There are eight million stories in the naked city, but only about 130,000 of them are about naked people, and about 90,000 of those are kind of boring – they all had the same ending – and most of the rest aren’t exactly the quality sort of naked a readership like this deserves. So instead we present the best of the real non-naked city of Los Angeles, where every neighborhood has something that deserves a story – Brendan Fraser, perhaps, or Cinefamily or the Museum of Jurassic Technology or the Tam and Bigfoot Lodge or the Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre, or the Saban Center for Health and Wellness or Black Dog Coffee or the Great Wall of Los Angeles or Miss T’s Barcade – and the neighborhoods that don’t are left to cower and cover their shame or are simply attached to a paragraph about K-Fed, the bringer of shame. (We still love you, Tarzana.) If it’s not as titillating as you expected – just like most real naked people – you can at least be sure that we’ve stripped down to everything you’d really want to see. –Chris Ziegler

Angelino Heights
Carroll Avenue
This stretch of slavishly kept Victorians has hosted the sisters of Charmed (Willow, Piper, Trig, and Crunk) and the zombies of “Thriller” (John McCain, searching for his breakfast of flesh). People like to walk around and see the houses. People also like “Thriller.” If you are a DJ, you should totally play it. (Rebecca Schoenkopf)

Arlington Heights
El Cholo
El Cholo hasn’t been cutting edge for a long time, but the place is fun and has a sense of history. The restaurant opened in 1923 and moved to its current location in 1931, and stars and unknowns have been dining here ever since. Literally millions of people have eaten here since the restaurant’s famous logo was doodled on a napkin by the unknown customer who left it on a table, and the converted bungalow has the patina that set designers kill for. Though it opened as a “Spanish” cafe serving simple meals, El Cholo has introduced several items to Los Angeles palates. In 1959 it was nachos, more recently green corn tamales, and they still serve the definitive version of both as well as a powerful and tasty margarita. The flavors of many items here are muted – this is Mexican food for gringo palates – but we like the food and are charmed by the atmosphere, so we all keep going back. 1121 S. Western Ave., L.A., (323) 734-2773. (Richard Foss)

Atwater Village
Tam O’Shanter/Bigfoot Lodge
It’s the one-two punch of theme dining and nightlife: dinner at the Tam O’Shanter followed by an evening of arcane music at the Bigfoot Lounge. The Tam was a country inn at the end of a dirt road when it opened in 1922, a Scottish Baronial fantasy that looked like something from the Outer Hebrides. It hasn’t changed much, though the crowd dining on prime rib and Yorkshire pudding is more casual than in the days when dinner jackets and evening gowns were de rigueur. After you finish your Scottish trifle or whiskey pudding, stroll down the street to the Bigfoot Lodge, L.A.’s little slice of Yosemite. It’s a delightful fantasy, a log cabin environment complete with deer antlers over the fireplace and hand-hewn beams, but the music is hot and the drinks are strong. Dining at the Tam followed by clubbing at the Bigfoot is one of the most surreal evenings you can imagine – pack your kit and hiking boots and head for Los Feliz Boulevard and a night of cultural whiplash. Tam O’Shanter, 2980 Los Feliz Blvd., L.A., (323) 664-0228. Bigfoot Lodge, 3172 Los Feliz Blvd., L.A. (RF)

Baldwin Hills
AMC Magic Johnson Crenshaw 15
I took Bill O’Reilly to the AMC Magic Johnson Theatre last week, and he was very impressed. He had a great time and couldn’t get over the fact that there’s no difference between the Magic Johnson and any other multiplex in Los Angeles ... that even though it’s run by black people, with primarily black patronship, there wasn’t one person there screaming, “Motherfucker, focus the motherfucking projector!” He really appreciated that it was like going to a multiplex in an all-white suburb, with people sitting there, watching the movie, and having fun.

Then I woke up.

Nowadays it’s a successful (if small) national franchise, but back when Magic Johnson opened this multiscreen venue in Baldwin Hills in 1995, it was by no means considered a sure thing. Getting major corporations to build facilities in primarily black neighborhoods has never been a walk in the park, but, in the wake of the 1992 riots, it was damned near impossible (despite a lot of hollow promises at the time). But Earvin “Magic” Johnson managed to convince Sony to join him in the enterprise, and the result was financially and socially a great success. I hate that I feel the need to bring this up, but: It’s really okay to go there, even if, like me, you’re whiter than a tub of Miracle Whip. Hell, even Bill O’Reilly would probably be welcome.

Which is more than he would be at my house. 4020 Marlton Ave., L.A., (323) 290-5900. (Andy Klein)

Beverly Center
Largo at the Coronet
Long time ago (when we was fab), we used to trek to the original, Fairfax District Largo to be so unbelievably fucking cool and see Tenacious Dbefore the album, show, or movie, and maybe to attempt futilely to flirt with handsome owner Mark Flanagan. Now Largo’s gone and gotten giant, and moved to a big fancy theater (but – sadness – no bar), and you can see a rotating cast of L.A.’s top alt. comedians (Patton, Garofalo, Paul F. Tompkins) and haunting and/or peppifying musicians (Michael Penn, Jon Brion, Aimee Mann) all hanging out together, in a big orgy jam session of lurve. 366 N. La Cienega Blvd., L.A. largo-la.com. (RS)

Beverly Hills
Greystone Mansion Park
The best thing in Beverly Hills is free – but not everyone in town wants you to know that it’s there. Locals have been known to tear down the signs for Greystone Mansion, a public park with beautiful gardens located in a quiet residential neighborhood. The sprawling 67-room English Gothic castle was built by the Doheny family in 1928 on the largest estate in the history of Beverly Hills, and included tennis courts, stables, kennels, lakes, waterfalls, and a playhouse. Ned Doheny, the first owner, didn’t enjoy it long – he and his secretary were found dead in the house just four months later after an apparent murder and suicide. Other members of the family lived there for about two decades, after which the mansion was abandoned except for rentals to film studios. Some of the dozens of films shot there include Ghostbusters, Spiderman III, There Will Be Blood, Stripes, and The Big Lebowski. Between film productions the mansion is a public park that is available for grand weddings and parties – like the big Barbra Streisand Obama bash just last week – but the rental costs a pretty penny. Enterprising citizens have been known to have stealth weddings on the grounds and to hightail it before they were observed, and at least one album cover shoot has taken place there without management knowing about it. Most visitors do nothing illicit – they walk the grounds and admire the landscaping, enjoy the serene atmosphere of British grandeur, and muse over the playground built for L.A.’s aristocracy but occupied by them for such a short time. 905 Loma Vista Dr., Beverly Hills. www.greystonemansion.org. (RF)

