The Hits Just Keep On Coming

Dear Last Week,

Why do you hate me so much? You began by telling me I could no longer access personal email or The Facebook during the day, forcing me to pay out the nose to actually hook up an internet connection in my home. Then you told me California decided it was too broke to pay their tax refunds and Arnold is issuing IOUs instead. Next, you fraked with Blogger until I could only compose things in HTML...with no ability to add pictures. To further make my life suck, you somehow got me to agree to go on a date with someone I had no interest in, only to have me sleep through the first 30 minutes of said date because I thought (or rather you thought) bottomless mimosas at brunch was a good idea. You also apparently thought it was a good idea to let me text a boy I should be over by now while drinking those mimosas, resulting in feeling supremely lame for, well, I'm still pissed about that one, actually. To top it off, you thought it would be fun to plant Valentine's Day down in the middle of all this mess and let me spend the day reading Watchmen and watching movies like Hellboy II, prompting one rather verbose gentleman to inform me I'd need a complex understanding of exponents to understand how sad, on a scale of 1-10, my life really is..."No one has ever counted that high," he said. But I don't blame him...I blame you. Please stop hating me. I realize there are people, like, losing their jobs and their fortunes and stuff, but I'd really just like my internet back...and to stop being so tragic. Can you please help a sister out?

Thanks in advanced,

Red

I Think About You Nightly

To prove to ourselves we aren't grandmas, Liz and I went to see Ra Ra Riot in concert last night. The doors opened at 8 so we arrived at 9:30, figuring we'd be just in time for RRR, but the doorman told us they didn't go on until 11:30. 11:30 on a Sunday night! So, like the classy ladies we are, Liz and I walked a few blocks to one of our favorite watering holes and had an Indian law student buy us drinks and tell us we looked "intelligent, artistic and 21," while asking the skeezy girl at the bar to slap him repeatedly. He was awesome. Around 11, we wandered back to the Casbah just in time to experience what we'd stayed up way past our bedtimes to see.

An indie band from Syracuse, New York, Ra Ra Riot consists of 6 kids who look like the nerdiest drama club/band geeks to emerge from your local high school (the lead singer wore a tie-dyed Yoda t-shirt, for chrissakes), but they mix rock with an electric cello and violin for a really cool sound Liz calls "Arcade Fire without the histrionics." While not as good live as they are on their debut album, Ra Ra Riot got Liz dancing and me telling the lead singer I was from Baltimore...basically, rocking to them live made us a little giddy. Or maybe that was the Guinness.

Anywho, check out Ra Ra Riot because they are cool and when they blow up you will be able to say, "Pshaw! I've known about R cubed (as I'm calling them now) for ages." It's all about bragging rights, people.

Tanked and Friendless: Modus

He’s just so adorable, this bartender, with his painstakingly crafted bed-head and his dimples. He looks about 19, so I don’t so much want to make out with him as I want to pinch his cheeks and pack him a lunchbox for school.

“A glass of Shiraz, please,” I say. Generally I don’t like ordering wine in bars unless it’s a wine bar. I’m not that kind of girl. But the décor in Modus says cocktail and wine much louder than beer, and the gin and tonic I had earlier wasn’t that good. So I’m breaking down and going for the wine.

The cute little bartender looks at me with a blank little smile for a few seconds, then turns around to get my drink. I see him go into the fridge where they keep the whites and I think, “Oh sweet pea, that hair of yours is the reason you’re here isn’t it?” After failing to find red wine in the fridge, the little fella asks a female bartender. She motions to the reds up on the counter and he digs through those for a minute. Then he comes back to me and asks, “Did you want Shiraz or Syrah?”

I tell him they’re the same thing, and he laughs at himself a little and goes back and gets me an $11 glass. I leave him a decent tip because those sheepish little smiles won’t be so cute in a few years and he’s going to need some savings. I just hope he doesn’t spend it all on gumballs.

I finished my wine on the small but fun outside patio with my friends, because it was getting crowded inside and the furniture, while interesting in design, isn’t really that comfortable.

