
Yes, due Mozze, we get the freakin' picture.

Recently went to check out The Counter, the gimmicky Santa Monica burger joint with the pencil-and-pad menu that's designed for ultimate consumer customization. More importantly, while waiting for the chefs to handcraft my burger, I spotted someone who looked an awful lot like Beach Boy Mike Love entering the joint with a female companion. He was wearing a black Hawaiian T-shirt and his signature “I’m bald… or am I?” hat. (He is.) Naturally, I tried to listen in on his conversation to see if he’d claim credit to a few more Beach Boys songs in the course of natural conversation.
My burger came (Delicious? Nah.). I continued eavesdropping. If it was Mr. Love, I’m proud he didn’t take credit for constructing my burger. On a scale of ‘Caroline, No’ to 'Good Vibrations,' I'd give the whole experience a 'God Only Knows.'
Because they're all names of Beach Boy songs.

One of the eight greatest dance parties in the history of mankind occurred in Los Angeles, CA, On July 21, 2007. From approximately 11PM until exactly 12:30AM, Daft Punk touched down on the stage of the Los Angeles Sports Arena and proceeded to systematically deconstruct the sold out audience of over 16,000 people into crazed, sweating, blithering, kissing, screaming, smiling, partying, freaking, not-thinking-just-dancing robot disco idiots.
All hail the robot disco kings. Details at 11.