Boyle Heights
Ron Garmon
There used to be a real swing to Boyle Heights, they tell me. Most of this was just a quick whoosh of air from people ducking behind walls and flowerpots and lampposts and fat people when they saw Hunter S. Thompson coming toward them. Oh, it was also the case that Thee Midniters and Los Lobos brought wild nights and neighborhood pride to clubs that have since (of course) been murdered most foul. These days, there is little to commend in the sad, dingy nabe – except for one bright shining star: our very own Mister Ron Garmon.$newpage

You can see him, with his gleaming pale mull-hawk and fierce blue peepers, striding purposefully for a bus. (Just look for the guy who looks like Sting, or Rutger Hauer, or Rod Stewart, but mostly Sting.) You can see him, focused furiously on a far horizon, mostly because he’s on drugs. You can befriend him! He has many friends! He is kind, and handsome, and a man of talent and taste. Ron Garmon? So recommended. 5209 Wilshire Blvd., L.A., (323) 938-1700. (RS)

Brentwood
Arnold Schwarzenegger
You know who’s sort of weirdly sexy? Arnold Schwarzenegger! It’s true! I mean, I know he’s gotten sort of old and fat and gross with his clothes off (from those pictures at the beach, peoples, not from some sort of icky firsthand knowledge!), and I know he’s sort of stupid and lie-y. But if you ever happen to be covering some sort of rally, maybe in a private airport hangar at John Wayne, and there are, say, less than a dozen people there because the advance men totally wanked it off, so Governor Schwarzenegger is definitely getting an eyeful of you, well, fuck it, you may feel a few tingles. Power is sexy. Even when it’s Arnold Schwarzenegger. Plus, it’s not like there’s anything else in Brentwood that’s better. (RS)

Century City
Pink Taco
Sure, the decor is stylish and comfortable, and the food ain’t bad – but let’s be real: The reason people like Pink Taco is that it’s got an indecent name, and everything tastes better when you’re reminded of that thing that you’re not eating. Owner Harry Morton claims the name of the restaurant comes from a menu item – the soft taco with pink, pickled onions. So it’s a taco, see? And it’s got these pink onions on it, and it has nothing, absolutely nothing to do with the female anatomy, or Emiliano Zapata’s position on lesbian communists. Although I’m sure he knew more than just one. Especially delicious are the the spicy desserts, like the chile-infused “caliente” brownies. Westfield Century City Mall, 10250 Santa Monica Blvd., (310) 789-1000. www.pinktaco.com. (Gabrielle Paluch)

Chinatown
Ooga Booga
This Chinatown boutique showcases the same triumphant can-do D.I.Y. creativity that put the Smell in The New Yorker, stocking idiosyncratic art, fashion, music, literature and more from L.A. and beyond. As a representative just-in sampling: Muddy Treads by Vice and Tiny Vices photographer Peter Sutherland, the new fall fashions from Opening Ceremony (who debuted Chloe Sevigny’s outre couture last spring), and a box of fun from experimental label Not Not Fun, whose handmade releases capture fringe music at its freshest. Now-and-then live shows from Smell stalwarts like BARR, Pocahaunted, and Silver Daggers (plus accompanying DJ sets from members of No Age and Mika Miko, and vegan catering depending on the occasion!) make the connection come to life but there’s plenty here for anyone who wants to make their own little world more interesting. 943 N. Broadway, Ste. 203, L.A., (213) 617-1105. oogaboogastore.com. (CZ)

Crenshaw
Maverick’s Flat
A reverent article on L.A.’s psychedelic soul in the excellent Dumb Angel magazine (deserving its own Real Best blurb, actually!) shined welcome new light on this gem of a venue that once hosted Ike and Tina, Parliament Funkadelic, the Four Tops, the Olympics and more – in fact, visionary Motown producer Norman Whitfield and the Temptations were so impressed by Maverick’s that they named their album (and their song) Psychedelic Shack in its honor. Although the glory days have currently gone dormant, the decor – George Clinton meets Eero Saarinen to smear glass and glitter on quivering amoeboid curves – persists, and Maverick’s is currently available to hire for extremely special events. 4225 Crenshaw Blvd., L.A., (323) 295-4179. (CZ)

Culver City
Museum of Jurassic Technology
David Wilson is one irreverent dude with one sassy museum filled with exhibits dedicated to the pithily shrewd ironies that are born of his brain, and primarily supported by grants and donations. Is it art? Is it comedy? Is it just plain crazy? It is horse-puckey from the “lower Jurassic,” and serves as a good reminder not to take anything in life too seriously. The permanent exhibits include a collection of oil portraits of the dogs of the Soviet space program, a collection from Los Angeles area mobile home and trailer parks, a collection of micro-miniature sculptures and paintings, such as a sculpture of Pope John Paul II carved from a single human hair and placed within the eye of a needle, and a collection of decomposing, antique dice. Always infused with a healthy sense of humor, the collections are mostly challenging to the viewer’s sense of reality; Wilson himself says the state of confusion can act as a vehicle to open people’s minds. And now you can even take your confused self up to the tea room for tea and cookies, or enjoy a film screening in the company of the museum’s new adorable puppy. What makes this place the best is that the Museum of Jurassic Technology is the museum that points and laughs at all other museums – it questions the verity of knowledge without ever even trying to tell the truth. 9341 Venice Blvd., Culver City, (310) 836-6131. www.mjt.org. (GP)

Downtown
Little Radio
Downtown landmark Little Radio – sometimes home to Sonic Youth or the Beastie Boys, sometimes home to a splashie-pool full of happy shrieking rocker types; it all depends on your timing – has had a heavy virtual presence in L.A. for years, thanks to streaming live DJ sets covering everything between “catchy” and “cosmically obscure.” But any committed L.A. showgoers already cherishing their own private warehouse memories – Dead Meadow? Spoon? Black Rebel Motorcycle Club? – will now swell with joy as Little Radio preps to dramatically expand its practical presence as well. Coming soon (as they say) is Little Radio The Venue: great bands in a great space already known and loved. Could make for a great Christmas present this year. 1218 Long Beach Ave., L.A. littleradio.com. (CZ)

