So I'd gotten out of my PJs and into my car, driven the freeways east of the 405, and found a place to park in the Fairfax district.  Allison Ander's "Don't Knock the Rock" Film Fest had wrapped, and things had gone well.  I'd met the kewl crew of the Silent Movie Theater and discovered that Allison Anders is a lovely person in real life.  I'd discovered that James Trussart was more than just Danny B. Harvey's French sidekick.

But any journey east of the 405 requires at least three adventures or the drive is a total waste.  Adventure number one was over, and adventure number two was about to start.

Danny B. Harvey had said he'd join me for dinner at Canter's.  Plus we'd recruited Canadian director Melissa James and her boyfriend to join us.  The Canadians seemed like amusing dinner companions.  They were festively dressed, sarcastic, and insisted on walking everywhere.

I knew I liked Melissa when I first spotted her outside the Silent Movie Theater, asked for a cheesecake pose, and got this:


Then I learned that her boyfriend, Peter, was also from Canada (the country that, as everyone knows, breeds the world's best husbands).  Not only that, Peter's a software nerd (as Melissa puts it "One person in every couple should be stable."  That's hot).  Not only THAT, Peter is HUNGARIAN!  Clearly, Melissa has excellent taste.


No one in our party really knew anyone else and Canter's serves giant sandwiches and alcohol, so everything was on track.

Left to right, Peter, Melissa, Danny B. Harvey, and one of LA's homeless.

The food at Canter's was good, but the best part was our waitress, Amy.  While I was snidely telling Melissa how no waiters in LA ever recommend something on the menu because they're all actors who never eat, Amy (who's from New York) proved me wrong with a mouthful of snide comments of her own and excellent recommendations:


During dinner, we all learned something about Danny B. Harvey: he spends more time on his cell phone than a Tokyo teenager.

Danny B. Harvey didn't get off that damn cell phone all night.  But who could blame him?  Danny B. Harvey's cell phone was on fire.  He got calls and text messages every five minutes from globe trotting rocker friends sending him pictures of obscene graffiti from the bathroom stalls at Bimbo's and tips on where to go that night.

One call that came in while we were at Canter's was from Danny's roommate James...who was calling from backstage at the Greek Theater with Ringo Starr...to say he'd hooked up Danny B. Harvey with a backstage pass.  Danny B. Harvey turned it down.  For some reason, Danny B. Harvey was determined to head down Fairfax from Canter's to the Farmer's Market to check out Mark Christian's Ranch Party show.

I'd never heard of Mark Christian's Ranch Party show.  The Canadians had never heard of Mark Christian's Ranch Party show.  But Danny B. Harvey was giving up Ringo Starr -- a Beatle -- to go to Mark Christian's Ranch Party show.  So come hell or high water, we were all determined to join Danny B. Harvey at the Ranch Party show.  Plus we wouldn't have to move our cars.


The Ranch Party show was actually kind of boring, but it had beer.


And apparently Danny B. Harvey knows everyone in California who's ever plugged in an amplifier, so all we had to do to meet interesting characters was stand next to Danny B. Harvey.  Here's Danny B. Harvey buddies Ranch Party producer Mark Christian and KXLU's DJ Cowboy Nick...


And Danny B. Harvey's cousin, Jenna Ross of RueKill with her boyfriend from a band called Green Jello?  Green Slime?  Green Goddess?  I can't remember.  But they were totally sweet kids:


The hipsters had a fine night out at the Ranch Party:

And so did we...but there were more stops to come!