substitute: (blog about broccoli)
From today's Los Angeles Times Magazine I bring you some pullquotes from an article about the Pelican Hill Resort in Newport Coast. The whole article is worth reading: Heaven is in the Details
Marie Friedlander, Certified YogaGolf Instructor
“Breathe through your nose,” says Friedlander in smooth, even tones. High atop the course at the Pacific View Tee, three middle-aged male golfers stand barefoot on mats with their arms stretched overhead and palms together. “Become aware of your stance. Stack your spine. Stare at your drishti.” The two-hour session concludes with the men remarking how much more flexible and relaxed they feel. One golfer, who had complained of lower back pain, heads to a canvas tent, where his swing is videotaped. He compares it with a previously taped swing playing on a nearby laptop. He smiles.

I'm not sure how a 5000-year-old Indian religious practice works with the conspicious-consumption ritual sport of the American executive, but I bet both can be done pompously. A brilliant move, though; now they can sell yoga hours to the men and not just the women. —Ed.
As for the attention to detail, it’s as if all the veteran hospitality professionals brought on board sat in one room and asked themselves, What detail would I like to add? What would contribute to the perfect experience? That’s why there are five types of coffee in each villa, a choice of soaps and Villeroy & Boch china; why no guest will ever have to request toothpaste, a razor or shaving gel; and why such touches as orchids in the sitting rooms and expansive patios with chaise lounges and tables contribute to the feeling that you’re staying at a close friend’s vacation home. The details go beyond the guest rooms: Risotto is finished in a 28-inch wheel of Parmesan and served in individual silver dishes; the spa features temperature-controlled beds and a waiting room full of art books; and the lobby is a study in opulent minimalism.

(The print edition has a photo of a chef spooning a saffron-rich risotto into a hollow that has been cut into an entire wheel of parmigiano. If there is a purpose here other than excess for its own sake, I'd love to hear it. —Ed.)

(Also, the phrase "opulent minimalism" deserves an award or a terrible punishment, probably both. —Ed.)
substitute: (jerry)

1. "Celebrity judge and actress Mackenzie Rosman, 18, best known as Ruthie Camden from TV drama “7th Heaven,” said the ideal Miss Newport Beach Teen is well-rounded — a good student, athletic, grounded, down-to-earth and informed."

2. "More than 20 students, ranging in age from 12 to 18, from the junior dance company at Costa Mesa-based Jimmie DeFore Dance Studio, opened the show with a sassy, hip-hop routine." [hey [ profile] kerebearus, have a PTSD flashback!]

3. "Phoenix Stanna."

4. "“They’re all very deep, very different — all at the same time,” he said. “I’m so proud, I can’t even talk about it.”"

You're welcome! :D
substitute: (brainslug)
There is a miniature train for children, of the kind found in amusement parks, driving around my neighborhood making loud fake train noises.

I'll try to get MEDIA DOCUMENTATION if it comes by again.
substitute: (me1983)

Sadly they are not going to film at my alma mater, although the show is going to be called "Newport Harbor." There goes my chance to point out earthquake damage and places where people peed on things or did drugs.
The new cast of "Newport Harbor" will feature Chrissy, a smart, pretty high school senior with three top colleges to pick from; Allie, the girl whom all the boys want and all the girls want to be; Clay, a shy, good-looking junior who turns to his gregarious best friend Grant for confidence; Grant, a bad-boy junior who's the life of the party; Chase, a senior who has a way with the girls; and Taylor, a sophomore who's the youngest of the group and who is dating Chase.
I'm not sure where the geekulous nerds in the "inner quad" fit in, here. Oh wait, we didn't.

The official site is at

What's even "better" is that MTV's Second Life clone, is going to have a "virtual Newport Harbor" which I hope includes a first-person shooter segment.

Okay, now I'm *REALLY* going back to bed.

PS: The actual reality show about this town is called "Arrested Development."