Eagle Rock
Galco’s Old World Grocery
Endless bliss for the fastidious imbibulist. Galco’s offers all good beverages ever made and probably a few known only from legend. Plenty of weird beers for the distinguished types, sure, but the real treats are the aisles of soda-pop oddities: Dad’s, Faygo, Bubble-Up, Moxie, Cheerwine, celery soda, cucumber soda, yerba mate soda (?!) and the special cane-sugar Dr Pepper that comes from and rarely ever leaves one tiny town in Texas, and of course many many many many many many more. Mix and match a six-pack or buy per case or crate, and further goo up your guts with an esoteric selection of candy confections that makes Willy Wonka glow happily in his grave. Loved by Huell Howser and soon too by you. 5702 York Blvd., L.A., (323) 255-7115. sodapopstop.com. (CZ)

East Hollywood
Blacklite and Whitehorse
It’s a one-two punch on a sad stretch of Western: ladies at the Blacklite, and dudes and food at the Whitehorse. Blacklite is scummy, dingy, and filled with people who are utterly friendly and kind – very tall ladies in very small dresses, who it’s possible are open to a transaction or two. (They are ladies, maybe, of the night, but also ladies in the truest sense of the word: They are elegant, sweet-natured, and poised.) Meanwhile, holding up the bar, are men who have labored all day to send money home to villages in Oaxaca, and they will ask you to dance to the cumbia bleating from the box. Put on your biggest smile, prepare to toss compliments around like rice at a wedding, and you will leave with a host of new friends.

Just a block or two up, and across the street, is a cozy watering hole with flattering lights and plenty of room, and a pool table, and an excellent jukebox. Every night at Whitehorse, a small miracle happens: The ladies who run it set out a buffet. There are cookies, and watermelon, and hot dogs – for free! – and say it is 1 a.m. and there is only one hot dog left, and it has been there for a while. If you ask the ladies to make some more? They will make some more! “All you have to do is ask!” the ladies chirp – really chirp, they are so pleased to be able to feed you! It is some sort of Eastern European hospitality or something; if they were Eskimo, you could have slept with their wives. “Thank you, ladies! I was so hungry!” you might respond, and then it is last call, because you have accidentally shut down the Whitehorse. Please, take a cookie for the road! Blacklite, 1159 N. Western Ave., L.A.; Whitehorse Inn, 1532 N. Western Ave., L.A., (323) 462-8088. myspace.com/thewhitehorsehollywood.(RS)

Echo Park
Taix
There are many, many wonderful things in Echo Park. We know this! There is Chango, and Grand Ol’ Echo (usually hosted by our own Chris Morris, with all the croony alt-country so beloved by those of us who were stupid enough to get old), and, you know, other things. But the best – the very best! – is French restaurant Taix, and here is why. First, sometimes King Kukulele plays there, accompanying himself on songs about being his own grandpa. Second, one night many years ago, the manager offered to show me the office, and then offered me cocaine. Third, possibly on the same night, I was in there talking to a couple of sharp-suited Afro-Cubans, and they were bitching about Fidel Castro, and how if you don’t vote for him, he kills you!

“Huh!” I said, rather impressed with the democracy of it all. “I didn’t know he even bothered with elections!” They got mad and left, and then the Salvadorean bartender leaned over and said, “Miami Cubans are bullshit!” and then he bought me a strawberry margarita. And then he bought me another. 1911 W. Sunset Blvd., L.A., (213) 484-1265. taix-french.com. (RS)

Elysian Heights
Elysian Park
Something isn’t natural about all of these concrete freeways and suntanning salons. There has to be someplace to escape it all without driving four hours on the freeway. Someplace. Someplace. The last remnants of nature can be found at Elysian Park, L.A.’s own piece of green in the smoggy city. Offering a breathtaking view of Chinatown, Dodger Stadium, Echo Park, and Cypress Park, the sight almost makes the 5 Freeway bearable. It’s 600 acres that goes unnoticed by the average person, and this is understandable. Tucked away in brush is the Police Academy, so you can pretend you found the rebel base when you stumble upon it. You’re probably saying, “A park, really?” Yes, really. In an age where everyone wants to go green, Elysian Park was doing it before it was cool. You can’t get any greener than the avocado trees that dot the grounds, and hiking trails zigzag about the hills, and make for amazing mind trips if you’re in the right mood (don’t ask what to take to alter your mood, cause we won’t tell). (Nathan Solis)$newpage

Encino
Brendan Fraser
Encino Man was a very, very funny movie, in 1992, if you were, like, a 19-year-old girl. Even though it had Pauly Shore in it. For serious! (RS)

Fairfax District
Silent Movie Theater
Silence is golden, you know, so please turn off your cell phones and pagers, and don’t spoil this paper by adding your own soundtrack. Charlie Lustman took over the silent movie theater on Fairfax in 1997 after the previous owner, Lawrence Austin, was gunned down by his own projectionist. Lustman renovated and re-conceptualized, adding an art gallery and cafe, and hardly ever showing any silent films until 2006, when the venue was bought by brothers Sammy and Dan Harkhan, and Cinefamily was born.

The brothers have turned the theater into a revival house, showing a variety of films from all eras – including silent films with live music performed by Bob Mitchell, who has been playing organ for silent film since 1924. 611 N. Fairfax Ave., L.A., (323) 655-2510. silentmovietheatre.com. (GP)

Glassell Park
Rambos Taco Truck
In the dark of night, right after we stumble out of the bar, there is a pang in our stomachs that can’t be filled with a stop at the local burger drive-through. But what’s that coming on the horizon, with its bright lights? Is that truck on fire? Nay, wayward traveler, that’s Rambos Taco Truck off of Eagle Rock Boulevard, with its airbrushed art and smoke billowing out of the vents. You’d think that a heavenly chorus would be playing as you approach, but instead the waft of carne asada lures you in with a phantom hand waving come hither. If you’re creative enough, the cooks will put just about anything into a tortilla – from lengua (tongue), cabeza (head), tripa (gut) to sessos (brains). The animals are already dead, so might as well eat the rest of it! Glassell Park and the surrounding neighborhoods offer some of the best food from a truck, but Rambos can turn around a bad night with its salsa roja. Just don’t expect to do jumping jacks the next morning, because you’ll be stuck to the porcelain throne. Rambos parks on Eagle Rock Boulevard, between El Paso and York. (NS)

