Javier "Right now I'm a glass completely empty kind of guy" J.'s Profile

I'm not sure what it is about 2012 -- perhaps the whole notion that this is the last foul year of their lord, but it seems every god damned person I know wants to get married. As if having a certificate of a business partnership with an opposite gendered person will mean anything when the Mayan calendar fails to come to pass.  

What, you figure that you don't want to be alone? You gonna pull a Frodo and just wait till the very end  of the year and say something cheesy like "I'm glad to be with you (insert the name of the spouse) here at the end of all things" .

In any case, being that I am now invited to a hand full of celebration of the joys of love it meant that I needed to grow a pair and get a suit. Not just any suit. But something I could be proud of. Also something on short notice as the first one is/was only a week away from when I came in here with the fear of dealing with a pushy sales rep.

I'm also not sure why I choose the Beverly Connection - that's like choosing to get complex dental work done in TJ. But I was here and to my shock, it wasn't a bad experience. Which is odd since I'm generally sort of care-bear like and wear nothing but Jeans and a themed t-shirt on a daily basis. So the idea of finding a suit for myself was something I was fearing.  

While I may have been given the higher brand name labels to pick from at first, I have to admit that the sales rep, Shane Goodsite -- which if i can just note does NOTHING at dispelling the notion that Los Angeles is full of fakes. What with that clearly made up name. . . .  

But regardless of such fictitious names, Shane was beyond helpful in getting me measured, fitted and suited up with a couple of options -- I didn't even mind having to deal with waiting for the prom kids looking for that rented tux that they hoped to stain by the end of the night to finish up and free up the dressing rooms.

I came out and god damn, I have to say that I cleaned up well. Sure, the pants needed to be finished. But once the broken English, fresh-off-the-shipping-container tailor came out to critique and chalk up my potential purchase, I could see that this was going to be all sorts of ballin' style.

Line here. Line there. Cut up a piece here. Hike this up. Yup. Seems like it's all about customizing that shit for the customer.

What sealed this deal was the fact that they offered to put suspender buttons on the inside of the pants. My god, how wide did my eyes widen at that moment. It's like this barely able to speak English tailor and this well dressed sales rep could read my mind. Now I guess the search was on in vintage thrift stores to find me some suspenders.

Even better was that they were running a 2 for 1 deal. So I ended up with two suits. Which I guess I shouldn't feel all that special about. No more special than finding out that I got a killer deal on tacos on a Tuesday at a local taco shop. Either way, I'm excited about looking like a dapper Dan.

Even if they did screw up in the charging of me by not giving me that 2 for 1 deal, but hey, once I pointed it out, they corrected said issue with ease.

So thank you, well dressed-Shane dude. You hooked it up this typical Jeans and T-shirt fella with something he could be proud about. The only thing to do now is wait for it to be ready. . . which seemed like perfect timing as it's scheduled to be done getting tailored just a day before the first of the wave of marriages.

Hey, at least I'll be able to suit up to hit the bars -- make myself look important instead of just that alcoholic with a hipster-ish threadless shirt.

And I thought they smelled bad on the outside.. is pretty much what you're going to be thinking for the first quarter of the trail.

There is so much horse shit you have to put up with, that you're somewhat feeling like this trail burned you and you're left wondering if you somehow ended up in Runyon Canyon.

But once you hit the U turn, you're won't see any more horse shit and will be on your way to the Hollywood sign. So be glad that you're no longer cursing that rat bastard Mr. Ed for eating too much of that peanut butter they put on his gum to make him mouth those words.

This isn't really a tough hike. Which makes me wonder why there's so many people who give up within 5 minutes of the hike and just take their Hollywood sign in the background picture on the first flat part before the horse stables.

This is the dumbest thing you could do.

Either that or you're just obese. Please stay out of my hiking trails if you aren't even going to try. The whole hike is about 3-4 miles round trip. Just suck it up and do the entire thing.

Once you go through a couple of zigs and zags you'll not only see all of Los Angeles from a high above view, but you'll get a great view of the valley as well. You know how people in the valley or in Hollywood say they rarely go over the hill? Well you can be viewing both sides of the coin up here.

