Rockpile was screaming with breaks on the outer reef that made me wish I was 16 and rock solid. The "kids" were wild with acrobatics on crashing giants. Brooks cranked up a stack of hollow overhead lefts and Thalia was just sweet. San Onofre drove a few freight trains right through to the beach. I watched burly men give up on the paddle out. It was ferocious, and to use an old term, righteous.
OK, there's traffic. Already too much traffic for my taste, and I've noticed the locals have already begun their diversionary tactics. Works well on north-south travel, but the jockeying for parking downtown has pushed the tension meter.
While patiently waiting for two separate spots, I've suffered the agro-aggressor who squealed around the corner and jammed their car into the space before I had a chance to move forward. We should also post parking etiquette signs next to the "pay here" booths. As in, "wait your turn."
Main Beach looks like — well, there's hardly a beach, but the way the bodies covered the sand over the weekend, you had to smile. Picnic baskets, umbrellas, tents (are those kosher?) are mixed with beach chairs, beach pong, Frisbee toss, and an ongoing number of volleyball games. The scent of suntan lotion filled the air and everywhere it seemed like folks were smiling. Starbucks was packed and the line at BJ's Restaurant and Brewhouse wound around to Forest. In fact, all the restaurants had waiting lines — a nice respite from the quiet winter eves. Downtown felt vibrant and alive.
If you were lucky enough to have tickets to the opening of the Sawdust, then you might have actually gone. And then again, you might have gone and given up on getting in. The line snaked way past the old Hop Sings, now LCAD studios, as the gatekeepers dealt with fire marshal mandates on how many folks could actually be inside those festival gates at one time. I watched many give up, turn back and miss the party.