Name: Modus Supper Club

Location: 2202 4th Ave.

San Diego, CA 92101

Fun Fact: As the full name implies, Modus is a “supper club,” so it has a full menu. I've heard the food is decent. Not really a fun fact, but an important one if you’re deciding where to go out.

State of Guinness: I’m not 100% on this, but I think its non-existent. Yeah, I know.

Tanked and Friendless/Point Counter Point: The Ould Sod

Ahh the karaoke birthday party: right of passage, bane of existences, bi-polar bacchanalia of joy and despair. Every year around a certain date, that one friend who has either a terrific singing voice or just irrepressible self-confidence invites you all to a bar in order to celebrate their birth and butcher some ABBA and Elvis tunes. The night starts slow, with everyone giggling at the first brave souls to go up and talking about how they wouldn’t be caught dead on that stage. Three hours and six beers later, you remember how good you sounded rapping the Beastie Boys “Paul Revere” in front of your mirror in the 6th grade, and its all downhill from there.

This can all be yours on Thursday and Saturday nights at The Ould Sod on San Diego’s underrated Adams Avenue strip in Normal Heights. A bitty little Irish bar tucked amidst coffee houses, stores and other bars, the Sod aims for authenticity. They have Irish beer specials, serve Bailey’s in the proper mini-snifters and the walls are covered in Daniel Day Lewis movie posters and Gaelic signs. Once a week there’s an Irish music session. But it’s the music of a tone-deaf variety that really sets the Sod apart.

The Sod’s biggest problem is its diminutive size. Its really narrow at the front and opens into a small alcove at the back, and working your way to and from the bar – never mind the karaoke stage – can prove troublesome. It may dissuade a few people from going up to the front to belt out “Total Eclipse of the Heart.” Actually, maybe its size is an asset in disguise.

Name: The Ould Sod
Location: 3373 Adams Ave.
San Diego, CA 92116
(Normal Heights)
Fun Fact: You probably already knew this, but the name “ould sod” is an old Irish immigrant nickname for Ireland
State of Guinness: Fantastic! Served in proper pint glasses (bulbous at top, narrowing at the base) and one of the bartenders will draw a shamrock in the foam for you.

Tesla Still Gets No Respect

Over at Pink Hat Nation, Liz started a little column she called Tanked and Friendless which I will now steal and use here.


This weekend, I journeyed up I-5 to Los Angeles...City of people who've had enough work to look like what they imagine Angels look like. A friend of a friend had a going away party at The Edison downtown. Situated between the financial district and skid row, The Edison is leading the nightlife rejuvenation in historic downtown LA and was created in LA's first private power plant. When you enter the bar from the alley (where there is no sign because, as we all learned from Swingers, the coolest bars don't have signs) and travel down into a huge, open room, it's like you've been transported to a 1920's speakeasy, with 3 bars, old movies projected on the walls and plenty of space for lounging. It really is like stepping back in time...when women wore dresses, men wore suits and the most scandalous thing you could do on a Saturday night was drink (there is a dress code at The Edison...not overly strict, but you are expected to dress intentionally. I love this. More places should have a dress code). The creators of The Edison used architectural elements from the power plant (like huge generators) and themes from the dawn of electricity (hence the name "The Edison") to create a truly original bar.

The food is good (I had the four cheese and black truffle Mac and Cheese. Yum. There's also a lobster corn dog that sounds really interesting), the drinks are "hand crafted" (I'm sure they are delicious, but I had beer), and the people are very LA (actors out to see and be seen...I mean, we met a guy who told us he played Lloyd's assistant on Entourage. I've seen every episode of Entourage. I don't remember Lloyd having an assistant), but the real draw is the decor and the feeling that you've stepped back in time. If you are in LA, this is a place not to be missed.

Name: The Edison
Location: 108 W. 2nd St. #101 Los Angeles, CA
Fun Fact: After 10:30, flappers entertain the crowed with terrific numbers from the swing era several times throughout the evening.
State of the Guinness: They don't serve Guinness (I know! The horror!!!), but the Fat Tire is ice cold and delicious.