SBE - South Bay of Los Angeles | Hermosa, Manhattan and Redondo Beach

Blogs

The South Bay According to MB:

7/1/09

I want to punch the Knob Hill Bike Thief right in the face:

Dear Knob Hill Bike Thief,

Ahhhhhh!!! I understood when you stole my silver Nirve cruiser. That thing was sweet. A little scratched up, probably could have used a tune-up, but all-in-all a damn theft worthy ride. But, my crap-tastic mountain bike? Really with that!!!?

First of all you could have gotten a shiny new version of the same bike at Target for like $100. It’s a terrible bike. Why would you steal it? And what did you do with my NIRVE!? Jesus man everyone knows you don’t trade in a Trek for a Huffy. Ass.

Second of all here is just a short list of things wrong with your latest “score.”

The front brake cable is broken.
The rear brake pads are worn to the nubs.
The chain is a stretched and rusted relic.
Forget 7th gear. That doesn’t work either.
The back rim is tweaked.
It creaks and groans like a haunted house.

4/1/09

Remember that time I owned you in Flip-Cup?

That was the best! It was a Friday night and everyone agreed to meet at Poop Deck for dollar pitcher night. My friends and I lined up around the center bar, listening to that random country song they always play, anxious to get our hands on warm stale Bud in jumbo-sized Styrofoam cups. We were a few precious spots from the promise land when you and your homies walked in looking like someone scanned pictures of Vin Diesel, faux-hawks, too tight Affliction t-shirts, and designer jeans into a computer and Weird Scienced a six-pack of perfect Douche Bags.

The fat dude you were hanging out with (the one wearing a tangerine colored polo with the collar flipped up, who we later learned was appropriately nicknamed Meathead) failed to notice the line and sauntered up to the bar where he slapped a credit card on the counter and blurted out “round of Jaeger bombs. Keep it open.” The bartender looked at you like your dog just shit on his lawn and the forty or so locals in the bar simultaneously rolled their eyes creating a barely audible noise that finally got your attention. A voice of reason from the line behind me said, “Beer only, cash only, Chief.” To which you predictably replied “what kind of bar doesn’t take cards” and laughed that laugh that begs for acknowledgement. You didn’t get it.

Armed with 14 giant Styro-beers and a backpack full of keg cups we headed out back to lay claim to the round table and if possible the low-level brick table. The Flip-Cup crowd was strong that night. We got a challenge from a team of chicks who went school in Chico and could probably drink us all under the table. But overall it was another night of line’em up knock’em down. You and your crew were lingering, stringing together sentences full of nothing in voices loud enough to prove your existence. You might as well have been throwing chum in pools of spilt beer. We called you over to the table. Offered up the challenge. Gave you your shot at an Al Michaels “do you believe in miracles!” victory on the hallowed cracked cement grounds of the Poop Deck.

It was six on six, best 3 out of 5, winner buys the next round. Our teams matched cups and you and I were paired up. The first two rounds were standard. Everyone on my team either one-flipped or two. Your team punched the cups high off the table, dropped them on the ground, tried to start open-side down, it was embarrassing in its predictability. The third round is where things got interesting.

Meathead and my boy James were up first, you and I were the anchors. Meathead pounded his beer without a cheers or a tap. We let that foul go. You needed the head start. My team was unpredictably off. Yours was unpredictably on. People were standing on the benches around the sides cheering us on. It was deafening and nerve shattering. You and I started in a virtual tie. We slammed our beers. Dropped the cups to the table. Flipped. My cup tumbled over, rattled, tilted, landed! Yours crashed against the empty Styrofoam cups and somehow someway landed open-side down. You threw your hands in the air and excitedly shouted, “Backstop!” like we were playing h.o.r.s.e and you were calling board. Our cups landed at the exact same time. The game was under protest. You tried to say that you always played with backstops. We called bullshit. Nobody plays with backstops. A do-over was the only recourse. We lined them up again. The earth returned to its axis, insanity gave way to normalcy. We smoked you. Game over.

It should have ended there. You should have gone straight to the bar to buy us our beer. But, you insisted on wrapping your embarrassment in humiliation. You gathered your team together and threw them under the bus. It wasn’t you, it was them. One on one you would take me down. You were sure of it. I smiled a bemused smile. You were a growling Chihuahua, pulling at my pant leg, sure that you could fall the beast.

I called your bluff. It was you against me with the whole bar watching. And to up the ante I agreed to go full cup. Cheers. Tap. Chug! You had already missed a flip as I slugged down the last of my beer. I didn’t flip right away. I just watched. Watched you fumble. Watched your hands shake. Painted clear portrait of my impending victory. Flipped. My cup landed softly. A perfect one-flip. The bar erupted. You got owned. Again.

You pulled me aside and beneath the excitable roar of the crowd explained that you would totally buy the round you owed us, but that you were out of cash. Once a douche always a douche. I felt bad for you, so I sent you gift. Did you get it? It was one of those ironic slogan t-shirts you love so much. It said, “Sorry but I’m ridiculously good at Flip-Cup.”

3/11/09

Who says we don’t have seasons?

You hear it from East Coast transplants all the time, “I miss the seasons.” Aside from the traffic it’s the chief complaint of LA newbies. They miss the snow, the rain, the changing colors of autumn, and the warm promise of spring. They say it with conviction even though none of us believe them. How could we when their nostalgia is spouted from a warm sunny beach in February? They are also wrong. We have seasons. They are called the Gets Dark Early season and Stays Light Late season. And they are all we need.