The Hollywood sign is something you can't touch, but you can look down on it. Being high up here is a bit surreal. For a city that is touted as fake, this trail takes you through some real beautiful sights and for as beginner as it is, it does get you out into real nature.

You can connect to a few other trails if you want -- But don't settle by taking that picture from the trail head.

"Pay no attention to the heels on the floor." he said when I got into the paid for truck. In all honesty I didn't know what to expect -- but I was taken aback at the fact that there was indeed stylish pumps on the floor.

He then pointed out the case of tecate in the back seat as well as a bottle of grey goose and a purse with an extra pair of heels. Not that we needed any of this for the trip -- which at this point we didn't even know where we were going, but hey, when you're locked into a serious odd evening with a stick figure from riverside, the tendency is to push it as far as you can.

The idea was simple -- after spending the last 5 hours drinking at a cowboy saloon and then at a craft beer specialty, it was time for Cheaptimes to get some grub. Something that reminded him of home. A taco stand or something of the like.

After driving around Burbank for a couple of minutes, the large MARISCO'S written on the side of a building just called on us. This is how we ended up in The Costa Azul.

Specifically with only a good 10-15 minutes before they turned off the OPEN sign. The first sign of trouble came when the already irate waitress asked if we were ordering food and my partner's reply was simply "maybe, but probably just 4-5 round of beers".

Tensions also began to build when the false sense of hope appeared with the amount of empty bottles they had on the wall wasn't really representing what they actually offered.

A side note about the area. North Burbank is where you go when you want to do your taxes and get a pound of chorizo for your next BBQ. No, seriously. They have butcher shops that also do your taxes. I'm not sure how good they'll marinate your meat, but man oh man, those tax deductions they'll find will be worth every pound of asada.

Back to Costa Azul. After round two of dos XX's, a fairly frustrated waitress came back out and pushed on the fact that the kitchen was about to close. He went with the steak plate. I went with a simple tostada de pulpo.

I guess I later caught on to why I went with that when Cheapster's asked me why I went with that. By this point I conditioned myself to not go for the shellfish options at seafood establishment. I didn't want to have crustacean on the lips in the event of a potential kiss of death to my lips. But then that was for a different life time.  

It was alright. Then again, I had been drinking for the past 8 hours at a rate of a good solid two to three beers an hour. Some as strong as 9%. So this simple offering of a boiled and chopped cephalopod on top of a deep fried and hardened tortilla hit that spot in a good way. Even if the tension between the I.E. resident and the exhausted worker here built to levels only seen on the streets of Downtown L.A. and a certain ass grabbing.

I had to excuse myself at least twice in fear that I was going to get some hot sauce thrown in my face. It was bad enough they turned off the Lakers game from the television -- as to not encourage staying for longer than needed.

On the way to the bathroom I accidentally opened the door to the utility closet. One does not associate limes with a bathroom storage closet, but sure enough there was a box full of them. I do subscribe to the notion of if life gives you lemons, make lemoncello. But since life just had me come face to face with storage utility limes, I wasn't going to squander this moment.

I grabbed a couple and put them in my pocket. Who am I to pass up this chance? Besides, if the shit got thick between my "more-handsome-than-ten-celebrities" buddy and the waitress, I wanted some sort of weapon.  

A good $30 worth of drinks and finished food later, we were ready to bounce. Now I won't say the service was terrible. It was perfectly acceptable that she didn't want to stick around after her shift for late coming walk-in's. There was something to be said about the whole ways my buddy pushed and tested those waitressing skills.

Over all, it wasn't a bad place to end the night. It got the job done and I seriously lost count at how many beers we have had. I'm sure a lot of preparation was being made for the whole Mother day meal festivities as every chair seemed to be covered in some white cloth.

Worth coming to again? Well.. I think it's safe to assume that they'll have a "lime thief" wanted poster up, so I may have to lay low from coming back there anytime soon. They're still in the paid-for-truck. . . .  right next to the heels that shall remain a mystery to one and all.

This place has self check outs. Which to someone who likes to abuse "the system" and find all those little sort of life hacks -- is something I really need to not get too giddy about abusing.

