K. F.'s Profile

Super Shuttle in NYC is garbage. Do not use it. Or, if you do, be prepared to be standing on a sidewalk at about a quarter of five, fielding a call from a SS cog who nonchalantly informs you they are "busy today" and won't be "able" to send the van due 10 minutes ago. (Um, WTF was the point of making a reservation exactly?)

Then prepare to get laughed at by six consecutive cabbies whose shifts are moments from concluding. JFK where? JFK what? Beat it, lady.

Then, without proper Internet access, prepare to scramble for the phone number of a livery service available pronto.

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Fine. I'd eat here again (if my two other favorite sushi spots*, both located close to Shintaro, suddenly folded), but it is nothing special, contrary to the overstated, screaming body of praise found on this website.

The friend that chose Shintaro--with skepticism--based on Yelp ratings, declared before visiting, "If this place sucks, I'm done with Yelp."  After eating, said friend:  "I don't get it. All you need are tastebuds and a little familiarity with sushi to know that that's a 3 star place, not four or five. I'm not using Yelp anymore."

And that's all any bona fide sushi fan really needs to know about Shintaro: don't put your full faith in the 4.5 star rating.

Though the designer rolls were bland disappointments, the bases were covered: hamachi, salmon, scallop--all decent. But the slabs of fish seemed exceedingly generous (the platter as a whole looked a third fatter than what I'm used to looking at) which caused me to wonder "What's the deal with the fish that they can afford to give so much of it away?" Is it farmed in a Downey warehouse? Steroidal fish meal?

A strange crowd to be found here, too: lots of those scroungy, benefactor-looking fellows whose Saturday night dining company consists of a duo of two "Girls Next Door" type clones. Two tables of this type of trio there. Another table featured six raucous guys in their 20s carrying on like they're in a sports bar, inhaling pitcher after pitcher of cheap lager. The type of guys that just--sorry--look like they wouldn't know toro from their thumbs. And just a general mixed bag of folks who look like they haven't traveled beyond the confines of Doheny/Gower and Beverly/Franklin since about 1998. Because, what else is there to LA, besides, like, West Hollywood, The Strip and, like, the commercial touristy part of Hollywood, like?

So this is kind of the deal there.

*Tama Sushi - Studio City; En Sushi - Los Feliz

An exemplar of  the "one lap, one minute" class of overhyped retail. A brisk 60 second whiz through is all that's required.

You will like this store if you have a damaged (or no) imagination and a great deal of disposable income.

I found it somewhat fitting that "It's The End of the World As We Know It" was playing overhead during the minute of my life I wasted here.

So the deal with this place is that moving boxes cost half what they do at Box Brothers, U-Haul, elsewhere.

If you get certain items of big enough dimensions (e.g., wardrobe boxes) this can qualify your order for the "motor freight" shipping option, which, as it happens, is much cheaper than UPS Ground AND delivers the next day to metro LA (orders made before 6pm).

It killed me to have to use this place and its virgin boxes, but the reuseable, rentable, greentastic moving crate options in mid-2008 in this city are, to put it mildly, not economically viable. So if you have money to burn, enjoy forking it over to places like Rentacrate and Earth Friendly Moving (the former caters more to corporate moves; same for its pricing scale). If a reasonably-priced cardboard alternative option exists out there, someone please let me know what it is. A few hours of research over several days and I came up with nada. Depressing.

Consistently good food, and consistently a real scene. Bottom line: prices are quite steep and you may wish you'd brought earplugs, as it seems everyone here talks about something totally fucking stupid. Like their MySpace pages, or bemoaning how they need to "drop by Crash Mansion tonight and show my face." [Twentysomething Twirp sighs exasperatedly over the demands of her demanding career as music industry cog] I'd go here more if they built a No Speaking Allowed room.

The "fresh peach pie" needs to be renamed "freakshow fresh peach pie." Here's the recipe for "fresh peach pie":

1. Line a bowl with tasteless, greasy cobbler-like crumbles.
2. Slice a tasteless, tough, nectarine. Put in bowl.
3. Lob several tablespoons of gelatinous, peach-flavored binding agent on sad pile of no-flavor mutant fruit.
4. Attack bowl with ice cream and whipped cream.
5. Charge $5.75 for this pile of crap that looks like it was pulled from a pile of earthquake rubble.

Seriously--"fresh peach pie" here means "raw nectarine in a bowl of canned peach sludge."

People, you can't call this dish PIE.

Really great relish and onion dispensers here. Best dispensers around.

Great place to watch Manny get batting stage fright, too. 2 for 4? Get it together, man.

Hey, guess what? This isn't a Henri Bendel. It's a counterfeit fashion favela. You either get it or you don't. You either love it or hate it. You either find things that get you psyched or you don't. I personally like it. I would strongly advise against visiting on weekends as the thick crowds prohibit traveling at anything other than a glacial pace. Also the aroma of roasting sausage and peppers in the heat of the day? Utterly nauseating. There is a ton of crap here, but there is a ton of un-crap as well. I enjoy the stores that sell 99 cent jewelry and two dollar tank tops. Also when you get bored of this strip you can kill even more time wandering through the assload of button and fabric shops all around the immediate area. Obviously this will not appeal to most men, or at least not ones that are not gay or on Project Runway.

I would definitely go back here. It's majorly in the woods.  However, there is Internet access at the office, so you can tend to your online activities of paramount importance at least once a day and not have to deal with those pesky grand mal-caliber seizures that result from web withdrawal.

The whole place is dead quiet. Like most of the park the air smells divine at all times. Some of the cabins for rent allow dogs. The cabins come with DVD players and cable, which enhances the experience of being in nature. You can borrow DVDs from the office - they don't keep records or seem to care what you take, which is cool. They even have Errol Morris stuff. ~Wow!~

There is a country store in the compound, but a box of simple granola costs $7, crappy cheese like $5, and a tiny box of freaking grits like $4. Bring your own food.

When you are blow drying your hair in the morning you may see the reflection of a deer in the mirror, casually trotting past your bedroom window. There are a lot of deer around.

This particular lodging option seems better for groups of 4 or more.

Dude, go here. In the fall.
Everyone should see this place at least once per lifetime.
After it rains the dirt-pine-rain scent in the air is INSANE. Best thing I've ever smelled. In my entire life. Apart from a $35 A.P.C. candle called Jasmin Vert.