With the recent arrival of Day Light Savings we have jumped suddenly and shockingly into the second season. The Stays Light Late season awakens us from interior hibernation and returns us to the outdoors lifestyle we all cherish. It is the only time of year we smile when the brutal setting sun blinds us on our evening commute, because it means that sunglasses are in order, because it means that we still have time to play. And play we do. Volleyball leagues are starting. The sunset crowds are growing. The gyms are empty. And Tivo’s everywhere are feeling unloved and unwatched.

The energy and excitement of the South Bay is palpable at the beginning of the Stays Light Season because everyone knows that it is the crack of light peaking through the doorway to summer. For now it is colder than we would like. For now rain is still a threat. For now we can only savior the fleeting light at days new end. But, soon Cinco de Mayo and Fiesta Hermosa will battle for the title of “Unofficial Start to Summer.” Soon locals, East Coast transplants, and tourists alike can put their love, disregard, or denial of seasons aside and agree that this is a damn nice place to live.

2/15/09

Why Won’t You Come to Redondo?

Why won’t you come to Redondo? You know who you are. You live in Hermosa. You live in Manhattan. You think HBYC is a strange and a wondrous place at the edge of the bikeable world. You are convinced that the bubble ends with the strand at the crossroads of Herondo. You’re a habitual bubble shrinker. And you’re missing out.

Redondo Beach was the original South Bay hotspot. At the turn of the 20th century travelers arrived by the thousands from railways and steamer ships to enjoy luxurious hotels and the world’s largest indoor heated saltwater pool. With the arrival of surfing, Redondo quickly became the center of ocean sports for Southern California. And did I mention there was gambling? Ramshackle ships docked just off shore offered tourists escapism and lighter wallets. What did Hermosa and Manhattan have at the time? Sand dunes and trading posts.

A century later Redondo still rocks. Sunset on the Esplanade, dinner in Riviera Village, super mugs and live music at Naja’s, volleyball on the Knob Hill courts, Fire Chiefs at Old Tony’s. So much to love. So much to do. And yet you shun us.

We know you love your bubble within the bubble. But, consider these few truths about your beloved north before uttering the phrase, “dude Redondo is too far.”

Shellback will have a line
The El Porto line-up will be packed
That late night stop at The Kettle will sound better than it will taste
Almost every bar on the Hermosa pier will charge a cover
That guy/girl from last weekend that you don’t want to run into…you will

So next time your friend invites you to a BBQ in the 90277, or to a night out at the southern most bars in the South Bay, take a chance, say yes. It’s not as far as you think…

11/10/08

The South Bay According to Me:

The South Bay is Neverland. It is a place where even the most successful and worldly adults feel free to ride bikes and play with their friends in the sand. From the surfers at El Porto, to the denizens of The Strand, to the Flip-Cup champions of countless back yard B.B.Q’s, the South Bay is a place where stress is forgotten and innocence is found.

Maybe it’s the embrace of youth, maybe it’s the perfect weather, maybe it’s those pristine California beaches, whatever the reason people in the South Bay consider it home. Not cramped into your old bedroom at your parents house home, but home in the sense of naturally belonging.

A few years ago I lived in another famous L.A neighborhood; Hollywood. I worked in “the industry.” I knew people who knew people who went to school with starlets and heart-throbs. I did lunch. I went to premieres. I wore fancy shoes. I also worked 85 hours-a-week and made less than that guy at Starbucks who can never seem to get your Grande Mocha whatever right. But still I considered myself happy.

Then I discovered the South Bay. I had been to beaches up and down the California coast, yet somehow skipped over the southern half of the Santa Monica Bay. I came to visit friends and found a playground. It was amazing. People went to happy hour for reasons other than business. They surfed in the morning, played volleyball in the afternoon, and partied at night. They wore flip-flops anywhere and rode cruiser bikes everywhere. They never asked “what do you do” or even worse “what do you really want to do.” From Friday afternoon to Sunday night they didn’t care about careers they just cared about fun. It was backwards, and bizarre, and damn was I envious.

Deciding it was time to do a 180° with my life, I packed my bags, headed south on the 405 and got ready to turn the page on a new chapter. I didn’t own flip-flops, hadn’t yet purchased my trusty cruiser, and the only surfing I was doing was on a friends couch, but hey, at least I was here.

I don’t consider myself an overly spiritual person. And, yet I can honestly say that from the moment I arrived the South Bay nestled itself deep into the core of whatever and whoever I am. Call it what you want, Nirvana, enlightenment, or just plain Fuckin A. Whatever the feeling was, I knew it was right, I knew I was home.

It has been three years and the South Bay means as much to me now as it did in those transcendent early moments. It is more home to me than all the other places that formerly held that moniker. And I am willing to bet that the same is true for you. There is an intense neighborhood pride that runs through the residents of the South Bay. Consciously or subconsciously we all recognize its uniqueness. We all treasure our tiny, unspoiled strip of California shoreline.

So let’s celebrate it. Let’s do what true locals do, let’s party, surf, play volleyball, pub crawl in ridiculous costumes, only let’s do it in greater regularity and in greater numbers. That is why we created www.southbayevents.com. Our goal is to bring our already tight-knit community even closer together.

From the AVP tournaments, to Fiesta Hermosa, to your neighbor’s annual beer-pong tournament there is always something interesting and uniquely South Bay happening. South Bay Events brings all those activities together allowing you to sink your toes deeper into the foundations of our home. Visit the site, try new things, continue to live the carefree South Bay lifestyle. It is exactly that ambivalence to the stress and strain of the “real world” that has kept the South Bay the same. Keep it up and our Neverland will never change

Send all submissions, comments, questions or criticisms to mb@southbayevents.com

Blogs

South Bay Resources