Bus #4, Santa Monica/La Brea - Santa Monica/Echo Park Ave., 9/7/10

I boarded at 8:58 p.m. I paid cash. It was a very crowded bus, as it always is, due to the 704, the express bus,'s last run being thirty minutes prior. It was the kind of ride everyone has had at least once and hopes to never repeat -- the driver, though a seemingly sweet grandfatherly type, appeared to be unaware of the distinction between the gas and brake pedal, instead utilizing what felt like both simultaneously. (I recognize the unbecomingness of this criticism seeing as how I am unable to operate a vehicle myself. I don't care.) Said technique combined with excess passengers resulted in myself and the excess passengers gripping any even remotely sturdy surface (handrails, one another) desperately but ultimately unsuccessfully as we writhed and tripped over bags and body parts. Number of passengers who applied the age old technique for succeeding in their fruitless-and-often-unsafe-but-still-very-determined quest to achieve back of the bus status despite no one having anywhere to go of not-so-subtly ramming into you until you look at them, "yes?", and then exasperatedly grunting towards their destination, "UMPH?": just one. I begrudgingly obliged, an action that fortuitously led to the discovery of a familiar face, my friend Dorian's, and like an ape I shimmied towards him. "Is it scary being a vulnerable woman in the big city?" he asked. "Sometimes" I said. I asked what he was doing later. He said coke and eating Jack in the Box. We then discussed the back door issue (number of passengers who had to yell "Back door!" because it wouldn't open: just one) and agreed it was a poorly designed mechanism. I turned on my Ipod (Syd Barrett, review coming soon) and he read his book. Number of passengers who occupied two seats (one with their body, one with belongings): just one. At Benton Jeff who works at Stories boarded. At Alvarado Dorian exited. I arrived at Echo Park Ave. at 9:25 p.m., thanked the driver and vamoosed.

Four days later I would receive a thought provoking text message from Dorian that I leave you with until another bus ride inspires a blog post: "I hate reading European fashion magazines on the bus because they're massive and full of nude pics and I get embarrassed."

I so agree!

Nuvia's Pupeseria

It began as an accident. I remember the day quite clearly: I'd been back in the city for just a few weeks after taking a year and half sabbatical in Portland, it was an unusually balmy afternoon for even Los Angeles' January and Park (1400 W. Sunset, $5 burgers on Wednesdays, really nice staff and you can bring your own wine!) was closed. We shuffled away disappointedly, stopping only to block the entryway to our fun to piss off friend Neal's house with a grocery cart and were seconds away from resigning ourselves to yet another overpriced-though-I-still-love-it meal at Brite Spot when something in someone acted on a then potentially and now undoubtedly life changing instinct and uttered what I now look back on as the sweetest string of syllables, a unique combination of words that when delivered with the right intonation is not altogether unlike a lovely river's gurgle or a precious kitten's meow: "whuttabout there?" to which we grunted in response (someone might have farted) and plodded into what would become more than a staple, less than an addiction but precisely the pleasantest of necessities. 

Formerly known as Nuvia's Restaurant and Pupeseria, currently sporting a banner above its' door announcing its' perhaps preferred moniker of La Botana (though the menus are yet to be updated with said request), the food here is authentic, plentiful and cheap. Amongst other delights one can enjoy $1.50 tacos, $2.50 pupusas, $4 beers or $5 burritos. Breakfast is offered until 3 p.m., or later if you flirt well, as well as such American options as hamburgers and french fries, the latter of which come very highly recommended from this anonymous glutton, and a variety of fresh and unusually delectable juices. Located between hair salon Goodhead and music venue Echo Curio at 1525 W. Sunset Blvd., this nondescript and slightly decrepit looking building is family owned and operated by a charming bilingual staff who, though occasionally forgetful, participate in, as well as plain encourage, the creation of a fun fiesta atmosphere, particularly as evening sets in and their karaoke hands arrive. Who these men are no one seems to know, but croon and dance into the night they do, a treat I've realized to be one of the questionably many factors behind the establishment oft being fully lit, as well as emitting cries and woops, well past midnight despite the posted hours of 9 a.m. to 10 p.m. My favorite waitress, whose name I embarrassingly still don't know though my roommate hits on her incessantly, calls me "baby" and always winks at me when I am in the company of a male, once even chiding an accomplice of mine for not being a "real" gentleman and all but bullying him into buying my meal. (How did she know I was broke?) What was once a mere excuse to exercise my junior high humor amidst a restaurant mispronunciation and incorporate the word "poop" (try it!) has become a daily, if not every other daily, commitment to free chips and salsa, friendly banter, an ever growing knowledge of Spanish sports commentating courtesy of the always on flat screen and that rare special feeling of being where everybody knows your name.*

*Perhaps an exaggeration. 

Note: Since this article's "publication" "La Botana" has updated their menu, in turn proving wrong just about every (excessive and perhaps not even initially deserved) compliment this piece once (so kindly) offered. It now looks like a lame brochure and is covered in pictures of scary fish. Don't go, try Little Caesars' $5 cheese pizza or $1.50 Crazy Bread instead (1625 W. Sunset Blvd., open conveniently for you 7 days a week from 11 a.m. to 10 p.m.) or die a lonely rotten fish nightmare ridden death. 

