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Tuesday , February 16, 2010
All-Time Top 5: Reasons Why ART HISTORY is the Greatest Store in the Entire History of the Universe
Art History is located at 1080 Queen Street West in Toronto, and is open on Thursday & Friday from 12-7, Saturday from 11-6, and Sunday from 1-5. GO THERE NOW!!!
I. IT'S NIKI'S STORE:
Niki is a legendarily great pal/Paul of mine. Niki is an all around aces human being, and obviously it is our duty as humans to support every endeavor that humans as aces as Niki take on. Here is some severe proof of Niki's intense awesomeness: once, when Niki was sixteen, she made the joke "Sometimes, I get my age mixed up with the amount of kilograms of dog food I buy," which is an incredibly sophisticated and neo-Early Beatles Clever joke for a sixteen-year-old to make. So, if a person is so awesome that they can be making such brilliant jokes at SIXTEEN, can you even begin to imagine how awesome the STORE such a person opened up at TWENTY-FIVE could possibly be?
Maybe yes, maybe no. You don't have to imagine it. Because you're going to go to Art History now.
LEFT: Niki and I playing with a globe, remaining fragments of our respective innocences in check; THE FAKE DONALD DUCK HEADS
II. IT IS UNIQUE UNTO ITSELF:
Have you ever visited a store that sells fake Donald Duck head candle-holders, a statue of a cat, gorgeous vintage furniture, Valentine's Day cards that you can give to your cat, probably some other things that are cats, AND cat salt-and-pepper shakers?
Obviously not, but that's all going to change. Because you're going to go to Art History now.
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Tags: Art History, awesomeness, city guides, city livin', Donald Duck, Laura, Niki, shopping, Starbucks, Toronto
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Sunday , May 3, 2009
nogoodforme in the City: Summertime Means DOLCE GELATO
Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Laura Jane who had a sweet tooth the size of Texas and Mexico ("Texaco"!) combined. Laura Jane lived in a magical old house that looked like Savannah, Georgia. It had big white pillars, crystal doorknobs, two balconies, a black-and-white checkered floor, red walls, silver radiators and a cat. Her street was lined with trees, and in the springtime they were all blossomy and beautiful and snowed petals.
Blah, blah, blah. I was going to keep up this wussy little fairytale intro for a few more paragraphs, but I'm over it/lamed out by myself. My point is: living in Toronto's Little Italy in the springtime rules for like thirteen trillion different reasons, but the one I'm most jazzed about right now is my apartment's proximity to Dolce Gelato. Because I have weird OCD that forces me to turn every single aspect of my life into a caper-y challenge, I just lived a really cool week called Laura Jane's Great Gelato Sweepstakes '09 where I ate Dolce Gelato close to every day, until I had tried every flavour of Dolce Gelato that is vegan. Then I rated all the gelato flavours. I'm awesome.
It kind of makes me want to cry that there are like 2342342313-i348 billion non-vegan flavours of Dolce Gelato that I'll never get to eat, but whatever; if this were the case, my head would probably explode from indecision. Although it would be really nice if somebody reading this would open up a vegan gelato parlour in my neighbourhood. Just a heads-up. THX!
Anyway, Dolce Gelato is located at 679A College Street (b/w Beatrice St. & Montrose Ave.), and if you live in Toronto and don't go there, you're seriously fucking up your own life and I feel sorry for you. So go there! Who knows? You may even celeb-spot Laura Jane Faulds of nogoodforme.com!
