Archive

Archive for the ‘The Boulevardier’ Category

WHY IS ONE LITTLE SHOP OWNER BEING MOURNED SO DEEPLY? ONE WOMAN EXPLAINS WHAT SHE LOST WHEN PETE TOULIOS DIED

May 22, 2010 5 comments

PETE TOULIOS

[Pete Toulios, owner of Lil’ Devils boutique on 4th Street, passed away May 17 of still-undetermined causes. A reader of Redistricted! shares the light she lost when Pete passed away. For more remembrances, click here.]

BY ELIZABETH BRIGNONI

I met Pete Toulios at UC-Riverside, where we worked on a project for the “Healthy Families” study. Pete was one of the students who helped run that study. We got to know each other well. He was always there when I needed him and always there with something to say that would make you laugh.

My daughter, Ashley, used to say he looked like the singer in Sugar Ray. When I didn’t have a sitter I’d take my kids, Ashley and Ryan, with me, and he’s spend time with them. He’d go down in the elevator and shake it. Ashley got scared but she loved it and talked of it for years afterward. I told him I loved baklava and he brought me some. How wonderful that was of him. He cracked me up with his impressions of his mom having hot flashes. Read more…

IN REMEMBRANCE OF PETE TOULIOS, OWNER OF LIL’ DEVILS CHILDRENS BOUTIQUE, WHO MADE 4TH STREET MORE THAN SHOPPING

May 18, 2010 9 comments
PETE TOULIOS (ON THE RIGHT), 1977-2010

[EDITOR’S NOTE: Pete Toulios, 33-year-old owner of Lil’ Devils Children’s Boutique on 4th Street’s Retro Row, passed away Monday. Cause of death is unknown, but Pete had been posting reports of feeling poorly on his Facebook account. His last update: “My primary care doctor is sending me back off to the ER. Wish me luck.”]

BY ELLEN GRILEY
I knew Pete only casually—ours was an acquaintance made over credit card transactions and Facebook status updates—but he still made me feel like a friend. He was quick with a cute smile and a warm hug and, always, it seemed, an introduction to another friend. Whether he was inside his Fourth Street baby boutique, Lil’ Devils—or outside it, smoking—or at any of our many mutual haunts (Alex’s comes to mind), I never saw him standing alone.

In these run-ins, I was “Ellen” first—a friend-of-friends, a lifer,
part of Long Beach’s ever-expanding urban tribe of twenty-, thirty- and forty-something barflies, business owners and assorted creatives—and “editor of The District” second. That with Pete there was a difference between the two put me at ease in a way few others on the advertiser-friend continuum could manage. He was charming.

Read more…

‘UP IN SMOKE” AT ART THEATRE TONIGHT: HELP DISTRICT WEEKLY’S UNPAID FREELANCERS WITH A HAZY TRIP DOWN MEMORY LAME

April 19, 2010 11 comments

CHONG & CHEECH

How did 420—otherwise translated as April 20 or 4/20…or more to the point, today—become known internationally as the day to celebrate the healing/relaxing/inspiring/cotton-mouthing/squinty-eying/Snoop-Dogging characteristics of cannabis? Why do we so anxiously await Fatty Tuesday?

Contrary to many myths, 420 has nothing to do with police code for pot-smoking, the number of active chemicals in marijuana, Hitler’s birthday, the Columbine shooting or tea-time in Amsterdam.

It’s because Ellen Griley, editor of The District Weekly until its owners suddenly folded it last month and left most freelancers unpaid, chose 420—or April 20 or 4/20…or more to the point, tonight—as the date of an Art Theatre benefit for those freelancers: a screening of Cheech & Chong’s 1978 hilarious cannabis comedy classic, “Up In Smoke.” Read more…

ARTHUR J. PAUL DIED OF A WHOLE BUNCH OF STUFF, BUT THE LIST DID NOT INCLUDE REGRET

April 2, 2010 6 comments

"ARTHUR'S BACK YARD" (Rosheila Robles photo)

My wonderful old friend, Arthur J. Paul, died early this morning—of bone cancer, congestive heart failure, double pneumonia, some kind of enzymes thing in his kidneys or was it his liver and I think at least one other thing, and as I recite this list I can almost hear Arthur cutting me off with the kind of bottom-line summary that he preferred to long litanies of any kind of problem. “David!” he’d say in the air-horn voice that kept things moving on the construction sites he oversaw most of his 75 years. “The body isn’t made to work forever. The parts get old, they wear down, people die.” Arthur J. Paul was sentimental that way. Read more…

Categories: The Boulevardier