Friday, January 25, 2008

The Chinese bone rush in Boyle Heights, L.A.

Beyond all the stories about its poor planning and maintenance of our city's public transportation system that our wonderful L.A. bloggers frequently report, th's gotta be the most ridiculous story I've read about the MTA that Downtown Chick can share with everybody:

California Local News: An emotional custody dispute over history out on January 24, 2008

Once upon a time, the MTA found some Chinese bones in Boyle Heights from the 20C when they're building the Gold Line and still don't know what to do with them now.

The Americans: "Look let's mass-rebury them somewhere ASAP. I'll pay. I don't wanna be rude (but I don't really know what I'm supposed to do. I'm just an American guy in Los Angeles). Aw, you want some cha?"

Chinese people: "No, no, let's find out who these people are. Mom says that's what we do for the dead. Oh but wait, I'm tight this month. You mind paying for it just this time? Promise, won't happen again. Chinese people only die once."

The nearby school: "No no, gimme that gimme that. Let me do a show and fabricate some grant winning papers out of it. You know how rare Cal State L.A. has a chance to step up in Anthropology? That's like winning the American Idol."

Got that?

So all of a sudden everybody wants the Chinese bones. The bones that have been there for over a hundred years, then on the hands of the clueless MTA for another three years. The bones that supported 128 nameless Chinese men who helped build this city, one of the biggest cities in North America, then died in a foreign place anonymously.

This's so L.A. Somebody please shoot me. I can't be a more jaded Angeleno Chinese bitch. Blame Foucault's Archaeology of Knowledge.

Thursday, January 24, 2008

Blossom (Main and 4th)

Okay, it's raining these days. I want a bowl of warm soup noodles.

If you're serious about pho, there's no way you'll call Blossom a place for it. The noodles're served not even acceptably hot. Isn't the soup supposed to be hot enough to soak the rare beef to tender?! And then, the soup, three alphabets: [check this out, Downtown Chick rapping] the M the S the pungent G! (All photos by Mike L.,

I always like pho for it's simplicity. Simple, healthy soup noodles with lean meat. There's no secret about the sprouts, mint and chili. Every place gets the same veggies. So what really makes a difference are the noodles, soup and meat.

So I almost wonder if Blossom puts sugar to the soup. What kind of pho soup is that? It tastes like some kind of a mixture of unknown condiments but where's the original meat taste supposed to be inherent in the broth? Yuck. I think something's missing there.

If you haven't tried 79 yet: Do yourself a favor: go to Pho 79 in Chinatown (strangely the sign reads "Pho 97" but it's really "79")(on Broadway) for even cheaper noodles and rolls by all means if you're being a responsible adult to your stomach which will house some nice warm Vietnamese beef noodles on a rainy night in Downtown. So much better. No comparison in this comparison sheesh.

Monday, January 21, 2008

An Open Letter to the Creepy Guys in Borders Pasadena

Okay bookworms, lemme make this straight:
  1. No, I don't come here often. What the hell do you think this place is? Like a friggin' 76?! It's a bookstore! Of course I come here just as often as a normal human being does. Will you please leave me alone?
  2. No, I'm not a student. I don't rob bookstores. I don't pick pockets in bookstores. Okay better yet: I'm the President of the United States. I gotta go for a conference call with Saudi right now. You got it? I'm sick in my head. That's all you need to know so now, go.
  3. No, I don't live in Pasadena. Pasadena has way too many creepy guys. Can't stand it.
  4. I don't know how my damn book is. If I had known how it is, I won't be standing on my damn feet here flipping it, would I? I'm trying to know how this book is so please leave me alone. Again, this's the bookstore, not the Church.
  5. God I hate people asking if I'm an actress. You're really a pig.
  6. HOW on earth do you know the book in my hand is a good book if you have not read it?! Jesus Christ!
  7. What?! You wanna know what MY book is about?! Okay here, it's yours. Get lost.
  8. Fine, I'm leaving. Goodbye creeps.

I think a swing club offers more celibacy than Borders.