PPS: The actual REAL real Orange County has a lot more tweakers, corrupt cops, toxic dumps, lower middle class suburban despair, brush fires, exhausted Mexican laborers, and skin problems.
substitute: (tesh)
O Daily Pilot, I can't resist your headlines:

Restaurant Review: Doria's Haus of Pizza's charm, crust fills seats
substitute: (brainslug)
I'd love to see people, do things, get out of the house, etc. And I may! But if anyone wants to hang out, you're driving. My two modes right now are It Hurts To Drive and I Am High On Drugs, and I don't relish either.

I can walk just fine, though. Maybe I'll walk down to 17th. Must take the right route, because "Aqua Man" lives around the corner from me now. In the same trailer park as Pirate Phil. Whoof.

Lost in a one story town
Where everything's close to the ground
Yeah the same shit goes down
Nothing comes around
It's a one, story. town.
substitute: (pennyfarthing)
A rabid bat was found on the campus of Corona del Mar High School here. No really. Television watchers take note: The O.C. was basically a documentary about this school.

Early reports suggest the bat had dated almost the entire "Dance Team."

The news article incorrectly calls the bat a rodent. It is not. While messing around on the internet looking for batinfo I found this gem from Wikipedia:
At least two known species of bat feed on other bats: the Spectral Bat, also called the American False Vampire bat, and the Ghost Bat of Australia. One species, the Greater Noctule bat, is believed to catch and eat small birds in the air.
American False Vampire Bat!
American False Vampire Bat!
American False Vampire Bat!
substitute: (Default)
The city government here wants to build a new shiny city hall. The residents are skeptical. To avoid a vote on the subject, the government first tried funding the new city hall without a bond issue. This was noticed. Then, there was an election.

The new city council has three times shot down a proposal to build the new city hall on land previously designated as "open land, future park." The last news was that they directed the city government specifically to finalize plans for theh park.

After the angry meeting that resulted in this decision, our Mayor, who supports the new city hall, made a career suicide statement:
"Personally, I don't think it's the end of this. I think there are people who are committed to … not building useless parks," Mayor Steve Rosansky said at the end of a lengthy, impassioned speech in which he accused fellow council members of caving to "political expediency."
substitute: (yay)
I had one of the great meals of my life last night at Pescadou Bistro. They put on a holiday prix fixe, and mom and I went to the early seating, which was cheaper and also got us home before the... stuff started down on the peninsula.

Three courses, choice in each. I had the quail and foie gras over baby lettuce, with pears. Entree choice was filet mignon with peppercorn sauce, mashed potatoes, and endive. Dessert was a warm chocolate cake with creme fraiche. The other options were a first course of lobster bisque, a second of seabass or venison, and a third of an apple/camembert tart.

Pescadou is serious French food, which doesn't mean stuffy or expensive or pretentious, but it does mean attention to detail and tradition. It also means reasonable portion sizes, unlike the U.S. tradition in celebratory meals of forcing an entire farm down your throat.

Everything was made... just... perfectly. The owner and staff are friends after years of going there. It's more like showing up to someone's house in a medium sized southern French town for dinner than it is like a restaurant. It's nothing like any other restaurant around here, that's for sure.

The three course prix fixe was $52. With tax and tip and two glasses of wine for mom and some fizzy water for me, $80/person. That's about as expensive as a meal can get there. The usual dinner prix fixe is $25.

Please don't change, Pescadou.
substitute: (frank mask)
Either the bro dudes have noticed that the housing boom and their easy money days are ending, or someone just dumped a lot of cheap cocaine on the market around here. I have seen more coked-out 25-40 year old mortgage bro guys this week than in the six months previously. I mean really fucking HIGH AS A KITE, flying, twitchy and loud, eyeballs making Ren & Stimpy noises, inappropriate affect, sweating, jaw clenching, everything.

