I may have to break-up with LA Cafe. I love you baby, but I've recently found out you're cheating on me. Please just be honest, because I've seen you with "them". You're whoring yourself out to the enormous douche-bag yuppies that have suddenly invaded Spring St. over the last couple of months.
With SB Lofts opening of their newest building on the corner of Spring and 7th, and with ridiculously cheap rent to boot, LA Cafe has reaped the benefits of the influx of lame, stupid-faced, Hollywood transplants, who, after going to the art-walk once or twice, decided they wanted to stow-away inside downtown's semi-cool community and populate and spoil our echelon with their stupid white-fluffy dogs, Gap khakis, and lame Clark Kent haircuts.
I've been going to LA Cafe every Saturday and Sunday for two years, and this past Sunday, at my normal arrival time, there was not only nary a table available, but an actual line out the door to order. And the wait wasn't due to the usual douche-able FIDIM poser/hipsters-- I'm used to those losers-- it was full of the same awful people you'd find holding court at Toast or Kings Road Cafe in Hollywood.
Where did you vile people come from?! Go back home to your Spanish-style homecomb adobe dwellings!
Am I a class warrior? A social snob? A *bleepin* ass&$%le? Yeah, probably. But I want my downtown back, and I want my LA Cafe back!
The headline says it all. And while I promise I'm not going to continue just posting movie trailers/shorts... dude, fucking check out REC 2 (the sequel to the spanish zombie-film).
1) My gentle, yet contagious laugh. (It can't help but put a smile on your face.)
2) My generous sense of charity. (Though I've often confused hipsters and homeless people, and too many times have given change to an undeserving, deep plunging v-neck wearing douche-bag.)
3) My luscious hair (I know, right?!)
4) The way I spell "colour" (so cultured...so cultured)
5) My dimples (two words: A. Dorable.)
6) Abs that could double as a cheese-grate.
7) An unquenchable sense of adventure. (once, I drove to Calabasas!)
8) Rock-solid, no... DIAMOND-solid integrity (but best if you make the check out to 'cash')
9) The way I embrace the whole of humanity (just no Irish. Or Jews. Yikes, not a very p.c. thing to say. Ok, Irish are fine.)
10) And aren't I just friggin' hilarious? Yeah, you just don't wanna be there when the laughter stops, you know. It just gets ugly. And a little sad. Well, mostly sad. And slightly emasculating....... i have a tiny penis.
Like a bold, strongly pressed period at the end of the sentence, "We have no life.".... we are now on yelp.com, where you can read our mini-reviews on the gamut of restaurants and local businesses in downtown L.A.
Why not post our reviews on this blog?.... then this blog would be nothing but reviews, instead of amazingly witty quips on downtown life in general. Duh.
Now, while the small, habitable section of downtown needs another coffee shop like I need another hole in my brain (last Saturday's bender at The Association is probably responsible for me losing all my memories from 1997), I certainly won't mind when the area's newest place to drop $17 dollars a week on coffee is right next to the entrance of my building.
Looks like the caffeine gods have chosen to erect another place of worship in their honor, and that's fine by me. Not so fine for L.A. Cafe, which is/had been the daily recipient of a small portion of my hard earned cash and peddler to my addictions. And while this new place looks like it can maybe have enough room for a single Braun coffee maker and perhaps a retired jockey-turned-barista, I will say that for my to-go needs, this place will be my new Mecca...
...Unless of course they make shitty coffee. Oh, who am I kidding?-- L.A. Cafe's coffee was really crappy and weak, but now I've drank so much of it, I have fooled myself into thinking it's good. Kind of like this fat-chick I used to date... much like LA Cafe's coffee, she was not the quality I was used to; she was bitter, rarely satisfying, and I had to cover her up with the equivalent of lots of cream and sugar-- which in her case was beer and more beer. But eventually, I got used to her, because I had to; she was the only thing around. And now, even if this new joint isn't Alessandra Ambrosio, well Hell, I can work with it.
If you live downtown, more than likely you own a dog. It's just a fact. Right now the city is deciding whether or not to redesign a part of Pershing Square into a dog park, or at least a dog-run. Please visit the community board and show your support by posting a comment in favor of this proposal. You don't have to be apart of the website that hosts the board, you can just comment anonymously.
These comments are going to be taken to the deciding committee and can/will help contribute toward a passing.
Seriously, folks... I need a place where I can shamelessly pick-up chicks with my new puppy. What's that, honey? Oh, that's right, we both write this blog and you just read the previous sentence. That's obviously a typo. What I meant to say was, I love you; you are the most wonderful thing to ever happen to me, and that whole "picking up girls with a puppy" is just a bit of my 'ol British humor that you Americans don't always get. Huh? Ok, so I know I'm not British. What's that? Why are you yelling?... Here, look at the puppy!