A Fabaceae family's letter for Tom Leykis

Dear Tom,

My name is Downtown Chick. I'm only a pea from the same Fabaceae family of the girl on the video. I don't really know who she is but she's a chick and our mutual auntie is a pea, so I'm a chickpea. Anyhow.

I think you have been looking for this chick for almost two months now. I'm sorry you didn't catch her. What? You have been searching for her all over the city with $1,000 reward and still can't find her? Well, I wonder why. How many friends have you gotten Tatty Bear?

Back to the topic, she has no excuse but only our "bravo!" She peed on your front door. What you might not know is not only that she peed on your front door but that she also put salt to your $400 bottles of wine and pepper in your BJ imitator.

Did you feel the wine a little saltier and the realistic plastic mouth a little hotter than usual? It's her, heh!

The thing is, truly, we neither have an issue with you nor your show as much as with Oprah Winfrey. We understand everybody needs to pay mortgage so that's fine. Say whatever stupid the advertisers love their listeners to hear. No big deal. We also thought what you said about women throwing themselves on you and getting tossed away off your bed the same night were true because there were a lot of hot women that imagine themselves being with ugly guys out there. It's just for some reason a very hot sexual fantasy for us. Don't ask me. I don't know why. We sometimes also dream of being raped by monkeys and buffalos and masturbate with King Kong comics in hand too. Yeah, I know. Girls are sick.

We didn't expect you meant you actually live in a 1.5 million house (3 million as you claimed is the asking price, true market value is 1.5 million, ahem..., I'll email you a CMA but home owners, the market has crashed...) by yourself only jerking off in your spectacular wine celler by your poinsettia in your pocket pussy. We didn't expect your using "money, fame, power" to scam women for free sex was only your hallucination until we saw all those tasteless craps in your house, 13 security cameras and a bunch of sex toys.

13 security cameras? Who is the insecure soul in your so secured house full of so many security cameras there? I'm thinking you because you claimed you chose to live alone after you kicked your last woman out. If you know you are loved, if you know people don't hate you, why do you need 13 cameras in your house? How does it feel to live alone on guard for the disgust against you that you are pathetically aware of 24/7 with your lonely 13 security cameras? I must ask cuz you repeatedly announce you choose to live that way every fucking weekday evening on the radio in Los Angeles. It's fucking annoying everytime our radio tuner gets lost then scans through your channel, your voice that sounds a little bit like a pig's starts advertising that Honda dealer in Van Nuys. Yeah right. If you're so sure, why on earth do you still have to convince the world, i.e., convince yourself that your show is not just a lie to your immature fan club?

My guess is if you're really good in getting laid, you won't do a show about how to get laid to get laid. Doing it is the same logic as that of some idiotic internet-based pyramid scheme. Sign another five guys up for an ipod. Who's stupid here?

We know our heroine embarassed you big time. If she's not a girl, you won't even make such a big fucking deal out of it because that will become just some kid from the block commiting vandalism. But because she's a chick wearing a short skirt and knee high boots, your "playerhood" is seriously threatened, right? A chick that publicly challenges you with her chick pee. She painfully reminds you of the fact that the person who goes into your secured territory and pees there isn't a coward, but you are one yourself, right? She pressed your button, right?

Tom, I think she blew you up this time. Oh sheesh, where're you dear?

A Downtown Chickpea

For the white guy from Orange County


Monday, January 14, 2008

Forum up...

It always raises Downtown Chick's eyebrows when I get any unusual traffic like from the police, lawyers and such. When you so very seriously bitch about the guy you went out with on paper who also happens to have expertise on publishing rights, you know what I'm talking about being so friggin' paranoid and on guard for suit. So lately I got a lot of hits from universities. Users in universities in Michigan and Florida looking at my L.A. Downtown blog? What the heck? Has gallery row been added to the list of Bohemia just like the East Village or Mission District? Weird. Or even worse, dang, did the scientists track me down? Dude they want the crazy chick's stem cell to clone many of me...? I'm not crazy I'm not crazy...