Griffith Park
Sierra Club Night Hikes
At 7 p.m. at least three nights a week, the Sierra Club conducts free two-hour group hikes in the hills of Griffith Park, relying on moonlight and distant city lights for illumination on the way back down from the overlooks. You don’t have to be a club member, but you do have to sign an insurance-related waiver. Sometimes several hundred hikers gather on summer nights, from a wide cross-section of ages and ethnicities.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays, hikes are on a difficulty scale ranging from 6 for the most strenuous to 1 for relatively gentle strolls. I usually pick a 3 or a 4; first-timers are advised to start no higher than a 3. Wednesday hikes offer fewer levels. Hikes also take place on the Fridays closest to the full moon.

Whenever I’ve gone, the aerobic workout is invigorating, the views are often spectacular, and you can choose to socialize or not socialize without feeling weird about either choice (although on the uphill climbs above the 3 level, you might be huffing and puffing too much to talk). The volunteer guides seem to know every nook and cranny, but they seldom pause to point out plants or rocks or anything else instructional. Instead, the emphasis is on letting urbanites get away from city stress, even though we’re still surrounded by the city. The crowd gathers before 7 in the north end of the upper parking lot north of the merry-go-round, on the east side of the park, off Griffith Park Drive, (310) 822-9676. angeles.sierraclub.org/griffith/location.asp. (Don Shirley)

Hancock Park
Norwood Young
Oh, gold record recording artist Norwood Young! With your cheekbones and your chin cleft and your manscaping! Sometimes I look at you on the MySpace, where you sing R&B love songs while holding a rose. Sometimes I look at your reality show about holding tryouts to be your butler. (OK, actually, I don’t, but I have heard about your reality show.) Mostly, I drive by your house, at 304 S. Muirfield, your house with the Davids and such. An architectural tribute to beauty, art, glamour, fantasy, flamboyance, and living out loud. A refusal to stay silent, to hide one’s talents or one’s love for Michelangelo. A disdain for blending in, for conforming. And as to your neighbors, Norwood? Your pissy, haughty neighbors with their piss and their haught? Those angry Hancock Parkers can go to hell, as far as L.A. CityBeat is concerned! You want beige, move to Irvine! myspace.com/norwoodyoung. (RS)

Highland Park
Mr. T’s Bowl
A onetime bowling alley with a decidedly pre-war vibe clinging yet to its noble old fixtures, Mr. T’s is the pride of Highland Park and one of the glories of Clubland L.A. Five bucks (at most) will get you three to five musical acts (many on the hugely entertaining noise-weirdo fringe of the local scene), fine camaraderie from unpretentious locals, and a feeling of cozy well-being afforded by no other L.A. venue. The latter might well be my subjective response to a room so far up in my comfort zone, as I once did a hootchie dance in gold lame hot pants on a rickety runway constructed there to rigorous Cacophony Society safety specs. Give the people what they want, I say, and so the Bowl does, maintaining a cheerful hangout for those on the cult/hardscrabble end of the three-chord biz.

Built in 1929 as a garage, the place was converted into a bowling alley at the height of the sport’s vogue in the early 1940s and was still alive with crashing pins when Joe “Mr. T” Teresa bought the place in 1966. Bowling had had it by the early 1990s when the place was converted to live music, with freaky kids jostling at the bar with neighborhood geezers. It’s been that way since, good years and bad, with waves of trendies from Silver Lake and Echo Park periodically “discovering” the place and, with their sadly gnatlike memories, fading away. A good thing too, lest the place turn into another Tangiers. 5621 1/2 N. Figueroa St., Highland Park, (323) 256-7561. mrtsbowl.tripod.com. (Ron Garmon)

Hollywood
Upright Citizens Brigade
In 2005, they heard the voice of society, begging, and so Antoine, Colby, Trotter and Adair – better known as Upright Citizens Brigade founders Ian Roberts, Amy Poehler, Matt Walsh, and Matt Besser – planted their second comedy academy across from the Scientology Center. From then on, the jokes wrote themselves. (With gentle help from the UCB’s respected improv and sketch-writing instructors, of course.) Now the UCB is an L.A. comedy institution: doting mother to a sharp new breed of comics and home of the mighty ASSSSCAT improv, as well as current shows curated by Jeff Garlin and Judd Apatow. As they wish they could say at other institutes of higher learning: Through these doors pass the most hilarious people in the world. 5919 Franklin Ave., Hollywood, (323) 908-8702. ucbtheatre.com. (CZ)

Koreatown
Miss T’s Barcade
Console yourself at Miss T’s Barcade, where twin torrents of beer and quarters power a selection of adorably classic video games all the way ’til last call. Owners Ricky G (of Very Be Careful, who should be in this Real Best and now are!) and Miss T have created something so pure and good with this Koreatown bar that one day a halo may sprout where the neon Inky currently hovers. But until then, you can bleep your brains out with wild and worthy club nights – including Def Before Disco, the forward-thinking club that smashes Dilla into Dead Kennedys and disco every third grateful Wednesday – and a very hospitable beer/wine selection. And, of course, the games: genre landmarks like Spyhunter, Donkey Kong, Centipede, Rampage – if ever a game lent itself to pounding beers! – and the glorious cocktail-cabinet version of Ms. Pac-Man, restored finally to an environment where you can watch ghosts scuttle by through the bottom of a bottle. 371 N. Western Ave., L.A. (323) 465-5045. myspace.com/miss_ts_barcade. (CZ)

Leimert Park
Griot Workshop
On the second Tuesday evening of every month, storytellers and listeners gather in a storefront space for the Griot Workshop, named after keepers of the oral tradition in West African cultures. Contemporary griots tell tales, from their own lives as well as from history, myth and other sources. If the teller is willing, audience discussion follows – hence the “workshop” in the name. But you don’t have to say a word to enjoy the talk – simply pay your $3 admission charge. Usually presiding is the charismatic, dreadlocked Michael McCarty, who founded the workshop in 1996. After the show, ask to see his collection of more than 300 bumper stickers on his 2001 Nissan Sentra. KAOS Network, 3335 43rd Pl., L.A., (310) 677-8099. havemouthwillrunit.com. (DS)

