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Every once in a while, there’s a big art gallery shindig on Chung King Road in Chinatown. All of the galleries open up and show off their wares. The first place we hit was the Charlie James Gallery, where Kerry’s friend Packard Jennings had taken over half the gallery for his culture jamming artwork.

The Anarchist doll was a big hit, as was the accompanying video of its placement in Wal-Mart where numerous shoppers checked it out and even tried to buy it. Ray Beldner’s art made of US currency was a nice complement,

We strolled the pedestrianized alley after, checking out various other art stuffs, stores, the hanging lanterns, a french bulldog and a pony keg. Fun!

photos by SCF

I didn’t know it was possible to kill an alley, but one flower shop owner in a small town in Missouri managed to git ‘er done.

Seems the alley was being used as a street by large trucks and traffic from the baseball games at the field down the block. Alderman Steve Wood said:

An alleyway is not designed as a street.

And I can’t agree more. Source info here.

Does this look like the kind of man who would leave his meat in an alley?

He says he ain’t, the health inspector says he did. And some pesky neighbor is involved, too.

Spike Mendelsohn, who didn’t quite go the distance on TV’s "Top Chef", did have some problems with the Department of Health in Washington D.C. where he runs his Capitol Hill restaurant Good Stuff Eatery. If you need the sketchy and mildly sordid details, click… riiiiiight… here.

Being so close to the White House, we can only cross our fingers that W. will have a late night burger craving and play salmonella roulette.

Tin Pan Alley, a particular collection of buildings along W. 28th Street in New York City, housed a good portion of the most influential and successful music publishers and songwriters of the late 19th and early 20th century worked. Irving Berlin ("God Bless America"), George M. Cohan ( "Give My Regards to Broadway" and "The Yankee Doodle Boy"), George and Ira Gershwin ( Rhapsody in Blue and "I Got Rhythm"), Scott Joplin ("The Entertainer"), and Cole Porter ( "I’ve Got You Under My Skin", "Just One of Those Things", "Don’t Fence Me In", and too many more to mention) all were resident writers here at some point.

According to an article on the Lost City blog, it’s likely the historic buildings will be torn down.

Harvelle’s is the oldest music venue in Santa Monica, open since 1931. It’s likely that the crowd has stayed perpetually young, most of them now unable to conceive of the 1930’s when dinosaurs waked the earth and music was played on a harpsicord. 

I met up with a friend here for a quick drink before beginning a grueling 14 hour edit on a pro-bono political project. Andre warned me there was a cover charge, which I wasn’t thrilled to pay when I was only having one beer. I parked in an adjacent lot and exited into the alley (as is my way). I saw a crowd of people near a door that looked like it might lead into Harvelle’s. 

Soon I was walking past the band and into the throng, finding Andre and his roommate Aaron at the far end. Apparently, there’s no cover if you come in through the back door.

I waited about 15 minutes for a drink from the bartender who was gorgeous but not worth waiting for. Drink in hand, we caught up and then off I went out into the alley again to go to work. 

Hearse outfront	Just as dead inside

I arrived early with another Southlander friend, Jeremy, after watching the pulse-pounding first presidential debate at 1015 Folsom. We had drinks and waited for Erin, the birthday girl, and friends to show. Soon it would be cake and candles time.

Darren cuts the cake while a phalanx of photogs line up to memorialize it.

In between venues, we stopped on Ringold, which Rockstar Jay (center) referred to as "Blowjob Alley". We took turns polishing off my beer and then took the Whole Foods bag (right) and stuffed it under some steps. Inside, champagne that would be later consumed by some Google peeps. Unbeknownst to me, it was Google’s 10th anniversary.

You can see the alley’s name embedded in the cement. Sean is returning from some quality alley time alone.

Around the corner from the famous Tosca Cafe, where it’s not unlikely to spot Francis Ford Coppola doing espresso shot after espresso shot, is a little old bar called Specs. Specs is the kind of place where you’re unlikely to see anyone of note, ever. Specs is cluttered with crap from beat generations past and features numerous funny signs including:

The Management spares no expense
to provide a convenient regulation-size alleyway
for the settling of physical disputes.
Use of the interior premises for this purpose
shall result in the imposition of the dread

The alleyway is clearly not regulation-sized as it goes no further than perhaps 30 feet off the street. But the diveyness of Specs is enough to make Saroyan née Adler Place a true alley. Tonight there was music and dancing in the alley, no fisticuffs.

Next stop for the evening was Bix, an alley bar/restaurant at the completely opposite end of the spectrum. Bix is styled like a cruise-liner from the early 20th century, and probably a French one at that. The waiters and bartenders all wear white jackets and are well-mannered. The drinks cost over double what you pay at Specs.

Your limo awaits, sir	Yes, that’s a shoe guard

Bix is the kind of place that, while sitting at the bar, you might run into the mayor. If not, you’ll just be very bored if you stay for more than drink. This is a good place to celebrate an anniversary.

En route to our final destination for the night, we wandered down Hotaling Place. This prettified alley has an insanely perfect view of the iconic Transamerica building. Apparently Anson Hotaling sold a lot of whiskey on this spot and for that the gods spared his place the devastation of the 1906 fires. There are still horse-head hitching posts from the days when a stable existed here. This street used to be the waterfront before abandoned ships (whose crews went lookin’ fer gold in them thar hills) became landfill.

At the end of Campton Place, you can spy a glimpse of the Grand Hyatt where I had my first full-time job in San Francisco. You can also spy what looks like a stretch limo speeding by. Inside Vessel, the newest and grandest underground clubspace to stir the imagination of locals with disposable cash, you will find a mix of hipsters and guys who have the cajones to sport glowing faux-fur vests.

Wednesday night is called "Infatuation" and they have 2 for 1 drinks, not to mention free booze for an hour. Hipsters abandoning their dives and moving upscale? Or perhaps it’s rich kids who never had the stomach for the faux-slumming of those hipster dives? We’ll never know.

Map of Specs

If I’d been faster, this lead picture would have been of the guy pissing between cars rather than the eerie smokestacks that loom over Jessie St. Mezzanine is a club that sits in the middle of the alley, just south of where it T’s off at the back of the old Mint building.

 In line to get in, I met Adrienne, Catherine and Simon and we became BFM’s (Best Friends for
a Minute). They made my night.

the Hot Chip guy DJ-ing	a bunch of hot people you can’t see

As we were enjoying our prime location in an upstairs (as in, mezzanine) cubby, I spotted the undeniable mane of The Yum Diary’s Tracie Broom and with her was another mutual friend. Our visit was short and as sweet as something you might find at Tartine.

The bands took their sweet time coming on, so we had plenty of opportunity to visit the smoker’s lounge (sponsored by Scion!!!) that faces a parallel alley called Stevenson St.. They had Rock Band available, much to some drunk people’s delight. 

The first band (The Foals) came on and were passale fun. Tilly and The Wall came on at some time around 1:15 a.m. and were amazingly worth the wait. Yes, there is a girl on stage tap dancing and only tap dancing. For the entire show.