Why are downtown dwellers typecast as “Trend-Jumping Hipsters” by the rest of L.A.?
Here is downtown’s official press release regarding the ‘Hipster Question’: We loathe hipsters. We mock hipsters. We are livid when hipsters overrun our favorite haunts and claim our territories, antagonizing us with their a-symetrical hairstyles, man-liner, home-made underground band t-shirts, and regurgitated Chuck Klosterman.
And nothing is more gay annoying than the twenty-something poser emo-punk who has bi-weekly raids on Urban Outfitters, American Apparel, and Aardvarks on Melrose to acquire slightly differing versions of the necessary uniform: skinny jeans, tight fitted t-shirt, track jacket, artfully arranged neck scarf, optional fedora or beanie worn on the top of the hairline, copy-cat Karen O haircuts, and let’s not forget, the most fucking RETARDED hipster accessory sweeping the market right now: bad, fake 80’s style eye-glasses with either cloudy plastic fake lenses, or fuck, no lens at all! Seriously, what the fuck are you doing, you fucking fucks?
And can we address the “skinny pants that sit too low”; Fucking stop. No, seriously, I’m not kidding. Guys: not one ounce of masculinity lies in seeing every stringy muscle in your chicken legs. Girls: not one ounce of femininity lies in seeing your muffin top. Also, plumber’s-crack is gross on plumbers AND on hipster girls. So, now that you know, get fucking pants that fit normally. You can still have them fatigued and ripped and pretend to be anti-mainstream, yet still pay $250 for a “non-label“.... but just make them flatter you.
Hipsters all seem to ascribe to the same fashion icon and quite frankly they should burn him in effigy. While they’re at, I hope they'll burn all their "Dashboard Confessional" albums (on vinyl as only hipsters are cool enough to obtain), because I think that dude singer contributed largely to this issue.
Why am I hating on hipsters? One, because it’s fun. Two, because I'm starting to wrinkle and their baby skin disgusts me. And three, because we are assumed to be or get called hipsters by the denizens of other parts of Los Angeles, just by living downtown. REALLY?!! Dude, I don't have the time to put that much thought into where I live, I just know how to pick what I like. Last time I checked I wasn't wearing a scarf in 90 degree weather.
We moved downtown because the rest of Los Angeles is slightly depressing. Flat, dismal stretches of strip-malls... neon... dead palm trees and 100’s billboards. We moved here because a part of our hearts (a large chunk, actually) still belongs to Chicago and other East Coast architecturally beautiful cities. We wanted to feel like we lived in a REAL city where we know our neighbors, have a regular coffee shop, bars that aren’t packed with these people, and beautiful buildings and edifices. The idea that we might be able to create a home somewhere that could feel like home is an otherwise lost idea when thinking of Los Angeles.
We love our loft. The brick is older than our grandparents; the view is of other high-rises. It's exhilarating ... more creatively stimulating than a carbon copy box apartment. The idea that artists of all types and levels of expertise can contribute to the artwalk is lovely. The sense of community down here is astounding in a city often chided for being so big and so vast that people remain isolated. The blend of cultures right outside our building is incredible. We are within walking distance of Little Tokyo, Chinatown, Olivarius Street, the financial block, Pershing Square, L.A. Live, Disney Concert Hall, the MOCA, and also have immediate multi-freeway access. It takes 16 minutes to get to Santa Monica. 19 minutes to The Grove. 23 minutes to Pasadena. 12 to Burbank. 29 to LAX. 36 to Hermosa Pier...
This first year downtown has made me proud to be an Angeleno. Who the fuck would want to say that otherwise?
But back to the issue of hipsters. I work in Hollywood and happily make the drive in exchange for living in this area. Recently, a co-worker asked where I live this past week and I was not prepared for his response when I answered "Downtown." He rolled his eyes. He shook his head. And he let forth a litany about how bad downtown is, how worthless--and how I needed to stop trying to be such a HIPSTER and edgy by claiming to be a passionate resident of the area. I think his exact words were "Stop being a stupid damn hipster and move already out of that shit-hole." I lost my temper. I NEVER LOSE MY TEMPER. It was quite startling for even me. I still haven't actually figured out if it was the calling me a hipster that did it, or the bagging on downtown Los Angeles. I resent the idea that downtown should be given up upon ... and I really resent the notion that those of us that want to invest in it and commit to supporting it are nothing but self-congratulating hipsters. Ew. Not cool.
I'm proud to live here. Proud to be a part of the first wave. We can't wait to see the area get better and better. But we aren't cool kids wanting to come off artsy and underground. We are two fully grown nerds who like comic books, sci-fi movies, buying sweaters for our dogs, and shopping at Bed Bath & Beyond. We aren't rich enough to be called yuppies yet, so don't even try. Just promise me you won't call us "Hipsters."
Now excuse me while I go put up my newest Shepard Fairey poster and listen to "Blonde Redhead."