Lincoln Heights
St. Vincent DePaul’s Thrift Store
This vast, untidy sprawl is the best-kept secret in thriftdom, with hordes of working-class moms jostling with ink-dipped hipsters every weekend scrabbling for low-priced oddments and second-hand treasures. There is 90,000 square feet of appliances, bedding, clothes, furniture, player pianos, sports equipment, and a big haul of dusty books into which I dive every month or so since discovering the place back in ’03. My latest treasure a 1957 Scribner’s hardback edition of Citizen of the Galaxy by Robert A. Heinlein, formerly the property of Long Beach Unified School District and looking fit for another half-century’s wear. Price $2. 210 N. Ave. 21, L.A. (323) 224-6280. svdpla.org. (RG)

Little Tokyo
Usui Restaurant
Thirty years ago, when nothing else mitigated the soul-wrecking bleakness of L.A.’s Civic Center east of the freeway, Little Tokyo lit up many lunch hours. You passed from your bureaucratic warren, whether at City Hall, Parker Center, or the Times, quickly to the tiny, spotless, Asian oasis of your choice, where you settled in for your sashimi, donburi, teriyaki or udon – then exotic fare elsewhere – and a restorative Suntory beer or two. And you’d find that your career treadmill had, just for an hour, become slower and happier.

Nowadays, the same strip on First and Second streets offers sanctuary not just from suited mediocrity but from the clamor of downtown’s artsy residential mecca. Little Tokyo’s acquired some miniature malls, but it retains retail antiquities dating at least to the exiled Nisei return of over 60 years ago. For instance, Anzen Hardware, at 309 E. First – probably both the smallest and oldest hardware store in Midcity, and the only one selling the farm tools you saw the peasants using in The Seven Samurai.

Many First Street restos these days suffer from underachievement and nearly identical menus. Not typical, but perhaps archetypal, is Usui, whose sushi, sashimi, and udons are a good dollop tastier than average, and whose salmon dishes come garnished with translucent coppery spheres of fresh salmon roe. Entrees top out at $9. Your restorative beer bears the 1980s price of $2.50, domestic, or $3.25, Japanese. 323 E. First St., (213) 680-1989. (Marc Haefele)

Los Feliz
Fresh-Pressed
A silk screen shop with the squeaky-clean charm of an In-N-Out Burger, Fresh-Pressed offers packages for customers both casual and committed: press rentals for rootless designers, house-call service for on-the-road screening parties, by-the-batch production for bands or artists (or just someone with a pithy quip too long to fit on a bumper sticker), and even one-of-a-kind T-shirt runs if your idea is just too good to ever share. Use your screens (if you aren’t gonna make a mess) and materials or drop off your art and let them do the work – they stock American Apparel, Alternative, and eConscious; they’re open to working with glass, metal and wood, too. 4646 Hollywood Blvd., L.A., (323) 663-7374. fresh-pressed.com. (CZ)

 

Miracle Mile
Black Dog Coffee
While I will drink corporate coffee if I’m jonesing seriously, it blows on principle. I am a supporter of independent Joe. The best non-corporate caffeine (non-foo-foo division) I know of is dispensed at Bob’s Doughnuts in Farmers Market, but I can’t walk there, and I will murder someone if I can’t get some decent coffee within an hour of waking up. So in my ’hood, the Miracle Mile, Black Dog Coffee is where it’s at. They know me there, and they start putting together a grande cafe mocha with whipped cream as soon as I hit the door. Mmmm. And they help me wake up or sober up the guests on my radio show on Sunday mornings. (The station’s a block away.) I hear the food’s great there, too, but I don’t care. Give me a banana, the Times, and Black Dog Coffee coffee. Now, dammit. Or I will kill you. 5657 Wilshire Blvd., Miracle Mile, (323) 933-1976. blackdogcoffee.com. (Chris Morris)

North Hollywood
Indie Coffee
The Magnolia and Lankershim intersection – NoHo’s unofficial heart – offers a graphic confrontation between hipster coffee and corporate coffee. On the northwestern corner is Jose Alcedo’s Indie Coffee, housed in an open-air tent, sharing a pleasant terrace and pocket park with Pitfire Pizza. At Indie, a 12-ounce cuppa java costs one measly buck. On the southeastern corner of the intersection is yet another Starbucks, where the outdoor tables are a few feet from the traffic. At Starbucks, the 12-ounce “tall” costs the chain’s usual $1.60 – yet that price was missing from the posted menu during a recent visit, so I had to ask. The hands-down winner: Indie Coffee (tea, too). 5211 Lankershim Blvd., North Hollywood, (818) 421-0886. myspace.com/indiecoffee. (DS)

Pico Union
Papa Christos
Greek food in Los Angeles is usually at one end of the spectrum or the other – inauthentic fast food or pretentious and pricey. Papa Christos is one of the rare exceptions, a bustling and cheerful eatery just around the corner from St. Sophia’s Greek Orthodox church. After services, the place is crowded with more Greeks than you knew lived in L.A. – if you want the sights, sounds, and tastes of a real taverna, there’s no better time to go, though you might wait a few minutes for a table. It’s casual and inexpensive but absolutely authentic – in case the crowd of Greek speakers didn’t clue you in, the vast array of imported Hellenic products in the deli section tells you that they go out of their way to get the real thing. Impressively mustachioed owner Chrys Chrys is a constant presence, occasionally offering tastes of olive oil in between greeting longtime customers. Want to try a spread of items? Visit on Thursday night when they offer “My Big Fat Greek Family Style Dinner” – a full meal with wine tasting for $18.95 a person. Prepare to dine early, though – they close at 8 p.m. most evenings. Don’t actually break any plates to compliment the bouzouki player – a tip in his basket works much better and will raise a smile. 2771 W. Pico Blvd., L.A., (323) 737-2970. (RF)

