Enough Said!

As one might infer, the recession has been especially hard on retailers. Without paying customers many business have been forced to either close certain locations or go out of business entirely. This has resulted in a surfeit of commercial and retail space available for rent. In fact, it appears that things have gotten so bad that historically ultra-swanky locations which never have vacancies, now do. As such, if you were to stroll down Rodeo Drive or Robertson Blvd. north of Third Street, both in Beverly Hills, you would notice many "for lease" signs. And outside of those two streets, if you were to canvass available retail locations in most of Beverly Hills and parts of West Hollywood you would notice many more.

Since I walk Elke in those locals every morning, I have certainly noticed all those signs. I see them in strip malls, gas stations, stand alone buildings and ground floor retail spaces up and down Pico, Olympic, Wilshire, Beverly and Robertson. Besides inciting within me apprehension of our coming economic apocalypse, I have also noticed that most of those signs list the same two commercial brokers. One works for CB Richard Ellis and the other, BRC Advisors.

I see their names everywhere. I can't get them out of my head. Who are these guys? Why are their names on these signs? They seem to singlehandedly control all the commercial real estate for rent in Beverly Hills and West Hollywood. Don't these companies have any other commercial brokers? Are they even real? These guys must be ubermensch, titans, supreme beings with unimaginable powers! How else could they represent so many lessors? Well, today we shall find out.

Houman Mahboubi and Jay Luchs, be you mortals or Gods??

These days SUVs have fallen out of favor. Some say it was the $4 a gallon gas last summer that pretty much did them in. Until that time, American automakers basically binged on SUVs since they had plump and luscious profit margins in great excess of passenger cars. The first round of SUVs were essentially body-on-frame jobs with live rear axels and true four wheel drive; very similar to the design of pick-up trucks. The first generation Ford Explorer from 1990 is a good example.

As the market evolved and manufactures realized that these things were basically used to shuttle the kids to school and make the occasional trip to Home Depot, SUVs became more refined. Unibody construction was the norm as well as more sophisticated suspensions and less unwieldy four wheel drive systems termed all wheel drive. These SUVs were known as cross-overs since their chassis designs had more in common with sedans and station wagons rather than with pick-up trucks. They could not go off-road but they weren't intended to. A good example is the Lexus RX which debuted in 1997.

Currently there is a new crop of SUVs that blur the line even further. They are the cross-over's cross-over. They seem to posses the worst of both worlds, having the weight and fuel consumption of an SUV but the space and cargo capacity of a sports coupe. BMW pioneered this niche with its 2009 X6 SAV (Sports Activity Vehicle). All I can say is that's some kind of Nazi sleigh ride.

I never really liked SUVs. They are big, bulky and the early versions seemed to drive like that thing the Clampetts had when they pulled into Beverly Hills after discovering black gold. I think the term for it was a jalopy. Ma Clampett basically sat on the roof in her rocking chair and a shot gun.

But there is one SUV that still reigns supreme in my book. It was built before the SUV craze even came into its own. Built before the BMW X6, the Lexus RX and the Ford Explorer. It's the original SUV if you will, an SUV in its purest form, the origin of the species, Lucy. And it's head and shoulders above anything that has come after it.

The Lamborghini LM 002.

Way back in 1986 Lamborghini set out to build itself an SUV. It was originally designed as a military vehicle which Lamborghini had hopes of selling to the US military. The prototype version, designed in 1977, had a rear mounted Chrysler V-8. Unfortunately, it was rejected by the US military since the rear mounted engine resulted in many unfavorable handling characteristics for an off road vehicle, which one might expect with an engine in the back. Lamborghini, undeterred by such rejection, had the smart idea of moving the engine to the front and installing the same V-12 used in the Countach. This production model debuted at the 1986 Brussels Auto Show. It did zero to sixty in six and a half seconds. It offered full leather trim, power everything and even a high-end stereo mounted in the roof console. It also had special Scorpion tires commissioned by Lamborghini from Pirelli exclusively for the LM 002. Not only were they of run flat design but were offered with two tread designs, one for mixed use and one for sand only. To cope with traveling long distances between refueling it had a 76 gallon tank. And lastly, for those who desired even more power than the 445 horse power Countach engine, it could be ordered with a 7.2 liter marine V-12, an engine usually found in Cigarette boats i.e. those boats they use to smuggle drugs as seen on Miami Vice. They called it the Rambo Lambo.