If there's one thing about drinking a lot and being socially awkward to the point that even carrying on a conversation with a judgmental yet total stranger of a cashier is that you don't really want to deal with anyone when you're trying to buy it.  Least you be looked at like a complete alcoholic for buying a handle of vodka at 7am on a Sunday. Don't you judge me!

So it's nice not to have any social interaction with a fellow human being by taking the self-check out machine option. Sadly, in the state of California there's a "no alcohol purchase through self check out" law that passed this year. I think it has something to do with the fourth lesser known Laws of Robotics:

  1. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.
  2. A robot must obey the orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.
  3. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws.
  4. A robot can not egg on its human companion to get crunk and make bad life decisions by purchasing alcohol through them.

In any event, the best way to get around this, I've found, is to just apply the banana discount at the grocery store. See, just go in and grab a handle of your favorite "reality-suppressant" and then just simply tell the self check out machine that you are buying bananas. They're like fifty cents per pound or so. After it will simply ask you to put the "bananas" on the scanner -- at which point you simply put the bottle of grandpa's medicine on top and it rings it up as bananas. Fifty cents.

And just in case you aren't a ragingly clever alcoholic like myself, you can do this for anything. Usually it's best to wait until the attendant wanders off, but chances are anyone who works at Albertsons doesn't give much of a shit about anything anyway.

If you don't want to flat out shop lift from the store, you can always just ring up some fake item for the equivalent price and pay it, so if they catch you (they won't) you've only broken the stupid California liquor law and no one cares about those anyway, least of all the early shift Albertsons attendants.

Again, this is all just ways to hack life. Which don't think that hacking is only limited to hacking said gibson with a keyboard and bad 90's computer knowledge. . .  The original hacking was done with a simple Captain Crunch whistle and pay phones.

So there you go. This Alberston's is much like any other -- but only it has a nice exposed under belly that you can poke at with your mighty life hack skillz.

Oh yeah, I guess they have a BoA in here, but I won't teach you (for the sole purpose of educational reasons, of course) how to fuck around with the ATM. Now if you'll excuse me, I have 4 pounds of rich potassium to enjoy from said bananas....

You know, i don't like giving one stars out too much, but this place pretty much deserves it. It's not for any of the shops. No, you have all the generic store fronts you would find in any middle to higher tax bracket shopping malls. But that's really the problem.

I'm not exactly sure why you would waste your time and your couple of bucks on the parking fee to come here when anything you can find here - be it the CVS, Men's Wearhouse, Nordstroms, Verizon or the soon-to-be-Target warrants coming to the "connection" to shop in when all of those exist relatively close by without the hassle of having to be at the connection.

So again, this is a review of the actual lay out of this otherwise forgettable place. , .

No. I take that back. It's not forgettable. It's a shit hole. The parking structure makes this place just all that much shittier. I don't know who the hell would come here for such generic shit stores like Johnny Rockets.

Maybe some rich dad trying to dump his kid at some really bad looking nostalgic looking burger joint while he goes and takes care of his Verizon bill and get a 2 for 1 suit?  Okay, I'm being harsh on the stores. But still, the place is in a constant state of "shitty"

They also seem to have harness the robotic awesomeness of Stephan Hawking and put his soul into the pay machine. .  . Which is probably why I decided to review the place.

Parking is a buck an hour for the first four hours. And let's just get one thing straight - THERE'S NOTHING HERE THAT IS SPECIAL ENOUGH TO PAY EVEN THAT LITTLE AMOUNT FOR PARKING FOR!

The place is going to house a target in the future. Again, why pay a buck an hour to shop at target? Oh, cause you're next to the Beverly Center... Ugh.

This place preys on the money of those who are too rich to give a shit about the nickle and diming that they are being bleed out of by coming here. Not to mention traffic coming into this shit hole is pretty piss poor at any given time during the day.

It seems like everything here is in a constant state of broken. Elevators. Stairs. Just about anything you can think of is typically in that "out of order" manner. Then you have the lines at the Stephen Hawking parking payment centers. I have to admit that I always hated places that have the nerve to charge you to park in, but feel the need to not want to pay an attendant the min. wage hourly rate to sit in a booth at the exit.

