EV Grieve Etc.: Transparency for LLCs; Cinematic tribute to Harry Dean Stanton

[Photo on 2nd Avenue Tuesday by Derek Berg]

Sen. Hoylman wants to make it illegal for powerful interests to hide behind LLCs (Town & Village)

Activists celebrate passage of tenant protection legislation (The Lo-Down)

God's Love We Deliver serves its 20 millionth meal; East Village resident is the recipient of milestone meal (ABC 7)

DOT apparently not feeling a transit-only 14th Street during the L train shutter (Streetsblog)

Hells Angel accused of shooting man for moving parking cone died last month of a brain aneurysm (New York Post ... previously on EVG)

A visit to Spark Pretty on Ninth Street (Gothamist ... previously on EVG)


[Photo on 3rd Avenue Wednesday by Derek Berg]

Some history outside the Mud Cafe storefront (Off the Grid)

Debbie Harry's early East Village apartment (Time Out)

At the screening for "Hunting Pignut" at MoRUS last week (Slum Goddess)

Little Tong Noodle Shop on First Avenue at 11th Street is now open for lunch from 11:30 a.m. to 2:30 p.m. Tuesday through Friday (Instagram)

The latest mural on the Bowery Wall promotes Instagram’s #KindComments campaign (BoweryBoogie)

A long read on Gino Sorbillo, "Italy’s most famous pizzamaker," who’s coming to 334 Bowery (Eater ... previously on EVG)

The Harry Dean Stanton retrospective continues (Quad Cinema)

First renderings revealed for Essex Crossing's second phase (Curbed)

"Big Trouble in Little China" and "Chinatown" among this weekend's highlights at the Metrograph (Official site)

When Velvet Underground’s "Venus in Furs" was used in a commercial for car tires (Dangerous Minds)

...and we heard from a few people who were curious about the mystery East Village restaurant that serves as the setting for the mostly unreadable Kate McKinnon cover story in the new Vanity Fair:

Kate and I are meeting for lunch, naturally, and she’s suggested a place in the East Village. I can’t say the name because I promised Kate I wouldn’t. (It’s a best-kept secret, only it wouldn’t be if I blabbed, is the idea.) Technically it’s a restaurant, though “restaurant” seems like too highfalutin a term to convey its essence. “Hole-in-the-wall” might be nearer the mark, “dump” nearer still: linoleum floor, laminated menus, Asian-y pop music on the speakers (“Asian-y” is as close as I’ll get to giving away its identity—see, Kate, I didn’t break my word), ceiling fan moving the thick, soupy air around some without cooling it any. Yet the food is as good as the ambience is bad, as I will soon discover when a guy, a waiter I assume though he’s in street clothes, flings on the table first Kate’s dish and then, following a discreet dick adjustment, mine.

H/T Brian Van!