Naturally, a two and a half ton, V-12 engined, four wheel drive Lamborghini with tires as wide as the Persian Gulf, a gas tank the size of a small water tower and fuel consumption on par with an M1 Abraham's tank had wide appeal. As such it was predominately marketed to wealthy middle eastern sheiks. The wide tires, oversized radiator and six Weber carburetors were ideal for traveling extended distances in extreme heat and over the mountain sized sand dunes of the arabian peninsula. Plus only a middle eastern oil baron could afford the galling amounts of fuel the surly V-12 engine demanded. The Saudi army ordered 40 and Muammar al-Gaddafi ordered 100. The Saudi and Libyan versions had a hatch over the rear seats so that a solider could lean over the roof, presumably with his AK-47. Even Uday Hussein had one, until the US Army blew it up to simulate the effects of a car bomb. Idi Amin would have bought one for sure.

I first saw an LM 002 in Palm Springs when I was 10 years old. It was on display at the Empire Polo Club during a polo match. While my parents watched Prince Charles play polo in some kind of exhibition match I wandered over to marvel at its rugged and menacing design. After climbing into the rear bed to sit, it had four seats in the bed, I noticed that it was unlocked, so I got in. The leather was softer than the skin of a premature baby and the passenger compartment smelled better than a Goyard briefcase. The compartment was also festooned with buttons and switches on the front console and the roof. I think I pushed every one of them, twice. After half an hour someone spotted me fussing with the buttons kicked me out and locked the doors. That was the last time I've even been near an LM 002. And 21 years later I still want one. Some might frown on the idea wanting a car predominately owned by dictators, megalomaniacs and drug king pins. But I think it just adds to the cache. Whose going to cut me off on the streets of LA in this thing? And if they do I'll just make Ayesha open the rear hatch, stand up and brandish her AK.

Today, in 2010, 24 years after the LM, there are several SUVs that can probably match the performance of the LM 002. The Porsche Cayenne Turbo, the Range Rover Sport Super Charged, the Mercedes GL 500 Gelandewagen AMG and the Jeep Grand Cherokee XRT8 are all faster and the Porsche and Range Rover have even more sumptuous interiors. The GL is probably the most similar in spirit to the LM since it too was originally designed with military use in mind. But none of them evoke the sheer terror of the Rambo Lambo. It's extreme angles and enormous girth announce its nefarious intentions. Which car would you use to invade a small country with, the LM or a Range Rover? There's no contest. It's on par with a Humvee, before there was even such a thing as a Humvee (the civilian version did not come out until 1992). In fact it's what the Humvee was based off of after the US military passed on the LM. There's not much else I can say about the LM 002, so I won't. I'll let Jeremy Clarkson do it for me.

Yes, I have been away for a while. Ditching the blog job so that I can presumably entertain the Facebook community with Chuck Norris jokes. I didn't even realize that my last post was in December after the LA Auto Show. It's now April. In that time, Ayesha and I celebrated New Years with the Dugdales, Parks and Chofonsos in Palm Springs.

Jay and I went to the Palm Springs Film Festival.

Ayesha and I had our (second) wedding in Puerto Vallarta.

Vijal and Melena got married.

I watched some tennis in Palm Springs.

And Ayesha and I went skiing with the Paeskes in Mammoth.

Now I am bored out of my mind and selling stuff online.

If you need some dresses (Ayesha's), skis, ski boots or tire chains, you know who to contact.

I made my annual pilgrimage with Ayesha to the LA Auto Show this past Sunday. In keeping with tradition, Ayesha snapped a photo of me in the biggest pick-up truck I could find. Here I am at the LA Auto Show in 2004:

The NYC Auto Show 2004:

LA 2007 (the LA Auto Show moved from a Jan to Dec format in 2006 but for some reason I failed to take the requisite photo in 2006 and I think I refused to take pictures in 2005 since we were living in San Diego at the time so I went to the San Diego Auto Show which I deemed simply pathetic):

LA 2008:

and this year, LA 2009:

I think I have pictures in a big pick-up that go back even farther but they were pre digital camera. It's obvious to anyone who knows me that I am a car guy. I love going to the Auto Show and look forward to it every year. It's better than Christmas. And if you have ever attended with me (mostly Dave, sometimes Zach, sometimes Sunil G., always Ayesha) you know that I will go to every room, check out every manufacturer and sit in almost any car I can. I always start with Porsche (I generally don't eat dessert first but Porsche is my crack) and then work my way to the aftermarket room. It is usually a three to four hour ordeal for those who attend with me.