Rancho Park
Laser Blazer
Once upon a time – roughly 1985 to 1996 – laserdisc (LD) was the videophile format of choice – a format that never really gained enough popularity to escape boutique status. Back then, the leading such boutique in Los Angeles was Laser Blazer. Then the DVD came along and essentially blew away both LD and (more slowly) VHS. (Don’t even ask me about Beta.) Laser Blazer finessed the transition perfectly. They still have a good selection – a great selection, compared to any other brick and mortar store I’m aware of – of LDs, even new, factory sealed LDs. But most of the stock is, natch, DVDs (with a pretty substantial Blu-ray section still gaining steam). Laser Blazer seems to get nearly every new title released in the U.S. The new discs – both sale and rental sections – take up most of the space. They also have a discrete side room for used stuff (so-so), and a discrete, discreet side room for those discs that you don’t want to rent if you’re ever likely to be nominated for a Supreme Court post. Or so I’m told: Why would I possibly know anything about that kind of entertainment? 10587 W. Pico Boulevard, West L.A., (310) 475-4788. (AK)

Santa Monica
Twilight Dance Series
Best date EVER: summer nights on the pier, dancing outside at free concerts by Toots & the Maytals or Michelle Shocked or Gerry & the Pacemakers or whomever Amoeba (who organized the Thursday night series this summer) picks. Hold hands, drink beer, go on the carousel. It’s all wholesome and shit. Santa Monica Pier. twilightdance.org. (RS)

Sherman Oaks
Casa Vega
A family-owned bar-restaurant open since 1958, this lively local hangout has three things going for it: 1) cheap (if watery) margaritas, 2) a cool, inviting interior with agreeable ladies usually present, and 3) next-door proximity to the infamous AA meeting at Radford Hall. I got sober at good ole Rad, as did many another eminent L.A. drunkard, and all of us had “If you don’t like it here, they’re still serving over at Casa Vega,” dinned into our ears by the gnarled-yet-sympathetic hardcases resident there. CV is a fun place, scene of pleasant associations I can only barely remember through the fog of booze. I seem to have sensually vivid yet materially vague recollections dating from this period involving a Ventura Boulevard pub crawl, a woman’s soft inner thigh, and legging it down Laurel Canyon ahead of a clueless husband. Casa Vega figures into this, but I can’t think how and the memory wasn’t pleasant enough for me to take up drinking again. 13301 Ventura Blvd., Sherman Oaks, (818) 788-4868. casavega.com. (RG)

Silver Lake
Intelligentsia Coffee and Tea
Intelligentsia’s first California location presents the coffeehouse experience at its most genteel: by-the-cup brewing for freshness that challenges the limits of human experience, a custom-built espresso machine, and a heroic import agreement with Delilah’s and Bread Bar to make sure the sweets on sale are supporting other local businesses. The patio is a sanctuary that gracefully smooths away the heat and the honking on Sunset, and the continental-zen interior could capture a customer forever if fresh copies of the Financial Times were delivered daily. 3922 W. Sunset Blvd., L.A., (323) 663-6173. intelligentsiacoffee.com. (CZ)

Skid Row
Drifter’s Meeting
As this campaign season demonstrates, there’s never any shortage of Americans willing to lecture the less well-heeled on the character flaws that made them so. Thankfully, most of the evangel that government and society owe nothing to their human components gets preached on cable news, thus making it easier to ignore than ever. In 2006, the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals found there were too few beds for the area’s homeless population, so, in a Solomonically boneheaded decision, repealed the city ordinance against camping in the street in the neighborhood after dark, encouraging nightmarish squalor and crime to flourish as a barely perceptible alternative to doing nothing. Actual proximity to the actually destitute is left to the police, pinched-nose charity, the occasional caterwauling Christian, desperate idiots trying to score crack after 2 a.m., and Alcoholics Anonymous. Apart from the mad, the sick, the castoff and the luckless, a giant chunk of the estimated 80,000+ homeless people crowded into a few verminous blocks of Central City East abutting the Artist District are addicts of one kind or other. I’m one such – a longterm drunkard who, by late 2002, was gobbling prescription meds like Darvocet and Xanax to counteract shakes brought on by a decade of heroic boozing. This particular brand of misery is burned onto many of the faces I see slung curbside along the Nickel: the knowledge that medication fails to dull awareness. It’s already after dark as I cut down Gladys Avenue to the grubby basketball court at Sixth where the Drifter’s Meeting is held every evening at 7:30. Rows of folding chairs are laid out and a stout prosperous-looking fellow is at the podium, telling of his woes. Booze and cocaine laid him low, he says, leaving him $600,000 in debt. Mention of this outlandish sum causes barely a ripple among the seared and hopeless men scattered around me, but nothing else even comes close to denting their self-absorption. We sit together, as the meeting drags on and more repentant bourgie fuckups come before the mic for their ritual expatiation, as the very poor perform their ritual office of making the better-off feel better about themselves. A thin flicker of empathy kindles and we huddle around it to stay warm. (Ron Garmon)

South Carthay
Little Ethiopia
It is fun and delightful to sit on a patio – any patio; take your pick – in the sunshine and drink African beer and eat delicious food with your hands until you are so wide around they could make an African folk tale about you and the time you became so wide around that something really crazy happened and then you became a mosquito. Or maybe a lemur! The food? Sure, they claim it’s Ethiopian, and yet it’s almost totally the same as soul food: There’s pig’s feet and okra and if I remember right some oxtails, all in savory stews and sauces you mop up with your spongy bread, and then you drink more beer. Fairfax Avenue, south of Olympic. (RS) 

South Central
The Southern California Library
Hidden behind a rusty mural on a depressed stretch of Vermont Avenue is this “People’s library” with the self-described mission of “documenting and preserving the histories of communities in struggle for justice and using our collections to address the challenges of the present so that all people have the ability, resources, and freedom to make their own histories.” If you’re doing research into working-class movements in Southern California, retain a lively interest in radical politics, or want to read the complete works of the Hollywood Ten, this place will come as a complete surprise and revelation. Kept going through donations, the library hosts infrequent special events like book sales and the Southern California Anarchy Conference I covered for CityBeat last December. 6120 S. Vermont Ave., L.A., (323) 759-6063. socallib.org. (RG)

South Robertson
Michel Richard
The first time I tasted true pleasure in my life was when I was a kid and my foot got stuck in an elevator shaft. My dad felt bad for me, so he took me to Michel Richard for chocolate mousse after we got out of the emergency room. It’s a good thing this bistro is conveniently located just blocks away from Cedars-Sinai, because the pastries are to-die-for! But seriously, folks ... .