STRAWBERRY- If the Earth's populace can be broken down into three segments- Chocolates, Vanillas, and Strawberries- well then, I am the Jack of Spades of Strawberry. Strawberry Anything is better than Non-Strawberry Anything, so, even though strawberry is not my favourite flavour of Dolce Gelato, it is my favourite flavour of Dolce Gelato, if you read me. I recently realized that, aesthetically/conceptually, strawberries are the baby animals of food, but this principle does not necessarily apply to Dolce Gelato, or else strawberry gelato would be very similar to veal gelato, the thought of which I find absolutely terrifying. 9/10
RASPBERRY- If Dolce Gelato were The Beatles, raspberry gelato would be Paul McCartney. This is because both rasp. gelato and Paul McCartney are perfect, although neither of them are perfect, because nothing in this world is perfect. In life, I would rate both raspberry gelato and Paul McCartney 10/10, but anything that is 10/10 must automatically be lowered to 9.5/10, or else you are not honoring the true nature of the Universe, which is lame. Dolce Raspberry Gelato is the perfect balance of sweet/real fruit tasting, is the most perfect consistency of anything you've ever put in your mouth, has those jackadoodle lil' raspberry seeds to chomp down on, is a nice colour, and basically is just so fucking amazingly mind-blowingly sublime that the only adjective capable of describing its deliciousness is: "reoSDFQ3hgft4o38r 5u2053ijfa!!!!!!!!!" 9.5/10
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Tags: berries of the forest, Dolce Gelato, gelato, if gelato were the beatles, Little Italy, springtime, strawberries are the baby animals of food, sweet-toothing, Toronto, veganism
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Sunday , April 26, 2009
nogoodforme in the City: MORNING GLORY- For Dying of Cuteness in Toronto
This past Saturday, April 25th was an unstoppably killer day in the Life and Times of Laura Jane. It was the first day of 2009 on which I could comfortably wear shorts and a t-shirt (For me, First Shorts Day is better than Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Tet, Halloween, Valentine's Day, my birthday, and John Lennon's birthday combined), I ate some wildly, dazzlingly delicious strawberry gelato, drank Asti Spumante, hung out with good buds, and frolicked around like nobody's business, even when a torrential thunderstorm hit later in the day and I feared that Armageddon was approaching. Howevs, out of all the mad-awesome business that went down in my life yesterday, the best thing of all was scoring into finding Morning Glory (620a Bloor Street West, between Euclid Ave. & Palmerston Blvd).
Morning Glory is a Korean Cuteness Emporium that sells the motherflipping best stationery, notebooks, stickers, binders, notecards, and etc. that I ever done did seen. This is a ginormous compliment coming from me- I have spent ample time in my life ducking into Chinatown junk shops, fawning over Pochacco-shaped erasers, buying candy that tastes nasty but looks awesome, and so on and so forth. Such behavior is par for the course when you have the aesthetic sensibilities of a four-year-old.
It's been a long, long year since I last spent serious money on anything for myself, so I made up a rule saying that I was allowed to buy ANYTHING I WANTED at Morning Glory, in celebration of the momentous occasion that is First Shorts Day. I came out of there with 7 notebooks, 5 stationery sets, a fridge magnet, and two postcards, and my total was a mere $35!
Steal of the century, best store in the world, check this shit out!
Left: Is this dog Asta? He looks like Asta: The Renaissance Edition. He wants you to know that you warm his heart and make him smile; Center: an alien-lamb notepad/fridge magnet; Right: The crest and "Penguin: Fugitive" postcards were only 29 cents each!
Left: The little girls' cookie is asking her, "What caught your eye about me?" Cookies can be very inquisitive sometimes; Second from left: I've never wanted to go to Germany quite so bad as I do when I look at this notebook; Second from right: The block of text underneath "Stylish Look" is the lyrics to "Jingle Bells"; Right: This notebook has taught me that water bottles become significantly more charming if you draw smiley faces onto the caps. Also, the Diet Coke can says "Oke," perhaps for fear of copyright violation?