The last one I saw tonight was standing on Newport Blvd near 17th with a couple of other guys. He had that overly-tanned and haggard skin, sunglasses pushed up on hiss spiked hair, a coating of sweat on his face, and office dress shirt and pants. As I waited at the stoplight he suddenly tugged sharply on his shirt so that he seemed to rip a couple of buttons off, exposing the top part of his chest. Then he yelled at them: "Revenue. Revenue, revenue. REVENUE!" And then the light turned green and I drove away.
substitute: (dollarpill)
Three Bro Dudes

When they came in, Executive Slacks was skating. He wanted me to know that Spiky Blond Hair was "the weirdo Screech." They were flying.
substitute: (asphalt)
The later, shitty Metallica is the ideal music for driving around suburbia in heavy traffic surrounded by gigantic SUVs. This morning I went to an early doctor appointment with "Unforgiven" blasting on my radio, gazing up on shiny Range Rovers and Expeditions as we roared through light industry in Irvine and Newport. It was like being in a canyon half the time. Everyone in this ridiculous town has a Range Rover. I counted fifteen of them on a drive that was maybe 3 miles each way.

My doctor has a pleasant obsession with Hawaii and was putting on a mix CD one of his other patients gave him, of Hawaiian stuff, as I arrived. He doesn't have an office staff in the early part of the day, so he was answering the phone and scheduling my next appointment himself when I noticed that the current song was a Hawaiian version of a John Denver song. I left before I found out whether they changed the lyrics from "West Virginia, mountain mama" to something more island-y.

The local women are wearing Ugg boots again this fall. Have we learned nothing from history?

I was at Kean yesterday and a mother and daughter came in. The mom was a primped and frosted zillionaire lady with designer everything, and the daughter was the standard model unhappy 17-year-old dressed for some sport or other. Mom gave me a deadly glare as they arrived, as if I was somehow going to be a Myspace sexual predator and make off with her daughter. Look, lady, I remember high school. Girls that age are soulless, sadistic mini-Maenads who will suck the marrow right out of your spine while laughing. Sell her to someone else!

The line of $100,000 cars stretching out from the Burger King says a few things.
substitute: (blog about broccoli)

But this job ad in "Squeeze OC" is convincing. Speaking of Squeeze OC, they were having a fashion show in the strip-mall denim store next to Kean as I left there tonight. It was just starting to roll as I fled. They were blasting "Lust for Life" and the DJ was instructing everyone to "gather round the runway." Bro and ho types were sipping wine from plastic cups and gazing across the street at... the other strip mall. I left before America's Next Medium To Low Models began striding about in $500 jeans.
substitute: (me myspace bathroom)
Trophy Wife Koffee Klatch

Wall with Phone with Guy

Another thing I saw on the Westside today was two cop cars and the CSI van outside a house, with people, some of them tough guys with baggy white t-shirts, looking sad and hugging each other in the front yard. You don't see that too often on the east side either. I didn't take a picture of that because I'm not a photojournalist and it felt intrusive.
substitute: (Default)
I may go down to take pictures of the city's 100th birthday fiasco tomorrow. I'll dodgeball if I do. Might be interesting. Maybe get a shot of Dick Dale mummified onstage, or food on a stick or something.
substitute: (1967)
But I had to laugh at the Newport Beach Film Festival's very O.C. fundraising event. Just got this in the mail:
The Newport Beach Film Festival invites you to celebrate the art of intimate apparel showcased live on male and female models in a photo gallery setting. DJ, hors d'oeuvres and hosted bar provided. Sponsored by Level Vodka, Karl Strauss, Riviera Magazine, Vic Huber Studios, Quartararo & Associates and Bloomingdale's.
I guess technically it isn't a stripper show if there aren't any poles.
substitute: (1967)
Had dinner at Zubie's Chicken Coop last night in celebration of [ profile] berg74's birthday. Happy birthday, Dan! It was great to see him and other friends I've missed, including a rare appearance from Jeremy & Vicka.