Lord knows L.A. does not suffer a chichi-bistro-eatery-and-pastry drought, and with the Ivy just up the street, Maison Richard faces stiff competition when it comes to iconic establishments. So what makes this place the best? While you may not see Paris Hilton perched atop a shabby-chic flowered pillow, you will most certainly see a French octogenarian or two, enjoying classic patisserie like napoleons, eclairs, or the rum baba. Also, you may not see Paris Hilton perched atop a shabby-chic flowered pillow.

We live in a city where illusion is everything, and for a lot of restaurants all show and no go seems to be their M.O. Not so at Michel Richard, where not a hint of pretension, not even from a French waiter, will spoil your appetite for pate. It may not be the best place to spy on Hollywood’s latest panty-less starlet pretending to eat a grilled-cheese sandwich, but when it comes to delicious, no-fuss, fancy French fare, Michel Richard gets as many votes as there are layers and flakes in a croissant. 310 S. Robertson Blvd., Los Angeles, (310) 275-5707. maisonrichard.com. (GP)

 

Studio City
Sportsmen’s Lodge
A good place, as Michael Moore once said of America itself, to get a thick, juicy steak, this famously sprawling establishment cultivates the conceit of being an Edenic watering hole for shooters and he-men. What it actually is (weddings, birthdays, and bar mitzvah trade aside) is an old-school actor’s hangout with excellent food and the relaxed, mildly raffish atmosphere favored by thespians since Bacon didn’t write Shakespeare. The place has two gardens, along with clientele with lengthy rap sheets at imdb.com. I once saw the late Frank “The Riddler” Gorshin stagger out of the place, red-eyed and wreathed in an attar of Sambuca. Rather better behaved was my friend Michael Parks when I met the Grindhouse actor there for a long, liquid session while he pruned and fussed over the transcript of a multi-hour career interview we’d done. Admittedly, I was a more sedate drinking companion than Parks’s old buddy Robert Mitchum, who was given to roaring “Two more scotch-and-sodas or we set fire to the fuckin’ curtains!” at poky bar service when out on location. 12833 Ventura Blvd., Studio City, (818) 755-5000, sportsmenslodge.com. (RG)

 
Tarzana
Kevin Federline
Some years ago, my brilliant little brother Cakeyboy and I were in the car when he came up with the funnest game ever: “... or Kevin Federline.” It goes like this: Flavor Flav or Kevin Federline? The Nuge or Kevin Federline? Kobe Bryant or Kevin Federline? Trent Lott or Kevin Federline? The fugitive-rapist Max Factor heir or Kevin Federline? George W. Bush or Kevin Federline? Michael Moore or Kevin Federline? Andy Dick or Kevin Federline? Arnold Schwarzenegger or Kevin Federline? (Arnold Schwarzenegger.) Still, Kevin Federline is the best thing about Tarzana. Congratulations, Tarzana. (RS)$newpage

University Park
IMAX Theater
Exposition Park is either adjacent to, or part of, University Park, depending on whom you listen to. But who cares which? It’s right there, and it’s filled with cool stuff, like the Natural History Museum and the California African American Museum. But – for those of us who can only absorb things through movies – there is also the California Science Center, which has, among its attractions, the largest movie screen south of the hills, the IMAX Theater. If you’re looking for total submersion ... if you want to get a perspective on, say, Mick Jagger’s uvula that would usually be available only to something – we’re not speculating as to what – actually passing between the well-known singer’s exuberantly proportioned lips, this is the ticket. Of course, Stones concert films aren’t always playing. Right now, for instance, you’ll have to make do with Mummies: Secrets of the Pharaohs and Sea Monsters 3D: A Prehistoric Adventure. Frankly, they sound a bit less disturbing. California Science Center, 700 State Dr., Exposition Park, (323) 724-3623. (AK)

Valley Village
Menchie’s
On what used to be a quiet stretch of Laurel Canyon Boulevard, hundreds of frozen yogurt fans now flock into Menchie’s. The lines can be long, especially on weekend evenings, when there often aren’t enough tables and chairs. But the crowds come for generous free samples and 10 self-serve flavors that are sold for 39 cents an ounce, plus a vast array of toppings and sauces. The name stems from mensch, and most of the fro-yo is labeled “kosher,” but on the other hand Menchie’s is open on Shabbat. A couple of tart flavors are offered, but most of the stuff is sweet. So is the people-watching. You might want to catch Menchie’s now before it becomes a chain, which is apparently imminent. 4849 Laurel Canyon Blvd., (818) 985-9150. menchiesyogurt.com. (DS)

Valley Glen
The Great Wall of Los Angeles
When my daughter was a little girl, she and I used to take a stroll every Thanksgiving morning alongside this panoramic depiction of the populist history of California. It fills the western wall of a flood control channel with 2,754 feet of colorful images. They’re increasingly sophisticated, aesthetically, as you walk along the channel’s other bank from south (where you can see prehistoric topics) to north (the ’50s edging into the ’60s). The Wall was painted between 1976 and 1983 by low-income teenagers supervised by muralist Judith Baca, under the auspices of the Social and Public Art Resource Center (SPARC). The viewing path is in a slender roadside park along the west side of Coldwater Canyon Avenue, just east of Valley College and Grant High School. Google “Great Wall of Los Angeles,” click on “Great Wall Resource Portal,” which takes you to part of sparcmurals.org. (Writer’s note: I’m advising Googling instead of just going to sparcmurals.org, because it’s faster; I had trouble finding the link to the Great Wall from sparcmurals.org.) (DS)

Venice
Pacific Resident Theatre
You have to go through sometimes killer traffic and crowds to enjoy Venice’s most popular sites, but not so for this little cultural enclave on the north side of Venice Boulevard, three blocks west of Lincoln. Pacific Resident Theatre is one of L.A.’s most awarded and beloved theater companies, offering an eclectic repertoire with a special interest in 19th and 20th century European playwrights, using one 99-seat stage and two smaller spaces. 703, 705, 707 Venice Blvd., (310) 822-8392. pacificresidenttheatre.com. (DS)