Okay finally I found out why. I was linked by Summize. Old Jean gave me that. I'm pretty happy with this blog. What I got are worth 4 fevers in a roll this winter. I've been turning my life around quite a bit since last year. Worked, freelanced, blogged a few places, wrote my own shit, did a few shows (don't call me an actress okay? Hate that!), traveled, moved from the suburb to Downtown, from Asian pain-killer giant Panadol with no dextromethorphan hydrobromide to $0.99 store generic DayQuil with everything (I stock up when I see them in the dollar shop, not kidding), from Grass-eater's booty call blues to no grass-eating guy, from supermarket brand dog food to organic human grade dog food... There have been many changes and more practically, some paychecks to help the vet bills and holiday spendings... I'm grateful...

I've also opened a forum for neighbors to chit-chat if you feel like it. It's easier to check replies that way than to leave endless comments when anybody feels like talking more off-topic on a blog. The URL is: I got this idea from daily girly chatting with my other crazy female asylum inmate friends in Asia and Europe on Facebook. It's as convenient as I could know how it went last night their husbands had sex with them. Heh! Ahem. Anyhow, are you crazy? Of course it's an online totalitarian regime censored by Downtown Chick. Only post about things useful to the rest of the world please.

Gotta go back to work to make a buck and buy my dog a bone.

Sunday, January 13, 2008

Le Dernier Tango au Centre-Ville (The Last Tango in Downtown)

Let's pretend these old buildings in Downtown are those in The Latin Quarter of Paris for the moment.

So you meet a depressed mid-aged guy here. He rents an old apartment here. You're a hot chick of an exotic quality (in the movie, a young French girl; in reality, anything intriguing you can name) and he's a regular American mid-aged guy of some European descents. You do not know his name. He doesn't want to know your name. You meet him in his apartment from time to time. He says 'you don't need names in this apartment and everything outside of here is bullshit'. You try but you fail to know anything about him. All you can do is to lay in his bed naked with him and to sigh:

Oh, what strong arms you have.
What long nails you have.
What a lot of fur you have.
What a long tongue you have.

Then you reach his crotch and ask:

What's this for?

Goddammit I pass out. Grass-eater. It's tough to be in love. You go through his pockets, want to reach his heart so badly but he keeps shutting you off. You stand in front of the sink with him when he shaves and he consoles you, "I know it's tough, but you're gonna have to bear it. You know these things are really beautiful. They're very rare. You don't find them anymore."

These things are really beautiful. They're very rare. A beautiful woman that doesn't ask but just loves him for anything other than knowing him as a real person.

The only reason he doesn't let you know him is precisely that he thought if you finally know what a person he is, you will not love him anymore. He doubts life. He screams, "fucking God!". He expresses his disgust of society's repression, religious beliefs, "family", "church", "lie", loss of "freedom" and people's egotism when he butter-anal-rapes you.

Why does he think he's not lovable? You tell me. He is a guy, when it comes to gender; a white guy, when it comes to race; an American white guy, when it comes to nationality. Anybody still thinks relationships are only on a personal but not a sociological level? Any armchair psychologists advocating the "play hard to get" and American-style self esteem, please go do a degree in social science (in a good school) before saying anything insensitive to the related social issues of personal relationships. Give me a break if you're pleased: I'm not convinced in the 21st C dating culture, an American white guy from Little Rock in Arkansas dates a significant number of women of "Other" races after he "has made it" in Hollywood or Greenwich before he marries somebody that looks like Jennifer Gardner and Nicole Kidman is really a coincidence that he's "somehow" "in love" with her. It's xenophobia which no love from a woman can help. Let's face it: his marriage has little to do with love but reasons other than love behind marriages we see everyday on the expense of the "Other" women. (For detail, find "The Other" with 20th C French psychoanalyst Jacques Lacan.)

The only thing that can complicate such xenophobia is money ($$): that is why he married the French wife with money in the first place. He had been a boxer, a bongo player, and a journalist, in other words, an actor who bartended if in nowadays Hollywood before he married his wife.

What's funny is the English subtitle (Netflix edition) just reads "these sinks are really beautiful". If the American translator who does the subtitle has actually been around people from Paris, he'll know it is "things", not "sinks", because Marlon Brando was ridiculing the French girl's accent in the movie. French folks with a thick accent pronounce "th" as "s". I wonder how many people actually thought it's really "sinks" when Marlon Brando was indeed standing, shaving in front of the sink in the scene.