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Tags: acting my shoe size, alien-lambs, city guides, city living, cuteness, First Shorts Day '09, Hanukkah, Korea, MAXIMUM CUTENESS, nogoodforme in the city, notebooks, river otters, Toronto
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Thursday , March 19, 2009
nogoodforme In The City: Our Fave Local Bars
THE COMMUNIST'S DAUGHTER
The first-coolest thing about The Communist's Daughter (1149 Dundas St. West, at Ossington Ave.) is the Polish Coca-Cola sign and "Nazare Snack Bar" facade leftover from the space's previous tenants. The actual bar name is written in chalk on a teeny sign that hangs in the window. The second-coolest thing about The Communist's Daughter is the fact that they have The White Album on their jukebox (among many other killer options), which means that, whenever I'm there, I get to pull my favourite bar move in the world: playing the most embarrassing songs from The White Album as my three-for-a-dollar choices- "Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da," "Bungalow Bill," and "Honey Pie." The third-coolest thing about The Communist's Daughter is a tie between all the things that make it actually cool: the convenient locaysh; the chill, low-key vibe of its clientele; its nookish atmosphere; and the fact that it is eight hundred trillion times less annoying than all the neighbouring Ossington bars, which are rife with creepy creeps trying to prove that they are cool by being impossibly ill-mannered and overdoing it on the American Apparel. (LJ)
THE RED ROOM
The Red Room (444 Spadina Ave, at College St.) is one of those bars that everybody knows about, everybody goes to, offers nothing particularly spectacular but nothing particularly god-awful, and will probably exist for the next hundred years and never change. The Red Room has lots of comfy couches and a remarkably high-quality bar menu considering it is some of the cheapest food I've ever encountered. The Red Room is the perfect night-starter-outer, but I need to warn y'all that their french fries are actually hash browns, which kind of ruined my night the first time I ordered them. (LJ)
THE UNION STATION COMMUTER'S LOUNGE
There are few things I miss about my short-lived stint as a commuter: I lived with my parents in the suburbs, worked in the city, spent two hours a day sitting on a train, and wanted to shoot myself in the face from exhaustion/over-exposure to Normies by the time I finally got home. However, some of the most relaxing moments of my past year were spent on those glorious evenings when I had time to stop into the Union Station Commuter's Lounge (I am not going to bother writing down the address; if you really want to go there, it's at Union Station, and if you live in Toronto and don't know where Union Station is, you're weird) and drink a pre-commute white wine spritzer or two. The existence of the Commuter's Lounge made my train rides a hell of a lot more fun, and I have a real taste for hanging it out in weird places I'd never hang out in if it weren't for specific circumstances. The Commuter's Lounge crowd is generally split 50/50 between white-collar businessmen and homeless dudes sporting mullets and hockey jerseys. And sometimes me. (LJ)
FROGGY'S IN TOPANGA CANYON
I still feel the same way about Froggy's that I've always felt; I still want to go there every day at dusk and drink hemp ale from a pint glass on the back deck with 1970 Neil Young and 2007 Devendra Banhart and play gin rummy and eat fish tacos till the cows come home, or at least till the bar closes. For some reason this never actually happens to me, but Froggy's will maybe always be my favorite bar in the whole wide world. Let's go there soon, okay? (Liz)
(L: Froggy's back deck. R: Devendra in Topanga.)
CHEZ JAY
It's a hole-in-the-wall kinda place across the street from Hotel California/the Pacific Ocean; I love it because it feels like Cape Cod, like some place fisherman dudes would flock to after a long and arduous but spiritually instructive day at sea. Plus, one of the bartenders reminds me so much of Alan Arkin, probably my 37th favorite human of all time. And once on a date there this guy bought me a big steak and a whole lotta red wine, which was really classic and maybe even suave. Also, they've got Christmas lights hanging up year-round, which is pretty much always a can't-go-wrong bar decor choice in my book. (Liz)
THE TOWNHOUSE IN VENICE
I liked it better when there was all the NASCAR memorabilia everywhere and they weren't trying so hard to be sleazy-classy, but whatevs: It's a bar right off of Venice Beach and the beers are HUGE and Angelica Huston lives across the street, and that's all good enough for me. Once upon a time I said something about how the Townhouse has got lots of cute boys with salty hair and, yes, that's definitely another selling point. Beach-rat hotness beats out any other brand of hotness by leaps and bounds. Why do I live in Echo Park? MOVE ME. (Liz)
(OMG guys, can I just tell you that I'm having SO MUCH FUN at the Townhouse right now???!!! And, the dude in the Cubs shirt? NOT an example of the salty-haired boys I speak of, by the way. But I hope that doesn't sound bitchy.)
