Big Wang’s has a rule against wearing Dodgers’ gear… but not Giants, Phillies, Angels, or any other teams. This establishment does not deserve your hard-earned dollars. They claim the ban is because of unruly Dodgers fans causing fights, but it seems to us that people should be judged by their actions, not by the jersey on their back. Big Wang’s is officially off the TACO list of approved watering holes (not that it was necessarily on the list in the first place, or not to say that there even was such a list). Oh, and GO DODGERS!

Photo by BossMack

14323 Studebaker Rd. ~ Norwalk

Bubble Lounge @ The Brig ~ 1515 Abbot Kinney Blvd. Venice, CA 90291 ~ Every Wednesday

Our favorite thing about Abbot Kinney’s bustling hot-stuff magnet The Brig was always its old school signage. Until now, when we stumbled into Bubble Lounge, where said stamp is now matched in old-school spirit and slick execution, taking over every Wednesday for gay girls and their straight associates to revel in retro. In my book, sapphic love never goes out of vogue, but with Samantha and Lindsay so up in the spotlight saying ‘fuck the world’ and loving the ones they’re with, we’re officially declaring kitty-licking the new black this autumn. Start practicing: La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la (like KRS-1, not the Smurfs).

If you’re part of the bold and beautiful rainbow cliterati, Bubble Lounge is Wednesday’s swankiest, chillest spot to explore for relaxed, soused good times with no-bullshit babes. The vibe is as open and friendly as a house-party, with approaching and being approached feeling natural and fun. The music, not a note of techno heard, is set just right for chatting or pressing up with that girl over some Patron shots or Raymond Carver-esque cocktails. Sometimes a piano player bangs out live versions of Bowie, and sometimes it’s a DJ on some classic, slinky lounge music that makes you feel 25% sexier under its hold. Burlesque dancers are known to appear twice a month, and even better, sometimes our favorite friend, free food(!!!!), makes an appearence, for the evening. Yes, a techno-less poontang parade with free eats and no cover. Isn’t this what that Muslim martyr heaven is supposed to be like?

And time to celebrate if you’re straight; there’s still the typically model-esque Brig crowd in singles and pairs, slightly wayward and not exactly sure who to throw their lines to, but welcome and getting hammered just the same… straight defenses slightly lowered by the good times swirling around them. Gay men, you’ll be doing your thing as always, but I hardly need to encourage you to go and get some, you guys are really, really good at that already.

Check out Bubble Lounge every Wednesday if flowing conversation and booze, sophisticated sex appeal, and pussy top your list. They also have billiards, if you enjoy other interests. If we can’t exactly come right out and promise you’ll be doing any pearl balancing come Thursday morning, we can at least promise you’ll be getting drunk and happy in suitable style, making new friends on all sides. See you tonight!

This is generally the kind of ’stoked’ look straight guys will get on their faces when surrounded by awesome lesbians for hours on end.

June Fairchild, actress and Lakers fan, outside the Rustic Inn. Some June Fairchild facts:

• Named the band “3 Dog Night“
• Was the “Ajax Lady” from Cheech and Chong’s Up in Smoke
• Filmed a sex scene with Clint Eastwood in Thunderbolt and Lightfoot
• Briefly lived on skid row after battling alcohol and drug problems
• Opens the Monkees’ Head by kissing each band member

455 H+R T$F

A few months ago I’m heading North on Lincoln Blvd. when, on an impulse, I jump out of my car to pixellate The Red Garter’ sex-appealing logos.

As soon as I see the closed door and the yellow notice my natural born protector-of-the-small hops back into my car, grabs my cell phone and contact the real estate broker. “Hello, I’m calling about The Red Garter in Venice. I was wondering if you could put me in touch with the seller because I write for an LA blog and would love to preserve a little bit of LA history by photographing the interior of this vintage “cocktail lounge” (before it gets recycled into another retail store.)” I keep the last portion to myself as I hear a voice in my head arguing that what I call “a vintage cocktail lounge” most people would call “a dive,” including the real estate agent at the other end of the line judging by the awkward silence. “The property’s been sold.” “So maybe I could talk to the new owner?” Upon my insistence, the broker reluctantly gives me her e-mail address, gets mean on me when I ask her to repeat it and hangs up before I have a chance to deliver a spirited: “Thank you for your commitment to…” She didn’t commit to anything but I nonetheless rush home to pen a passionate appeal to the new owner while I fail to swat the annoying buzz in my head that keeps repeating “Frankie, it’s a dive!”

This incident takes an unpredictable turn when I learn that at about the same time, a young woman by the name of Lauren Everett answers her own maternal call for the preservation of the human over the commercial when she sees an ad on Craigs List for the sale of an apartment complex where LA’s own dirty old poet, Charles Bukowski, once lived. Everett and other preservationists contact the Cultural Heritage Commission and manage to halt the sale of the East Hollywood property long enough to attempt to build a case for the designation as Historic Landmark of the DeLongpre Avenue bungalow where USPS worker Henry Charles Bukowski became, at 49, a full-time writer. Just as I assume my e-mail to the Red Garter’s new owner was dragged across the real pain in the esstate’s broker desktop and dumped in her Trash Bin, I don’t believe for one moment the author of “All the Assholes in the World and Mine” will get the seal of approval from the City and when I see a picture of the building in question I even wonder: “Why? It’s a…”

Photo by Phil McCarten for Reuters.

I look online for an answer and give to my dear Taco readers a story in quotes almost as unpredictable as a Bukowski title:

Blogger AF Duncan of Kung Fu Rodeo.”The impulse to make Bukowski’s home a monument comes from a feeling that he was a more accurate chronicler of the city than other writers, said David Fine, author of “Imagining Los Angeles: A City in Fiction.” Raymond Chandler, Aldous Huxley, Nathanael West and F. Scott Fitzgerald are far brighter literary lights, along with others who came here to toil as screenwriters. But they tended to portray an apocalyptic landscape of crime noir and empty celebrity. Bukowski grew up here and saw it from a less cynical, more authentic down-to-earth vantage point.”
(Continued)

First Cabin ~ 46 E. Huntington Dr. ~ Arcadia

Three nights a week, the world’s greatest bar band play just a few short miles from downtown LA. Pat O’Brien is an LA guitar hero commandeering the tiny stage in front of the bar, playing for the packed crowd of grateful locals, worshipful musicians, and blues aficionados. The rhythm section keeps the beat and throws in some pyrotechnics of their own. Cash requests only.

La Cita ~ Los Angeles

Coach & Horses ~ 7617 W. Sunset Blvd. Hollywood, CA 90046 ~ (323) 876-6900

I still pray to Allah that the morning I woke up with a splitting hangover and two tampons shoved up my bleeding nostrils will remain my lowest point in life.

Over the years, through random accidents and unchecked aggression, I’ve been hit in the head with a brick, pint glass, alarm clock, a fist or five, and a baseball bat, among other solid objects that put a cataract in my left eye before I was 30. But I’d never lost a round of fisticuffs in my life until my second trip to Coach and Horses, one of my favorite bars in Hollywood. I was swollen with pride in those days, holding onto a long-standing record hovering above 20-0, with some pretty brutal competitions, including a four-on-one my no-account ex-girlfriend started, in which my New York neighborhood’s crackfiends declared me the victor. When all is said and done, despite bruised pride and a broken bone, I couldn’t think of a better place to get my ass kicked than Coach and Horses.
(Continued)