Watts
WLCAC Bones & Blues
Insider-prized monthly jazz/funk/soul series at the Watts Labor Community Action Center where life-changers from labels like Savoy, Verve, Chess, Cadet, and (naturally) Blue Note step on stage and do it the old-fashioned way. Though almost 10 years old, Bones & Blues maintains an understated profile – barely there on the web but that’s why we post phone numbers – that somehow underscores the history, technique and tradition at work. Next on the schedule is Maxine Weldon, whose ’70s discography baits crate-diggers to this day, and after that? Make the call. 10950 S. Central Ave., L.A., (323) 563-5639. wlcac.org. (CZ)

West Adams
Fais Do-Do
The pride of West Adams (last I was in that ’hood, there seemed little else to evoke that commonplace emotion) is Fais Do-Do, an Art Deco treasure that began life in 1930 as a branch of First Citizens Savings Bank and Trust. It became a bar/nightclub in the 1960s, playing host to the likes of Sam Cooke and Billy Preston. Closed and reopened as Cafe Fais Do-Do in 1990, the place today is less lively than in years past, but still hosts events and parties. The surrounding neighborhood is something out of Escape from L.A., but the folks inside are friendly and the place was serving excellent draft beer when I saw Class of ’76 punks Slaughter & the Dogs bring their safety-pin geezer act there and I got to hear the deathless “Cranked Up Really High” performed by the original yobs. The place was packed with the impressionable young and I knew I’d be asked about their set by even more junior snotnoses in the years to come. They didn’t disappoint. 5257 W. Adams Blvd., L.A., (323) 931-4636. faisdodo.com. (RG)

West Hollywood
Mirabelle’s Extended Happy Hour
The summer has flown, and with it the $19.71 three-course special that Mirabelle offers every year to celebrate its anniversary. The restaurant is still the place to visit on the Sunset Strip for a reasonably priced but stylish meal, especially since they recently decided to extend the happy hour specials until 10 p.m. This means that the tasty slider trio is eight bucks all evening, the whole steamed artichoke or pizza Margherita just nine. Order any two, and you’ve fueled up for some clubbing. That is, unless you decide to just hang around their bar, which has a Swedish modern-meets Captain Nemo aesthetic that is cool enough to savor for a while. Oh, and the app special is served in both that bar (where you can smoke!) and the more elegant dining room, so the deal still holds in the high-style environment. Those who came here for the three-course special will have to wait another eleven months for them to do it again, but can console themselves with some enticing nibbles while they wait. 8768 W. Sunset Blvd., West Hollywood, (310) 659-6022. (RF)

 

Westlake
Catalina’s Tradicional Mercado Argentino Carniceria y Fiambreria
Possibly the city’s finest South American supermarket, Catalina’s is a dark, unprepossessing place in an iffy-looking neighborhood. But it’s packed with singular gastrotreasures you’ll have a hard time finding anywhere else. Along with the cheap, fresh produce, there’s superb, Argentine-cut local beef; yerba mate by the kilo; olive oil from the Mediterranean and Latin America; a terrific fiambreria, or delicatessen, with fresh-baked bread and empanadas; and antipodal cold cuts such as lengua and matambre casero, plus South American (try the Argentine Sardo) and a few European cheeses.

Best of all is Catalina’s unparalleled selection of South American (Argentine, Chilean and Peruvian) and Spanish wines. The store’s wine maven, Argentine-born Felipe Corrado, imports many of them himself and is available to give you fluent advice, whether you’re looking for some humble, gaucho-style Crotta red in five-liter plastic-wicker jugs or high-end Chilean and Argentinean cabs and malbecs in the dozens of dollars range (be cautious about the really old vintages, though). Nice Latin-American beer selection too. 1070 N. Western Ave., L.A., (323) 461-2535. (MH)

West Los Angeles
Record Surplus
Once upon a time, this vast warehouse-like space was actually a warehouse – the Rhino Records warehouse. But in the mid-’80s – when “record” still meant vinyl LP – it turned into Record Surplus, a used disc emporium. How good is Record Surplus? Here’s how good: I haven’t had the foggiest interest in purchasing vinyl for at least 20 years. I’m a very digital guy. Somewhere between 70 and 80 percent of the inventory here is vinyl ... and still I drop by Record Surplus more frequently than all its competitors put together. (And, no, it’s not the nearest record store to where I live.)

That is, the non-vinyl 20 or 30 percent of the stock – primarily CDs and DVDs with a smattering of books, Blu-ray discs, and other stuff – is still the best such selection this side (west) of Amoeba. And, as an added bonus, the store doesn’t overwhelm you like Amoeba; as warehouses go, it’s almost homey. There are five or six “blowout” sales a year, with everything 10 percent off the already priced-to-move tags. But the big action happens during the semiannual “15 percent off” supersales, which I really wish I hadn’t just told you about, because during those I already have to elbow and jostle to get half of what I want, so please stay away. 11609 W. Pico Blvd., West L.A., (310) 478-4217. (AK)

Westwood
Holmby Park
Here’s a sleepy idyll, just a few blocks north of Wilshire on Beverly Glen Boulevard, surrounded by a tree-shaded macadam walk, a bowling green for the not-so-frisky, along with a tiny putting green for the somewhat friskier, and a sandy play area for tots. Now, if you’re a tad forward, you could even picnic with the Persian families who hold court at the tables on Sundays. But best of all, a battalion of small white fluffy dogs convenes on weekend afternoons and it’s bliss to just sit and watch them at their favorite social games. 601 Club View Dr., L.A. (Donna Perlmutter)

Woodland Hills
Saban Center for Health and Wellness
Ah, to be part of the movie industry. When those in the biz enter the winter of their lives, they can look forward to the retirement home of the stars tucked away in Woodland Hills. The Motion Picture and & Television Fund has facilities all throughout Los Angeles, but the one to take the cake is the Saban Center for Health and Wellness on Mulholland Drive. (Please imagine the next sentence in your best Robin Leach.) The multimillion-dollar institute houses a pool named after everyone’s favorite teenage actor, Jodie Foster; a state-of-the-art gym for resilient septuagenarians and beyond; and housing for some 400 residents. The center boasts some of the best aquatic therapy in SoCal, not to mention seminars on what the MPTF calls its “Age Well Program,” meaning Joan Rivers look-alikes will be at odds. But this paradise is available only to those who have put in a minimum of 20 years in the industry of television or movies. Sorry, no radio, so don’t expect to see Rick Dees anytime soon. 23388 Mulholland Dr., Woodland Hills, (818) 876-1900. (NS)

 

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