THE DOWNSTAIRS LOUNGE AT BOWERY BALLROOM
I love the Bowery Ballroom (6 Delancey St. between Bowery and Chrystie) so much that I think it's one of my spiritual homes. I almost would rather go see a second-rate band play there than an okay band play at a truly shitty venue, such is my love for this concert venue. It's got great sound, good sightlines from nearly anywhere in the club, and a layout that actually is conducive to a good showgoing experience. It also has a lounge downstairs, complete with sexy alcoves and beautiful lighting, where you can hang out, wait for friends, people-watch, keep your eyes peeled for the band and generally be all louche and awesome. If they just opened up the lounge, I'd be there all the time, but it's for concertgoers only, boo hoo. Which is just as well, I suppose -- it keeps the volume of people reasonable and manageable, and you never get that annoying bar crush you get in Manhattan all the time.
TURKS AND FROGS
It's kind of a big deal when a New Yorker gives up their favorite places in the city, simply because everyone likes their secrets and everyone also has a horror of a place they love being overrun by douchebags and jerkfaces. Which is why it is with great trepidation that I tell people about Turks and Frogs (323 W. 11th St. between Greenwich and Washington), which is at that perfect bar equilibrium these days -- lively enough not to be boring, but not so crazy-crowded that it's unbearable. Turks and Frogs is a great little wine bar in the West Village, a great neighborhood now so overrun with i-bankers and normies that it generally makes me sad to be there anymore. Run by some very charming (and gorgeous) Turks and Frenchmen, it has a great wine list and some delicious appetizers, including a cheese plate that will knock your socks off. Dimly lit and mysterious, it's an intimate place, so it's not really great for when you're rolling six deep -- but if you're looking for a place to chill or somewhere you can seduce someone, Turks and Frogs will be on your side. It's just down the street from the Spotted Pig, which unfortunately is overrun with douchebags and jerkfaces -- but a Spotted Pig burger and then a nightcap at Turks and Frogs, that's pretty much a perfect West Village kind of night.
BEMELMANS BAR AT THE CARLYLE
I have such a soft spot in my heart for old-school New York, when the city was soigne and classy and elegant: it's kind of cheesy, I suppose, and probably not true, but I'm a sucker for a old room and a sense of history. So while it's a little tourist-y, I totally have to put in a mention of Bemelmans Bar at the Carlyle Hotel (35 E 76th Street). It's not open late at all, so this is a place to begin your tour of eminent NYC watering holes, but it's so full of old-school charm that I can't resist. It's named, of course, after the famed Madeline illustrator, whose super-gorge mural lights up the room. And yes, it's pricey, but it's one of those beautiful places that are truly unique in New York -- and the old-timey cocktails are superbly rendered in a way to make you realize how artful and creative mixing up drinks really is. People like to go see Woody Allen's band play at the Cafe Carlyle across the way, but I think that's super-lame. Instead, go in the early evening before the "entertainment" starts, eat some of the light snacks and be charmed by the old-school waiters and the beautiful Art Deco-y room. It's definitely upscale, but in a real, classic, truly deserved and special kind of way.
Tags: Alan Arkin, Angelica Huston, bars, beer, Devendra Banhart, drinking, fish tacos, L.A. rules, Neil Young, New York, Topanga Canyon, Toronto, Venice Beach
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Thursday , January 15, 2009
To Go: Nick Cave (Not THAT Nick Cave) at Jack Shainman Gallery, NYC
Sorry dudes, it's not the epically Goth, lanky Australian Nick Cave that we all know and love. This particular Nick Cave is an artist and professor in Chicago, and he makes pretty astonishing art, which you can catch RIGHT THIS MINUTE at Jack Shainman Gallery in Nueva York. Anyone with an interest in textiles, crafts, dance and even African/Caribbean art would find Cave's work fascinating: he makes what he calls "soundsuits" out of basically anything that can be sewn onto something: plants, twigs, tchotchkes, fabrics, sequins, bric-brac, etc. They're worn as costumes for his modern dance performances, but seeing them in person, they work on you as sculpture -- the scale of them (BIG) makes them fascinating and even a bit fearsome. (To paraphrase my friend Megan at the opening, things without faces are a little freaky, no?) I was at the opening and didn't stay long enough to take a look at them closely, but I returned a few days later and was super-impressed with their detail, their craftsmanship and their sense of color and texture. I also have the urge to break into the gallery to glue giant googly-eyes onto them, but that's just me. Anyway, if you can brave the cold snap in NYC, I highly recommend checking it out.
