From LAStreetFoodFest.com

If you totally messed up and didn’t get your Valentine anything, want to binge away the memories of the jerk who jilted you, or simply have designs to blow your New Year’s resolutions to hell, then the first LA Street Food Festival is where you’re going to want to spend this Saturday afternoon.

In LA, street food reigns supreme, and our gourmet food trucks have been making headlines, with their rabid disciples quite literally following their every move via Twitter location updates. For one day, we Angelenos won’t have to play Cannonball Run with fate, as we chase after a grilled cheese sandwich in Universal City, a Korean taco in Culver City, and an ice cream sandwich at Sunset Junction.

The first Los Angeles Street Food Fest is parking at LA Center Studios tomorrow, Saturday, February 13th from 11AM-5PM, with gourmet trucks, authentic LA street food, and vendors from the Boyle Height’s Breed Street scene. General admission is $5. Any other questions? See you there.

From LAStreetFoodFest.com

Strange enough, I’ve actually loved the weather we’ve been having. Not only have I gotten to fall asleep to rain battering against window panes, I’ve gotten to hunker down with hot tea as I’ve watch lightening storms from my couch, legs wrapped in the afghan my Nana knit me. It’s a little bit of New England seasonality, without having to wake up at the crack of dawn to shovel out your car. It’s given me the change I’m accustomed to, the sharply cold nights my body occasionally craves, and it has left the city glimmering in freshly-washed renewal.

Truly, winter in LA is the city’s best-kept secret. The city loses its overcoat of smog and with the crisp air comes breathtaking views of snow-capped mountains above all of the lushness 15 inches of rain in three months inspires in the city below.

Earlier this week, we had a thunder storm that dumped half an inch of rain on Echo Park, and over three inches elsewhere in the city. I made pasta and hunkered down to work in my kitchen, enjoying the storm for its percussive qualities, but not daring to venture outside until my housemate asked me to check on a tent she had forgotten to take down. A dutiful friend and housemate, I donned my Wellies and my raincoat and made the venture outside, just as the sun began to break through the clouds. What I noticed first was the dazzlingly luminous, Maxfield Parrish-golden light, streaming out of pocket-sized breaks in the clouds. I ran in to grab my camera and what I saw was this:

A double rainbow! I don’t think I’ve ever seen one before. Unfortunately, I forgot to make a wish. If I had remembered, I would have wished for the safety of the people and homes in foothill communities of La Crescenta and La Cañada Flintridge. While I do romanticize the torrents of rain against my window, they mean something very different to those in the foothill communities.

Courtesy of Lissie's Myspace page

Lately, it seems Los Angeles has become a hub to an ever-growing collection of alt country artists. Great timing for me, an ardent fan of alt country and Americana music. One blazing young star in Los Angeles’ ever expanding milky way of hopeful starlets is Lissie Mauris.

Hailing from Rock Island, Ill she relocated to LA about five years ago and now resides in Ojai. And having gotten herself in with the right people who knew the right people who knew the right people who knew the right people, she scored herself a touring gig with Lenny Kravitz without so much as a debut CD.

With all the promise and charm of a young Jewel (give me all the flack you want, “Who Will Save Your Soul” is a good song), but without a hint of the affected optimism or naiveté, Lissie’s sound revels in the catharsis of heartbreak before she kicks it to the curb and moves on in a “take no prisoners” sort of way, with her tar and nicotine soaked vocals.

After hearing her on KCRW back in November, I downloaded her new EP “Why You Runnin’”. Listening to it is like taking a rambling roadtrip through the past five years of heartbreak and self-discovery in Lissie’s life.

The lyrics and music are great, but it’s Lissie’s vocals: a blend of raw refinement reminiscent of a Bonnie Raitt, Patty Griffith, Stevie Nicks, late-night, cigarette-smoking, slumber party that’s the real star of the CD. All of the songs are great, but the standout is a cover of Hank Williams’ “Wedding Bells”; a rendition so powerful and true it will send a chill down your spin, a knot in your stomach, and an ache in your heart.

Here, have a listen, why don’t you.

And here are some great originals that didn’t make it on her EP. Obsessed? Yes. What of it?

Your Chest
I Don’t Know

1. Tony Hale of Arrested Development fame, but that doesn’t count because he’s good friends with my friend Bob, so I forgot he was a celebrity. He was very cool though, and even went so far as to poke a little fun at my effervescence.
2. The douche bag from Maroon 5. Again, doesn’t count, because he sucks.
3. Rhea Perlman: Totally counts, because Carla ruled on Cheers and her children were adorable and well-behaved.

I’ve been told that, living in Echo Park, I’d have a few frequent freebies to notch it up with Chloe Sevigny and Vincent Gallo (what they lack in iconic star power they more than make up for in poor hygiene), but even they seem to elude me.

Some folks have said that if I go to porn shops I’ll run into Carrot Top. I don’t even know what to do with that information.

No other Catholic seems to have had the same All Souls’ Day experience as my brother and I did as kids. I can only assume my mother made up the tradition of leaving our shoes behind our bedroom doors the night of November 1, to wake with them filled with gifts from our ancestors who returned to earth the previous night to check in and protect us.

As I’ve read more about the history and traditions of All Souls’ Day, I’ve come to wonder if my mother changed the real meaning of the holiday around to be more comforting to my brother and me, and to be a way to teach us about our ancestors and deceased family members in a nurturing way. If not, that’s cool, Mom; if so, even cooler. Our celebration of All Souls’ Day inspired in me a deep curiosity and sincere connectivity to my great-grandparents and fostered a life-long interest in my cultural heritage and family history.

Anyway, because All Souls’ Day was regularly honored in my home, I’ve always been interested in Dia de los Muertos. For my first Day of the Dead in Los Angeles, I joined Ryan and some of his friends on a visit to Olvera Street, the oldest street in Los Angeles, and the epicenter of Latin American culture in Los Angeles.

Olvera Street, and Los Angeles, celebrate Dia de los Muertos for a full week, and on the night we went there were stunning family shrines, a religious procession of locals in full Day of the Dead regalia, and traditional Aztec dancing.

It was an incredible party and spectacle, but for me the most memorable part of it was the most modest of shrines. There were family shrines that were 10 feet tall, covered in marigolds, jewel encrusted skulls, religious icons, fruits, and flags. But the unassuming beauty of the shrine to Rodolfo Ernesto Gonzalez has haunted me for days.

Gone from his shrine was the pomp and pageantry of the other memorials. His was one that welcomed you into the life of a man that was so clearly simple in his love for his family and the love they gave back to him. R and I spent a good 10 minutes looking at his shrine, and fully feeling the meaning of the day and what it meant to the Gonzalez family.

Sappy, I know, but it’s the best kind of sappy possible. I promise you that. Oh, stop looking at me that way. I promise my next post will be edgier.