When it comes to tamales, the lowly and simple elote variety never seem to get the respect they deserve. You’d be hard pressed to find them at the usual locations where you get the big boys of the tamal scene; the puercos, polllos, and queso filled maiz tubes rule the roost. So when I saw this sign for just tamales de elote at the Raspados Nayarit I had to give them a try. Let’s take a closer look…
I’ve criticized the influx of new and expensive lofts into LH a few times before, mostly because they tend to be poorly planned “renovations” of existing properties just to make a buck for some developer. And of course for the way they lead to the displacement of the poor, in a simple fuck-you-i-own-this-now sorta way. But some time ago I was walking by one of these new lofts and decided to take a quick look around from the outside, just to get a glimpse of all that fine living I’m forced to do without. And I took a few pics! So here goes, a short list of luxuries that the non-loft dwelling Lincoln Heightsian must do without.
1. I always assumed only the poor had to live in houses made of tin sheets, but I guess poor is the new rich. Picture a backyard storage shed, but expand it a bit and add some large windows to let the hot hot sun come shining in, and you got yourself a loft. Oh yeah, but paint the wall all crazy and creative. Classy!
Nobody is a fan of trash on the sidewalk. But that little bit of trash might be the most insignificant part of the real story. Sometimes, people are forced to leave in a hurry. Or maybe they are ordered to leave. Fast. Not sure what the situation with this sporty car bed is, but coupled with lots of bags of clothing, something tells me some kid had to give up his favorite racing car bed.
It might just be trash, but it still may hold a story.
A quick update to some stuff happening around the LH. I found out, in a very obvious way, that the DWP office has moved…
I had some Westsider friends that once did a report for a fairly big magazine about some stuff in Boyle Heights. It was weird to read it because it was all a lie, created basically out of thin air with some details provided by yours truly. (I always help friends in need. Well, almost always.) I chuckled at one particular part they added to the story that seemed like an especially cliched stereotype of Mexican neighborhoods, the sort of reality that only exists in the minds of outsiders. But there I was this morning at an LH eatery, waiting for my plate of Huevos a la Mexicana (hey, a man can’t live on Huevos Rancheros alone!) when all of a sudden…
(Click on the picture for a larger version. Err, I meant to say, click to humungify-quadrupulate-embiggen-yowzify-ginormousitize. I gotta get with the times! Or maybe not.)
I doubt I’ll ever need their services, but if I ever did get super scared of my neighborhood and wanted to install black bars/gates to keep the chusma out, I think I’d try to find out the info on the people that did the fine work for this lil’ pickup truck. That sure is some fancy metal cutting. I’m always impressed by the various ways working people show their creativity; it might not be a book, a painting, or something on film, but the DIY spirit always manages to wriggle itself into the sunlight, despite all the constraints the lack of money tends to impose.
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