Yes, love is very rare these days, or ever (Le Dernier Tango à Paris was made in 1972 so it was the beginning of human history). True love. Not the American sociopsychologically dictated "love" I mean, argh, wimps.

2000 Pietra Santa Merlot & Sasso Rosso

Are you broke and do you love Italian *like* wine?

If you are and do, here's the deal, go to Big Lots and stock up as many Pietra Santa as you want for until you know your next pucket of gold comes in the mail.

The 2000 Merlot was alright, not too impressed. It definitely doesn't cut my throat as bad as other $5.00 wine but I'm really a fine nice Merlot fan so I'm not going back. But the 2000 Sasso Rosso, holy loly! $2.50 a bottle for that quality of wine is incredible. Smooth, smooth... A little on the sour side but definitely the cheapest light-to-medium bodied you can get for $2.50. Dude you can't even get a burrito for $2.5 nowadays, what a steal! Good with microwave dinners with other broke friends on the rainy days...

Monday, January 7, 2008

DT Chick's conspiracy theory: None of these chick read writers gives a shit about chicks

I'm back I'm back... See, you know Sarko dumped me. So according to the B&N ivillage style mainstream (armchair) psychologist's relationship advice, I must either go buy a cargo of bubble bath soap, lavender bath salt, exfoliating body scrub, Dead Sea mud mask, cucumber peeling mask, human embryo lip booster, Egyptian mummy eye mask, toe nail aloe vera, cream cheese anti-bacterial hand wash, tranquil mint underarm shave creme, surgeon-knife-sharp stainless steel tweeser (life-long free sharpening), tub-round aromatherapeutic scented Jesus candles (no Jehovah's Witnesses flavor cuz they smell even worse geez...), marsupial rejuvenating facial moisturizer, eucalyptus spearmint foot treatment; book a vacation in Club Med; learn a new language or lose 20lb, right?

But it's not like I didn't take a shower this morning; I've just come back from a vacation; I'm already learning my 3rd language; and if I'm 20lb lighter I must be very ill. So what does any of these "chick reads" do for me?

Sometimes I really wonder if all those women's self-help books are secretly published by Bath and Body Works if not Kiehl's. Haven't all scorned women washed themselves in the past ten years? Why do recovery and healing always have something to do with personal hygiene? Can society encourage heartbroken women, women of low self esteem, dysfunctional women to actually get their asses up and do SOMETHING other than take a damn long shower for heaven's sake?! Getting the chicks to the spa is called "self-love"? Wait wait, hold on here. I may not know about the Caucus or if an airliner crashed into the Pentagon as much as the smart educated folks but speaking of chick stuff, you can't fool me honey; I know quite well that's consumerism and patriarchy in disguise.

It's painfully sickening to even just witness this kind of pseudo-female-empowering / pseudo-Feminist mainstream chick culture. Do these "make yourself pretty then run into him in a party" advisors all have their brains between their legs and live in Orange County? Incredible.

Will I write a book about defecating if somebody pays me $50,000? Sure, why not, everybody has to pay rent. But to make themselves big by confusing, mis-leading, mentally manipulating and hurting the ego of the women that are already suffering, in hell, confused, is just low. For a man with a nauseous face like Greg Behrendt, I won't even let him open my car door; don't even mention his "advice". Believing anything such a man says is as stupid as believing in Atkins while he died obese himself. In Downtown Chick's jurisdiction, what people like Greg Behrendt do is on about the same level as pedophilic crime or molesting the developmentally disabled.

I was about to suspect the wife's eyesight who co-writes with him but then you see, a picture is worth a thousand words. Dude, what a couple. It's beyond belief this kind of losers represent this country's celebrity level icons of relationship related nonfiction literature and people see him as "funny" and "witty". I mean, sheesh, even a McDonald's double cheese burger is of a better taste than them. Disgusting.

Tuesday, January 1, 2008

Seventh Grand (7th and Grand)

You know what's the best to do on a winter night in Downtown? I tell you now: Irish coffee. Good whiskey hot black coffee are the key. Let's don't talk that much. Drink it when it's still hot.