No sir, you have to make sure you pay well before you jump in your car to flee the scene of the crime. Which can lead to another 20 minute wait as you have the elderly couple who don't know how to use any sort of technology outside of 1955's stove/oven combination. So paying a machine two bucks for the hours they were here is just so daunting and soul crushing.

In any case, if you're going to charge me to park in your parking structure, at least help me feel like the money is going to some poor unemployed dude's pocket who is at the exit taking your money...

Or maybe the Terminator franchise was right -- only the rise of the machines are those in the parking structure of every bourgeois shopping center that requires you to pay at a machine before leaving.

In short -- why would you come to this missed "connection"?

While this isn't literally Angel's Bar.. which, if rumor holds true, is one of those dive places in Fullerton, this is what I would call the ANGEL'S bar... or at least brewery.

Located in an industrial parkway (like any good small alcohol fermentation site would be) a hop skip and jump away from Angel's stadium, this small brewery is cranking out a lot of good quality beer.

Mind you, the space is tiny for the tasting room but you get to see a lot of Angel's gear all over the place and if you're wearing Dodger Blue... well, I'm sure they'll look at you cross ways.

While you can come here to get a pint, grab a 22oz bomber, fill a growler or just hit up whatever food truck they have hanging outside- if this is your first time here you have to get the sampler. It's the best way to go and for about $8 you'll get a plate full of 2oz samples of all their in house beer. That alone should get you good and sauced before any Angels game.

Out of all their beers, I love me the Knight Changer. It's a damn tasty stout and they often have a barrel aged version which is as thick as motor oil and I would consider it a bigger crime if you dumped this out at the curb.

The only problem I have with this place is that it's a true Angel Stadium tailgating situation. In that you should probably just get a couple of bottles of whatever you're enjoying from the sampler and call it a day. For you see, some strange marketing reason they price the bottles at around a buck or two more than the cost of a pint. Now I'm no math wizard, but a bomber is 22oz and a pint is 16oz. So the cost of 6oz is about a buck or two? Well, sign me up for a bomber!

You'll basically know what you like from the sampler and get a bottle of it to go if they have it would be my advice on the place.

Another great microbrewery in Orange County. As if I didn't have cause to go down there enough.

Best go to the Alamo basement to find your bike

So dig out your old bike, though I wouldn't suggest looking in the basement of the Alamo. How about a used bike shop or garage sale. Either way, CicLAvia is one of those events you just have to jump right in and enjoy the fact that the city has been emptied of cars and you own the road.

It's actually a bit of a relief to be able to ride my bike through downtown without the fear of getting side swiped or cursed at by some angry motorist who doesn't understand that bicycles share the road.

It's times like this when a good sawed off shotgun strapped to your fixie frame would come in order. Though suicide by cops wouldn't fall in line with the idea of healthy living that comes from putting your foot on the pedals.

Here's a little fun fact about me - Whenever I'm doing anything remotely healthy, I feel too much guilt that my self destructive side is on vacation. Thus I have to inject it with something unhealthy. It maintains an equilibrium  to the world. When I go hiking I bring wine. When I go biking- to avoid the potential of falling on my back and getting shards in my lower five vertebra, I bring beer -- specifically canned beer -- and it since Fat Tire seems to cater to the bike riding community, what better way to go than that.

What better way to enjoy a bike ride than by pounding a can of beer. No wait, that's probably illegal advice. You shouldn't operate a bike while intoxicated.. You can get a DUI while on your BMX. Though if you are drinking responsibly, it can be one hell of an enjoyable experience.

Not to mention that canned beer looks a lot like soda, and thus you sort of get around open container laws.

Back to the conversation of this "family" fun day. There's a lot of people who come here with their children. So perhaps you shouldn't be busting out too many tricks there and should watch out for those little ones getting their training wheels on.

There is also those who are a little out there. As if they drank one too many canned beers and hard spirits before showing up on their unicycles, Penny- Farthing and Velocipede bicycles.