Here's a video of Nick Cave talking about his work -- plus you can see the soundsuits in motion, which is pretty dope (PLUS you can see the adorable Thelma Golden, chief curator of the AWESOME Studio Museum of Harlem):
Tags: art, New York City, Nick Cave but not that Nick Cave, textiles
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by Kat in City Living
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Saturday , November 22, 2008
nogoodforme in the City: Toronto's Most Slamminest, Killer-in'-est & Steal-in'-est VINTAGE CLOTHING Some things I have recently discovered: 1) Red wine tastes better in the winter. THERE IS NO NEED FOR ME TO EVER SPEND MONEY ON CLOTHING THAT ISN'T VINTAGE AGAIN, AS LONG AS I LIVE. Seriously. I want to have the Sazerac of Wardrobes: a perfectly-constructed melange of one-of-a-kind, fated-to-be-mine showstoppers. I want the contents of my closet to be full of ghosts, tales, tragedies, wit and wisdom. I want it all to have traveled through time to become mine. As much as I'm exaggerating and will most likely hit up Zara within the week, my point is sound, and I'm going to do my best. This week, I will finally have escaped "living with my parents in suburbia Hell" (no offense, Mom and Dad- y'all know I'm kinda Over It), which is exciting for numerous reasons. And a big fat one of them is that, from this point on, I will have Badlands Vintage at my beck and call, a fifteen minute trudge through nasty grey snow away. Badlands Vintage is located at 104 Ossington Avenue (at Argyle Street; nearby Queen Street West), and is basically the vintage store of my dreams. See below: Badlands is a teeny-tiny little cove jam-packed with knick-knacks, oddities, and seriously some of the most exciting, novel and surprising vintage finds I ever saw. Every single item in the store is totally special; to make matters even cuter, store owner Ali Rideout writes up a sweet little bon-mot for every article of clothing on the racks. I nearly died over the insane weirdness of this one giant men's sweater printed with a parade of grinning koalas; "KOALA CHAOS!", its tag read. Thank you, Ali Rideout. You stole the words right out of my mouth. I'm sort of baffled right now as to why I didn't snap up that sweater on the spot. It's so ME. Instead, for some crazy reason, I bought this legitimately beautiful neck-dress (it's not a necklace; it's a headdress for your neck!), which cost a meager TWELVE BONES: Oh yeah! Did I mention that everything at Badlands is priced entirely reasonably? Because it is. Toronto rules.
2) The only non-alcoholic beverage in the world worth drinking (besides water, freshly-squeezed lemonade at a carnival, and Big Gulps in July) is KOYA Aloe Juice
3) Excepting jeans (particularly Miss Sixtys, my personal Holy Grail of denim), Hanes little boys' white wifebeaters, and underwear from American Eagle Awesome:
Tags: alcohol, Badlands Vintage, city guides, Koala Chaos, nogoodforme in the city, nostalgia, Sazeracs, Toronto, vintage
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Wednesday , October 29, 2008
nogoodforme in the City, Special Edition: A Highly Scattershot Guide to Reykjavik, Iceland!
No, this is not going to be the ultimate end-all, be-all shopping-and-everything-else-funsville guide to the capital city of Iceland. Although it would not be hard to write, I suppose: Reykjavik is not a large city by any account. You could walk from one end to the other in about an hour or so, or perhaps a bit longer if you were to mosey your way in and out of the plentiful cafes and bars as you went along. But Reykjavik makes up for its geographical smallness by cramming as much coolness and cosmopolitan energy into each square kilometer as possible. As a city, it has the charm of a harbor town in terms of its physical look and location, but culturally it has a finger on the pulse of edgy European culture. The best of Icelandic style I saw reinterpreted avant-garde European design with a humble coziness and comfort that seems to be quite Icelandic in nature.