The big pick-up tradition started when I realized what an absurd vehicle it truly is. I usually gravitate towards a duallie (the ones with four wheels in the back, two on each side) because it represents the pinnacle of the genus. Here is a truck that can seat a family of six (when in crew cab form), posses an engine upwards of 7 liters and tow in excess of 24,000 pounds. That's more than five Range Rovers or two mobile homes (aka a Kentucky mansion). A fully decked out Ford F-450 Super Duty King Ranch edition starts at $56,000 and can go north of $70,000 when fully loaded. That's a $70,000 pick-up truck!!! Unless you are in the business of hauling logs, transporting horses (at least more than 4 at a time), towing big-rigs or participating in demolition derbies, owning such a vehicle seems pointless. You can't parallel park the thing, it wont fit in many parking garages, and it takes up the entire lane and more so on narrow roads. Not that I care too much about gas consumption but these things can guzzle gas or diesel to the tune of 10-12 miles per gallon. I think the only thing worse on consumption is an M1 Abraham's tank or that thing that carries the space shuttle to the launch pad. That is why this picture is simply preposterous.

Notice the little green leaf on that 5.7 liter power stroke turbo diesel. Are you telling me this rig is green, like the Toyota Prius? REALLY???????

Why I pick on the duallie here is that it's emblematic of what's wrong with American car industry and explains why this was probably the worst LA Auto Show I have been to in my roughly 15 years of attending. Unless you have hiding in a cave in Afghanistan with Osama Bin Laden you are no doubt aware that the American auto industry has been hammered lately. Both GM and Chrysler ended up taking TARP money after years of making horrible horrible cars and SUVs. If you want to know how bad Chrysler made cars, read this review by Dan Neil, a professional car critic for the LA times, about the Chrysler Sebring (and that was in 2007, when Chrysler was just acquired by Cerberus, before the shit hit the fan). All three auto makers chased the higher profit margins associated with pick-up trucks and SUVs at the expense of investing in R&D with respect to their other offerings. When gas prices exploded (maybe because of market manipulation by Goldman Sachs according to Matt Taibbi) sales of gas guzzling SUVs and pick-up trucks plummeted. Sadly, the big three had no where to turn to make up for those lost profits since they had neglected their automotive segment for so long. Then Fannie and Freddie were bailed out, Lehman folded, Merril hit the skids, AIG got bailed out, Wamu failed, Wachovia went caput, TARP kicked in, Iceland returned to the stone age etc. etc. etc. and we found our selves in the great recession.

The duallie is a wonderful example, years in the making, of those management follies. It's a hulking mass of metal, steel and plastic clocking in at over 19,000 pounds GVWR in some iterations, sucking gas faster than we can pump it, and priced as much as a 911 Carrera (again, to be fair, in some iterations and assuming you get a base 911). When we were all flush with home equity lines of credit, ordering bottles of Crystal at Dorsia, flying first class and regularly attending the state fair and rodeo, maybe this was a calculating purchase. Now, who is going to buy this? In Europe the duallie is a mythical creature as rare as a unicorn or an un-doctored photo of Nessie (that's the Loch Ness Monster for you non Loch Ness enthusiasts).

So, that brings us to this year's show. The big item for Porsche was its new four seater, the Panamera. In a better economy there would have been great fanfare with kooky things like a full cutaway of the car and lots of old Porsches, maybe even a lineup of old four door Porsche concepts. This year there was none of that. Only one old Porsche on display and a few Boxtsers, Caymans and Carreras. But they did have a few Panameras and even one that you could sit in (which for me was the highlight of the whole day). Overall though it was clear that money is tight for the global auto industry. Manufactures that normally bring their entire line-up of cars remained parsimonious, bringing only a mixed smattering and using less exhibition space to do so. And Nissan and their high end Infinity brand were missing all together. Nissan is a huge global automaker so it definitely says something when they choose to forgo displaying their cars at what is arguably the birth place of the automotive market in the U.S. In the usually overflowing room of super high end exotics there was no Lamborghini, Bugatti, Ferrari or Maseratti. Again this is lamentable since Southern California is a vary large market for those makes. Since Saturn is effectively dead (no buyers) they were gone and it is clear Mercedes has killed the Maybach brand since one was no where to be found. Even the over-the-top aftermarket room usually full of exotic cars with flashy rims and stereos, lifted 4x4 vans, van conversions, celebrity cars and sellers hawking everything from toy cars to auto polish and wallets was subdued. In years past the whole aftermarket convention space has been filled. This year it was about half full with the other half turned into a "kidzone," whatever that is. So I guess all I can say was that going to the LA Auto Show this year felt like hoping to go to Disneyland, but ending up at Santa's Village in July. I blame the fucking duallie.