When I was a kid we used to drive all the way out to Lancaster on some holidays to visit my Aunt Midge (Mildred) and Uncle Lee. They were actually great-aunt and uncle, and were old my whole life. We would sit in their drawing room and munch on Jordan almonds and talk, and then sit down to a classic Midwestern/Southern holiday meal of some kind of Large Meat, potatoes, overcooked vegetables, two kinds of bread, a ceremonial salad, and great big glasses of iced tea. It was a trip back down the family tree, and they'd tell us stories of the family going back to the turn of the century and before. That side of the family had come to California on covered wagons, so the family stories were and are fascinating.

Zubie's is that place to me.

People who know old Orange County punk music may dimly recognize the name, because their original place is mentioned in the Vandals' "Urban Struggle" as the cowboy bar. It was next door to the old Cuckoo's Nest punk club, and the cowboys and punks used to get into it, which inspired that song.

That Zubie's is long gone, but the family has the Chicken Coop restaurant, which took over a former French place in the 90s sometime. It's eccentric. They serve pretty big portions of standard American home cookin' cheaply, which is an attraction. A full chicken dinner is $8.95. Their specialty is fried chicken but they don't call it that; it's "broasted," which is something old-fashioned restaurants advertised in my 1970s childhood. I think it must have been a fad around 1960. It's a brand name process for pressure-cooking chicken as you fry it that supposedly results in less grease. No one under 40 even knows that broasted chicken is fried chicken.

The sides are mashed potatoes with gravy and green beans. By mashed potatoes I mean very, very smooth whipped potatoes and bland light-brown gravy. The beans are prepared the way my grandmother did, southern style: a bit overcooked but with enough salt and grease that you do not care about that.

There is a house salad that comes with your dinner. The salads got all confused but I think that's what I got. For some reason it had shrimp in it. It was the iceberg lettuce salad of my childhood with a tremendous quantity of dressing. There were also rolls which were very soft and warm and required immediate buttering.

The chicken was pretty good if a bit dry, and there was a decent amount of it. The other diners got more food and many of them had to ask for to go boxes. Apparently overfeeding is one of the attractions of Zubie's. I'm glad I got the right amount of food, myself.

The menu was full of weird quirks and errors. The "Oyster Bar" page was also labeled as the To Go menu, and had two entries for fish taco at the same price with different descriptions: one was the "Grande" and other was advertised as having two filets and being the house favorite. The pizzas were advertised as being sixteen feet in size due to an apostrophe/quote confusion; it was not stated whether that was diameter, radius, or thickness. When the check arrived it was totally incomprehensible so we just did our best and made sure enough money was there.

As you probably figured out most of the clientele was over 65, with a few families. In general it wasn't a restaurant; it was a trip to someone else's grandmother's house. The food was home-style in both good and bad ways, there weren't many options, and everything was up to the standard of a conservative farm-style dinner in 1960. I assume they remain in business because of old people and because of the bar.

It's not the best restaurant in town but it's a gem. Mostly because it's a little piece of my great-aunt Mildred's generation sitting smack in the middle of go-go millionaire decadent Newport Beach within sight of nightclubs where strippers and mortgage brokers are doing tequila body shots and stuffing coconut shrimp into their faces. I like the contrast.
substitute: (heart sad)
If you type "Chronic Cantina" into Google and hit "I"m feeling lucky" you get a man-boy:

This man-boy likes PUNK!! music, and he likes Governor Arnold, and he likes executions, a lot. Let 'em fry! He owns a drug abuse theme restaurant.

The man-boy wants to start a war with China. He loves our President and says that Michael Moore should not criticize the man. The man-boy would like to meet open-minded girls.

The man-boy says: "If you are a fun person and like to have respectful fun no matter what the circumstances we will get along great. "

The man-boy owns a business selling stripper poles. The man-boy is an attorney and a real estate investor. Often the man-boy is surrounded by sad skinny bikini girls and grinning ape-boys on boats, on beaches, in bars, in nightclubs.

The man-boy was born Keith Scheinberg and calls himself MAXIMILLIAN on myspace. But I have a secret to tell you; I know his real name. His real name is Marie Antoinette.


substitute: (Default)

May 2009

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