We're pathologically social. We're professional leisurists. We're burrito lovers, bar flies, art whores and music nerds. We dish the good dirt, and we'll risk a parking ticket for a cheap sample sale. Sometimes, we blog drunk.
Ward on the Street: An easy solution for autumn envy
It’s officially fall. Why am I sweating?
Our countrymen in the cold clutches of a Minnesota October would hoot like joyful, tropical monkeys right now to have an 84 degree autumn, but for long-term Angelinos, it’s challenging to feel trapped in a bikini year-round.
So after a summer of beer and barbecued sausages, what’s left for fall? Beer and barbecued bratwurst. To fully experience the seasonal shift, simply wear lederhosen.
Getting drunk in your neighbor’s backyard was so July, but getting drunk in Torrance—in the well-organized gluttony of Alpine Village—is a bold gesture toward accumulating fat cells that would sustain folks in colder climes through a four-month blizzard.
Cajole someone into designated driving and merge onto the 405 south to behold a tented oasis of Germanic alcoholism. The plastic red kegger cups you slurped Tecate out of through August are no match for Alpine Village’s sturdy, ceramic steins of beer. Tip: hit the place after 6:30 p.m. on Friday or Saturday, when it’s limited to fools 21 and over. No one needs the buzzkill of a 4 year old throwing fistfuls of pickled cabbage like confetti.
For those willing to make a more aggressive effort toward autumnal cirrhosis, the Big Bear Oktoberfest lies roughly 100 miles away, in the pine-needly comfort of the San Bernadino National Forest. Sometimes, all it takes is an old guy dressed like a gnome to remind you that life need not always be a beach.
Miss Alie Ward
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