Saturday night was the last party ever at 1818. The last dance if you will. Some of you are probably asking yourselves (which I think is just Ayesha at this point so this sentence and this post is basically irrelevant), what the fuck is 1818? So as not to keep you in suspense (note that I didn't even sneak another sentence in, but I did sneak in this ellipses), 1818 refers to 1818 Camden Ave., Apartment # 301 (not to be confused with gayteen eighteen located in San Diego, which is a story for another post). 1818 was the on again off again home of Candy and John for over 12 years. That's right, Candy lived in 1818 since the late 1990s. John used it as his west coast abode back when he was bicoastal but moved there permanently in 2003 (some say he ran out of money, others that he ran out of energy and still others that he ran out of excuses [to Candy] but those are the haters, I think he did it for the weather, and Candy). And there is about a 75% chance that someone you know has probably lived at 1818. This is because at some point basically every one of Candy and John's friends has done a stint at 1818 (we have secret tattoos, you don't want to know where John's is). In fact if you haven't lived at 1818 then you probably can't be friends with Candy or John (and since it is no more, you never will be).

Like the age of man compared to the dawn of the cosmos, my story is just a small part of 1818. For me it began in the spring of 2002. I was an aimless third year law student about to graduate from USC. I was still reeling from the break up of a long term relationship which ended before school began and spent most of the year getting drunk amongst my peers at various bars, taking my shirt off (while inside said bars) and kicking stuff (sometimes inside and sometimes outside of said bars). A young girl by the name of Ayesha took notice of this behavior and was intrigued. Besides my perfectly coiffed hair which she marveled at during class, she wanted to know more. As she lived at 1818 (having moved there during her third year of law school) she would confide in Candy and Deb about her secret (or not so secret depending on whom you talk to) crush on yours truly. She was also somehow aware that I was an avid tennis player. Thus, after several months of pining, she devised an elaborate subterfuge. She determined that if she convinced me to teach her how to play tennis, I would have to spend time with her. She set her trap one spring day in antitrust class. After class ended she walked up to my chair and commented on my fine hair and then inquired as to my apparently legendary tennis skills. She also made mention of her desire to learn to play the game (note that Candy does a wonderful impression of Ayesha speaking to me that day). I, being a reasonable individual with average tennis ability and lower than average ability to spot flirtatious behavior, agreed to teach her.

Several days later I found myself at 1818 for the first time. I remember thinking how spacious it was with its many balconies, large living room, separate dining room and three separate bedrooms. There was even a nook for an office. Never before had I seen an apartment so large. And since it was on the top floor it had high ceilings and plenty of light. It easily accommodated Candy, Ayesha and Isaac and Deb (they shared the third bedroom). As the months progressed (with no tennis lessons mind you) I spent more and more time at 1818. I visited Ayesha, attended parties thrown by Candy and Ayesha and over the summer studied for the bar there. Those times when I stayed late and did not want to drive (due to exhaustion or inebriation, mostly inebriation) I would sleep on one of the many couches strewn about the living room (I was a gentleman). Then at some point I started staying in Ayesha's bedroom. And then I went back to sleeping on the couch (I was a little confused).

I became a de facto member of 1818 in early 2003. My roommate in Santa Monica had moved out and I needed to find a new roommate or apartment. My genius idea was to live at my parents beach house in Laguna Beach and commute to downtown Los Angeles. This lasted about two weeks. In short order I brought most of my clothes to 1818 and moved in. I was charged a modest rent of $100 a month by Candy (but collected by Ayesha). It is a testament to the camaraderie engendered by 1818 as there were no real squabbles (at least while I was there) even with five people living in one space, four of them living together as couples to boot (Candy did get mad one time when Ayesha and I failed to clean up the living room after a night of partying; she cleaned it up herself, yelled at us and cried and we never crossed the Fist again). Sometimes when John would visit from New York there were three couples under one roof all living in dirty hippie commune harmony (except that three of us were lawyers, one was a day trader/investment manager, one was a therapist and one was a location scout, so more like a yuppie commune).