Yeah, it's a strange sight to see those pass you up but what the hell. Some days are just stranger than others. And CicLaVia knows how to bring them all out.

The route has been expanding over the last few versions of this. I hear in October it'll go all the way into East L.A. - Not sure if people will feel all that comfortable with riding there, but those people are pansies anyway. It makes the starting point for me a lot closer.

Along the route there is water stations, food trucks, booths that make you aware of one such organization or another.

One route through the fashion district is especially awesome for Mexican food and drinks. You'd probably never realize that they were down there every weekend and after CicLAvia, you'll probably find yourself there on a weekend every few weeks because the offerings are so good and cheap to boot.  

This is an event that I can't wait for every year, and now twice a year.

The often misquoted phrase "Badges? We don't need no stinkin' badges!" was the first thought that crossed my mind. In actuality, you at least needed one person who had a stinkin' badge. Your plus one, on the other hand, could be one of those banditos searching out for that Sierra Madre treasure.

I have to admit, I loved me my cowboys and Indians when I was a wee lad, so this museum is one that just hits a nostalgic nerve center and level for me. And even though I missed out on panning for gold getting drinks-- I had one hell of a rootin' tootin' wild good time...

Okay, so it wasn't really that wild. I walked around a Museum that I like. I didn't get to pan for gold since by the time I got to that part they were closed. It's cool though- I could just do that over in East Fork Road in Azusa if I wanted to. Probably get a few good stories from the crotchety gold miners.

What had me alert as if I was in a high noon shoot out was the fact that their was Firestone Walker beer on tap. Oh man, did I have my finger on the trigger of my holstered saved cup ready to draw some of that brew.

I could feel the tumbleweeds rustle by while waiting as the draft handles were being pulled. Sure enough, tipped my Stetson hat and fully abligded when they poured me a cup- even if it was mostly head.

Yes, this is the first time I complain about getting too much head.

It happens, okay.

When not dealing with foam filled cups of alcohol, the other options were hard liquor. The drink sponsors were the same folks from the Pantagees event, but that wasn't a bad thing since I loved that Root beer concoction they serve up. You sure can't get a root beer like that in the city, I tells yah.

Oh how I was drowning my sorrows in the most delicious way possible. With shot after shot of cheesecake. Which in retrospect is probably how those cowboys back in the west should have been doing instead of knocking back shots of whiskey. You know, less liver damage, and it is cheesecakes of various flavors.

Historically speaking, Far Bar there was pretty dead on accurate for this event. That's not to imply that these are the guys who built the railroads here. But they did make some really bitching ahi poke tacos and those pork sliders were the best thing I ate at the event.

After jumping from vendor to vendor, I got a long like a little doggy and was off to look at the museum. Can I just say, anything with the Gipper is nothing more than a piece of shit that should be tossed away from here.. But hey, I'll let my Reagan hate get set aside for a moment and focus the hate on the fact that Michael Jackson's faux cowboy boots are in a glass display.

That made me run to the hills. And not in that "I'm gonna pan for gold fo' my days cause I hate society" sort of way.... no. wait. It is how I mean it. Because Michael Jackson and Cowboys should be as far apart as a decently written restraining order can provide.

While the anger is flowing through me like nicotine in the system of any "Real" cowboy, can I just lay it out there YET AGAIN -- CLEAN UP AFTER YOURSELF. You wouldn't want to be a Mr. bungle, would you? The venue is gracious enough to allow yelpers in after dark, and all you see is tables with stacks of plates!? What is the matter with you folks? Were you people raised on a farm? Even then, you would know how to clean the stables every now and then.

In any case. It was a good event. It was nice to be in a museum after dark- even if none of the displays came to life. God I was hoping that ol' fashion bar would turn into a real one. Then and only then could I get an honest man's drink. One without too much head.

Thanks to Katie and the Yelp crew for throwing this awesome event. Thanks to Tati for telling me to man up and being that little-big sister that one needs every now and then.

Now time to ride into the sunset..