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Tags: Bjork, Cific Boutique, ELM Design, Iceland, Kaffibarinn, Naked Ape, Reykjavik, Rokk Og Rosir, soup, travel, Trilogia
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Wednesday , October 22, 2008
nogoodforme in the City: The Bestest, Favoritest, Amazingest Vegan Restaurant in All of Freckin' New York City
Okay, to continually steal one of my favorite Liz Barkerisms, I am not vegan nor do I play one on television. So perhaps I am unqualified to rate a restaurant's true vegan-ness. But it is my very non-veganality (and therefore the ability to stack a vegan restaurant's overall qualities against their non-vegan equivalents) that allows me to say without certainty that Cafe Blossom, on the Upper West Side, is my favorite vegan restaurant in New York City -- and it's probably one of my most favorite ANYTHING restaurants as well. I've tried pretty much all the vegan eateries in the city, simply because 1. tons of my friends are vegans; 2. I've dated lots of vegan dudes; and 3. I just like vegan food in general, finding it to be quite creative and healthy. I could probably say something positive about every one of these other places: Candle Cafe, Candle 79, Counter, Wild Ginger, Pukk, Red Bamboo, etcetera and ad nauseum. (There's even a Blossom down in Chelsea, which is a bit more formal than its uptown sister and not as relaxed, although the food is still quite delicious -- Blossom in Chelsea is sort of more "foodie" like, but I honestly prefer a more casual atmosphere when I eat.)
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Tags: food, New York City, restaurant reviews, vegan goodness, veganism
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Wednesday , October 15, 2008
nogoodforme in the City, Toronto edition: Best "Place Where NOBODY Knows Your Name" The Tibet Cafe, 51 Kensington Avenue, between Dundas St. West & St. Andrews St.: My favorite thing about Toronto is also my least-favorite thing about Toronto, which is that it is actually impossible to do ANYTHING without running into: -3 members of your inner circle That's where the Tibet Cafe comes in. I'm pretty much having an anxiety attack as I write this post- I am SO screwing myself over by writing about it here! The Tibet Cafe is chock-a-block with winning assets, which I will delve into shortly, but really: the #1 reason I love this mediocre establishment so passionately much is that NOBODY EVER GOES THERE! It is my secret Laura Jane Takes Toronto hideout; seriously, the only people I've ever seen in there are me, whoever I'm hanging out with (if I'm hanging out with someone, which I tend not to- the Tibet Cafe is for me), some creepy old drunks wearing Montreal Canadiens hockey jerseys, the staff of the Tibet Cafe, and the children of the staff of the Tibet Cafe. OTHER REASONS WHY THE TIBET CAFE RULES: 1) It gets every job done. It is a bar, restaurant, AND juice bar. There is no reason to go anywhere else in the city of Toronto. It kills seven birds with one stone. 2) Their blended juice smoothies are the best in the entire world. I drink one every chance I get, which is often, and am pretty much heartbroken that soon it will be winter and a tall cold plastic cup full of blended ice, pineapple and mango will no longer sound appealing to me. 3) Every single Sunday of my life (if possible), I go to Urban Herbivore (which I exclusively refer to as "Urb-Herb" IRL, FYI) and buy myself A BEAUTIFUL DELICIOUS MUFFIN (either sweet potato-date, apple-blueberry, or pear-cinnamon-carrot). Then I buy the Sunday paper, walk to the Tibet Cafe, get a pineapple-mango or pineapple-strawberry smoothie, and eat and drink and do the Sunday crossword with myself. THERE IS NOTHING IN THE WORLD BETTER THAN THIS. 4) The Tibet Cafe is the Official Winner of Laura Jane's "Best Sangria In Toronto" prize. It's really sweet, they put so much effort into making it! Although sometimes it's kind of annoying when you're sitting at your table tapping your foot as they cut up bananas into exactly equal dime-sized bits, and you're like "UGHHH! Hurry up, TIbet Cafe employee! I just wanna get DRUNKED!" 5) They are in possession of the Standard Toronto Bar Menu, which is AWESOME. The Red Room, The Green Room, Java House, the Tibet Cafe, and about ten trillion other places in Toronto proper have virtually the exact same menu, and it rules. Really good tofu/veggie stir-fry with tamarind sauce for under five bucks? Sign me up. 6) It is right in the heart of Kensington Market, which means it is close to anywhere you could possibly want to go. Toronto is about as big as my pinkie finger. 7) It's really chill to come here if you need to sober up a bit at two in the morning. You can sit at a big table, absently watch a 24-hour news channel on one of two available television sets, drink a Diet Coke, and re-center. Tibet Cafe can be everything to everyone. Except YOU. Don't forget: YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO GO HERE. But yeah, seriously, totally don't go here, or it will no longer be my Secret Laura Jane Toronto Clubhouse. It would be really mean of you to ruin this for me, so don't. And if you decide you must, don't get your feelings hurt when I pretend not to notice you.
