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.
Nightclubs of the living dead
Legend has it that the Avalon is haunted and, a few years
ago, a bartender at the upstairs Spider Club swore he'd seen ghosts when the
venue was empty. Now I hear from fellow Metromixer George Ducker that 86, formerly
home to Rudolph Valentino's speakeasy, had an eerie vibe on a recent night when
his friend’s drink was mysteriously knocked over. (That raises the question of who
was drunker: The friend or the ghost?)
It's not just the Hollywood clubs, either. Vincent Terzian, who's gearing up to open Crocker Club downtown swears there are spirits in the space. "If you stand there, you'll feel it," he says. "Everyday at a certain hour you hear the clickity-clack of high heels so we've come to the conclusion that it's a female." Of the ghost he's named Jane, he says, "I talk to her everyday when I go in there in the mornings, and I say hello to her and I greet her when I've got people down there … I told her she can stay as long as she wants as long as she could meet me half way and be really cool with me because I believe in the afterlife."
If you want to party with Jane, Crocker Club is expected to open any day now in the former Crocker Citizens National Bank at 453 Spring Street.
I imagine the ghosts are as decked out as the clubbers. (Photo: Glenn Koenig/LA Times)
—Alexandra Le Tellier
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