If you'd had asked me months ago if I would be spending my time at an Antique road show on a weekend morning, I would probably feel like a fossil and would think that it's time that I got bumped off. Don't get me wrong, I love me some old timey stuff. I have a place filled with pinball machines, a jalopy with a cracked windshield in the back and a slew of old postcards- half of which are written to and from people long since dead.

But the idea of walking around a swap meet for old trinkets just doesn't fit in with my hard boiled image. Gee golly, was I wrong. I loved every moment I walked around here. It also took me back to my early days when I was a youngin'. I would go to flea markets every weekend with my parents lookin' for that bargain. It's the awe of being like Indiana Jones without any of the stigma of sorting through someone's garbage on trash day.

A lot of the clothing and items sold were perfect for hipsters- if you still believe that hipster means being a follower of bop jazz of the 50's. Much like comic con, I think the real hep factor about this faire was that there was a lot of folks who were rockin' the look of the era(s) and, I gotta say, were the cat's meow.

What caught my eye was a bunch of empty old hooch bottles. Clearly someone had been storing a Gin mill in their backyard over in Whittier. Either that or someone's grandparent they raided a speakeasy trash bin

Old radios- some of which only had AM tuners. Which, while looked amazing, you'd have to be a dumb Dora in order to stand listening to a limited selection of KFI for the rest of your days. The Big Bopper would not approve.

I think a lot of the appeal of flea markets is to get all American Pickers and find that hidden treasure that the sucker getting rid of it doesn't know what he owns. Not the case here. These antique'ers know what they got and aren't going to be a knocked off when it comes to getting their perceived value.  I overheard a couple of price haggling exchanges and boy howdy, these vendors are no pushovers.

But aside from gawking at really neat-o wares that I probably will just let sit for 30 years until I set up a booth and try to unload them on another pool soul, I was here for a mission. Seems that luck was on my side and I was representing Yelp in the Apple Pie judging contest. My goodness, if this wasn't a taste of Americana with a few hundred calories, I don't know what is.

There I was, making the scene with my yelp shirt, but after 10 pies, I was beat. This was no Stand By Me Barf-o-rama moment, no good sir. These pies were picture perfect and I doubt I scored any under an 7 in taste, appearance, texture and flavor. By the end I was screaming Applesauce! Which is what my belly felt like it was filled with.

The fall Vintage and Antique street faire has a pumpkin pie contest. My oh my, that sounds delicious- even in this nice April heat. Well worth checking out and bring some cash. You don't want to be caught all wet and pass up the chance to take someone else's old junk and putting it into your garage.

One note though - come on folks, don't bring your uncut sheet of Michael Jordan cards. That's neither vintage nor antique. If it is, then I'll really start to feel old.

It can be said that I'm a cat dude. In that in the last few years I have taken a sort of soft spot for strays. I wasn't always a cat person. I mean, I didn't hate them or anything and the one I got seemed to be tossed into my existence in a strange fashion. So I grow a soft spot for the little ones. Especially those strays who I eventually got fixed.

Anyhow, back to this supply shop. I've tried Centenella and while I appreciate their ability to be super helpful, it does feel like they're on too much happiness over there. Also the prices aren't all that great. Worse of all, those loss leader sales have really gone the way of the dodo.

Enter this place. A newer shop, so maybe they'll have some incentive to give you some discount to get you to be a loyal customer - till the next new place comes along. And sure enough, I like their prices slightly better than the rest.

I don't much care for the fact that they take part of factory farming. I'd much rather have someone go and adopt a pet at the pound. But what are you going to do? I'm just here for the stuff to maintain some sort of semblance of a healthy living.

The prices, though,  are spot on - Even better is their rewards program is all based on your name in the system. So I don't have to carry around another stupid club card that makes me look like a big animal freak when I give the keys over to the valet....

Ha, who am I kidding. I don't valet. Parking meters for me, yo. Besides, I wouldn't dare subject a valet worker to the cat fur infestation that is my cars. Duh!

Over all, the savings from the rewards program does edge out all other places I've seen for prices. So that's a nice little bonus and since it's closer (relatively) than some of the other pet food supply shops that carry these better quality food labels, There's not much incentive for me to go anywhere else.