Echo Park Independent Co-op

One may already know that Echo Park Independent Co-op is an east side boutique owned by Rihanon Jones and Tristan Scott. One may have heard their gimmick (selling only locally designed goods) and even attended their opening celebration (if you don't recollect, the open bar worked.) What one may have scant awareness of is the history that became the present, the truth behind the lies, the down and dirty crux of these two blondes' aspirations. Reporting live from her obviously unbiased bedroom beneath that of afore mentioned owner Scott, this is Sarah Sherman.

The real saga commences not back in March as the powerhouse duo first unlocked their doors but about one year prior as Scott, then a lowly retail employee struggling to make ends meet and Jones, a film school graduate whose true passion lied more in environmentalism than movie making, struck up a friendship that, though perhaps unbeknownst to them at the time, would soon transcend the flimsy type of acquaintanceship best known for those introduced under the dazzling but ultimately illusory guise of Los Angeles nightlife (in their case, an alley behind the intersection of Santa Monica and Western -- don't ask) and grow to, I'm inclined to declare for the love of bad puns, epic proportions. What began as an innocuous bond over inappropriate humor and essentially perfect taste in music has led to movie contracts, world tours and ... I jest, but EPIC. It took Scott's rather unceremonious departure from his resale job a few months later (a story worthy of its' own expose) and a subsequent night of margaritas to launch the idea for a project that incorporated the pair's enthusiasms: fashion, art, sustainability and Echo Park. As stated on one of the internet's leading websites, facebook.com/epic.la, the team's goal is to promote and support local fashion talent and artists as well as educate retail buyers on maintaining ecological and social values. Translation? Open a store showcasing up and coming designers while administering environmentally friendly and socially responsible practices (that bottle of champagne you and Tristan guzzled as they were closing that one night? Yeah, it's recycled!), in turn creating and upholding a new set of ethical standards for the local retail community (so what if this, too, is more or less 100% derived from their Facebook page? I just can't seem to get an interview!) This concept, however, is not to be mistaken for that of an amateur operation of which one might conjure such unimpressive (though touching) images as college dude earnestly plugging away at yet another hemp choker or retirement center ridden 1000 year old pursuing that 1000 year old needlework hobby. These moguls have exposed brick, a birdcage that doubles as a display case, a bar in the dressing room and a $770 gold coat (not to mention a $305 pair of so-good-it-hurts lace Brian Lichtenberg leggings that unfortunately for this impoverished "writer" are $300 too many. Hint to owners: "employee" discount?)

One may wonder how two (spelling intended) go about accomplishing such a feat. Step one: $$$. Step two: time. Step three: drive. Step four: patience. Step ninety eight ... Money came in the form of what remains to this day as anonymous investors (anyone's guess is as good as the next, though it should be suggestively noted that the duo practically define dress to impress.) Time was now abundant, drive was oozing everywhere and patience ... is something you don't know you need until you need it. After a slew of setbacks involving a suspense ridden search for the perfect location and an eccentric (albeit highly recommended) ex-ballet dancing/joint toting contractor, Jones and Scott, though still impassioned, found themselves weary. Amidst this inadvertently drawn out process the pair was logging countless hours gathering inventory from designers and artists, many of whom Scott had maintained contact with after initially encountering at his former retail outlet or that the two had been introduced to socially, in turn acquiring an amount of clothing and accessories ample enough to have opened several mini EPICs in the filled spaces of Jones' (admittedly large) living room and Scott's (notoriously unkempt) "2006 Porsche" (when questioned further regarding such outlandish-to-those-who-know-better claim, Scott defensively states "It's just dirty.") The stores' construction wound up coming to completion just hours before their (heavily publicized and what would turn into a 700 guest rager of an) opening celebration party, and the rest, as tired scribes worldwide proclaim, is history. 

Today EPIC, open to the public just a precocious six months, has already achieved much of what it sought out to do that fateful margarita saturated night. The store hosts monthly art and music shows which almost always involve food trucks and discounted clothing and are in the process of organizing in-store lectures regarding sustainability in the fashion industry and design classes for neighborhood children. They have a five person staff of gems you'd want to hang out with anyway who will almost always let you use their restroom (unless you, tripping on acid, are begging them to call you a cab to McDonald's -- which everyone knows is two blocks away -- and are seemingly unable to control your mindless muttering regarding the dude at the stop light's actually being an undercover cop who's been following you since you left Vegas two days ago. Which. actually. happened) and, best of all, maintain an I-Tunes library deserving of more applause and acclaim than the inventory itself (clothes, schmothes; anybody with George Michael, Jeff Buckley AND Wu-Tang get my stamp of love, i.e., will someday have to ask me to leave.) My static partiality to music aside, the store boasts an impressively diverse inventory of over 40 labels including such neighborhood favorites as Howl, Dark + Dawn, Mohawk Street and God's Prey that retails between $35 and $900 and encompasses a variety of styles ranging from extremely wearable to museum-like editorial pieces. It has quickly become a destination for celebrity stylists (cough, LADY GAGA's) as well a must shop stop for fashionistas citywide. I'll admit that I've perhaps disparagingly oft beheld it firstly as a place to pee and harass pals and only occasionally, and rarely, as a place to browse. There are, however, those moments in which even I have to recognize that I've stumbled upon something I didn't know I needed until I really needed it, such as the day the Brian Lichtenberg leggings didn't accompany me home, and the subsequent days I have spent longingly gazing at them, and acknowledge that perchance EPIC has worked its' magic on me too.

EPIC is located in Echo Park at 1712 W. Sunset Blvd. 

For more information visit www.shopepicla.com or call (213) 483-0260.