-7 pretty good friends of yours
-13 people you went to high school with
-24 acquaintances
-38 people you've met casually in the past but choose to pretend you haven't
-163 people who you see on a daily basis because they are Toronto people and so are you. You don't know them and have never spoken to them in your life, but their faces are as familiar to you as your own mother'sThis is all really comforting and positive and great when you're having a lovely morning, feel awesome, are wearing a good outfit, and some cool thing just happened in your life that you're in the mood to brag people about. But this is not always the case, my friends (and acquaintances). Sometimes you are angry, stressed out, late for an appointment and decidedly lack the time and/or energy needed to engage in a three-minute conversation about "what's going on tonight" or "what I have been doing with myself since graduating high school". 
(from left: Laura Jane enjoying Tibet Cafe sangria; the sweetest Sunday morning set-up EVER; Laura Jane continuing to enjoy Tibet Cafe sangria)
(above: what Kensington Market looks like. Cute, right?)
Tags: cheap eats, diet coke, Kensington Market, re-centrification, sangria, Tibet Cafe, Toronto
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Wednesday , October 8, 2008
nogoodforme in the City: Best Intro to L.A. Nightlife for Elliott Smith Fans & Other Sensitive Souls
When I first moved to Los Angeles a thousand years ago, one of the first bars I set foot in was The Roost in Atwater Village. It was only my third or fourth night in town, and at the table next to us Elliott Smith's birthday party was going on, which led me to assume that anytime you go anywhere in L.A. there's sure to be birthday-celebrating rock stars just popping out of the woodwork. (Which turns out to be completely untrue, but oh wellskis.) It was about two and a half months before Elliott died, and Lou Barlow was there and they played "Happy Birthday" on the jukebox and brought out a big chocolate cake and everybody sang. I remember thinking it made sense that Elliott was a Leo, since he kinda looked like a lion.
Apparently Elliott Smith was a regular there, but The Roost is nothing like the kinda dives I always pictured when I used to play "Between the Bars" over and over on the Good Will Hunting soundtrack my junior year of college. My imaginary Elliott Smith bars were a cross between something dismal and dreary and Barfly-esque and the far-cheerier make-believe Harvard bar where Matt Damon puts the smackdown on that blonde-ponytailed dude prattling on about how Gordon S. Wood "drastically underestimates the impact of social distinctions predicated upon wealth, especially inherited wealth." The Roost is neither dismal/dreary nor make-believe-Harvardy - for starters, there's a popcorn machine! And the popcorn's free! The booths are red leather and the jukebox is full of Johnny Cash, Patsy Cline, David Bowie, Neils Young & Diamond, Buddy Holly, The Zombies, plus lots of other awesomeness. Well drinks are like five cents each and stiff as all get-out and, if you're superhardcore, the place opens at 10 a.m. The crowd's pretty non-annoying, with a nice dearth of meticulously coiffed boys wearing their girlfriends' jeans. All in all, The Roost embodies a sort of charming grossness that should be the hallmark of any dive, but which generally eludes all those self-consciously scuzzy bars lousy with girl-jeans-wearing dudes yet soul-crushingly lacking in free popcorn.
Oh, and if you want to do a little Elliott Smith Tour of L.A's East Side, I guess your next stop should be the Figure 8 mural on Sunset in Silver Lake. And while you're there, totally don't go next door to Malo, which I hereby classify as "Best Place to Spend $12 on Tacos That Aren't Half As Yummy As the $2 Ones from the Taco Truck at Alvarado and Montana." Sorry, Malo!
Tags: dive bars, Elliott Smith, Los Angeles, Matt Damon, Patsy Cline, popcorn machines, Silver Lake, taco trucks
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by Liz in City Living
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