I went back to school in the fall of 2003 in New York City and moved out of 1818 for the school year. Ayesha remained in Los Angeles during that time, continuing to live at 1818. The week I moved out, John moved in. I believe this is when the no shoes policy began to be strictly enforced. All shoes were to be deposited in the hallway or very near the entrance just inside 1818. I noticed that even the most macho of men were humbled when forced to remove their shoes thereby revealing their dirty feet or holed socks. Also, began a new era of hyper cleanliness. It is postulated that John vacuumed at least every day. Glasses would disappear into the dishwasher and bottles and cans into the trash can moments after a beverage was consumed. I think he had a holster for windex and 409 bottles since things seemed be wiped down continuously. This also might have been when the roof rats were discovered. Rats, living on the roof! Late at night they would scratch and scuttle about eating fallen fruit and even the asphalt lining of the roof itself. As I visited about once every other month and during vacations while in school I was treated to their nocturnal bacchanalias several times.

I was able to log a few more months in 1818 in the summer of 2004 after returning from school. Jobless, I spent the days with John, who taught me and Chris how to golf at the driving range, reading books and generally doing nothing. Deb and Isaac had moved out so it was just me, Ayesha, Candy and John. Sadly, Ayesha and I moved out in August 2004 when I got a new job in San Diego. This was the first time I believe that Candy and John lived alone at 1818. When we returned to Los Angeles in 2006 we got our own apartment. Part of me secretly wished that we could move back in to 1818 to relive those halcyon days.

There is much to the story of 1818 which was before my time. Isaac, Deb, Anand, Chris C., the Major and others lived there too. If Candy were to read this I am sure there are many tales she could contribute which would dwarf this account. As for me I will remember the Christmas parties, New Year's eve's parties, the random nights when we intended to leave but didn't, smoking on the balcony until the wee hours of the morning, our ill fated poker nights, listening to the roof rats, counting the smoking deaths for the year, ashing in the succulents, healing hands, the dulcet sound of the wine fridge and as the place where I fell in love.

That last night, we danced, wore our shoes inside (the highlight of the night) poured beer on the carpet and even smoked and ashed our cigarettes inside. Many of the 1818 faithful returned to celebrate its passing and we got about as drunk and twisted in the place as we ever did in our twenties. It was a fitting end to say the least.

Of course, 1818 was just a place. A mid 90's apartment in a random building in west Los Angeles with termites and roof rats. One of hundreds of the same design in this city I am sure. The memories may be connected with the place but clearly they are what they are because of the people. And that isn't dead, it's at the new "1818", in Brentwood. Make sure to remove your shoes when you come over.

This Halloween I was Yannick Noah. A total of two people figured it out. I was aware that it was a somewhat esoteric choice, but I guess I underestimated how few tennis fans there are these days, or perhaps I should say so few tennis fans in the United States these days. At any rate I chose Yannick Noah because he was just so damn cool. He wore dreadlocks, he could return overhead lobs by running back and hitting the ball between his legs and he smoked weed.

He won the French Open in 1983 and has been the only Frenchman since then to have done so. At one point he was ranked number 3 in the world. I remember watching him play at Indian Wells in 1989 with my Dad, 20 years ago!!! He sported Le Coq Sportif everything, including his tennis racket, and spoke English with a smooth French accent. When he won the French Open he hugged his dad and cried.

Noah also played on the French Davis Cup team for 11 years. He was captain of the French team that won the Davis Cup in 1991 and 1996. He was also captain of the French Fed Cup team that won it in 1997. In 2005 he was admitted to the International Tennis Hall of Fame. Here is the picture I took when I visited. Amazing Arc, Yes!

Here I am with the first guy who recognized that I was Yannick. Clearly he has very discriminating taste as he was supposed to be a Formula One driver who died in a car crash. Only the truly erudite watch Formula One (mostly Euros). And you can't knock his wife for being the Heineken girl (note: they may have only been drinking Heineken).

This guy also recognized me as Yannick. I think he was a French Commando. It does not need to be said that the French love him (although I just said it). He is a national hero.

These days, Yannick is an international pop-star and restauranteur. He has put out several albums including Black or What, Yannick Noah and Charango. If you are ever at Saint Barthelemy i.e Saint Barts in the French West Indies go eat at Do Brazil. Also, his son, Joakim Noah, played basketball at the University of Florida in the 2006 and 2007 seasons and was the 9th overall draft pick in the NBA draft. He is currently with the Chicago Bulls.