LATE NIGHT KARAOKE AND LATE NITE FOOD UNTIL 1:20AM

You guys know I love Rick's on Sunday nights for karaoke. They have a late night menu with some great choices. Kitchen open until 1:20AM. Drinks served by Ken & Heather B. Address 2907 Main street, Santa Monica, CA,

THE LAPD IS ARRESTING VENICE MUSIC LOVERS FOR HAVING DRUM CIRCLES

For Los Angeles locals, Venice has always been a both cheery and dirty daycation spot. The beach is filled with decades-old locals who are mostly leathery hippies, peacefully maintaining it as their own, plus a permanently homeless population just looking for a grassy spot to get drunk and nap.

Ever since the gangs of the 90s were priced out by techies and "creative professionals" creeping in from neighboring white-bread Santa Monica and yacht-bred Marina del Ray, there’s been a calm, commercial peace with the police, allowing the street vendors to hawk their handmade wares.

Unfortunately, the anything-goes, free-love vibe also attracts drug addicts and loud party boys looking to get fucked up, with no regard for cleanliness or spiritual enlightenment via drumming.

New ordinances on vending and excessive noise have ended in a series of violent altercation between cops and locals at the infamous weekend drum circle. The most recent was on Sunday.  

The drumming was just picking up at 4:20.  Concentric circles of decreasing levels of involvement defined their participants. The final circle consisted of vulture-like SUVs in slow orbit around the celebration.  Asked if they expected a bigger police presence than normal: “Oh, yeah,” Officer Mark said. “Last week, people got drunk and high and started throwing bottles at us when we shut down the drum circle.”

The relatively recent noise ordinance allows the LAPD to stop the drumming, but in doing so it effectively pushes the crowd off the beach, despite their right to stay until midnight, sans “excessive noise." Mark continued, “Now, you’re not allowed to smoke weed or drink alcohol, and you’re definitely not allowed to throw glass at police officers.”

The latest ordinances—and the increased police force—were bolstered by a wealthy community looking to preserve the cultural epicenter they’d paid through the nose to live in, missing the point that the original community existed solely because of a lack of such ordinances. Hippies, performance artists, street vendors, and that guy on roller skates playing Hendrix see curfews and permits as antithetical to their very existence.

The previous lack of a police presence hinged on the cooperation of Venice’s residents, the ringleader of which appeared to be an older orange-ish gentleman with long white hair and a matching beard. He was standing on an upturned metal barrel waving a “Peace to All Nations” flag, dancing and occasionally fist-bumping with similarly tanned locals.

The 66-year-old "Eagle Soaring Chief" of Venice Beach wore a security officer badge on his tattered, open shirt. He looked like he’d been ripening in the sun for the past 12 years.

As a self-appointed ambassador to the people, the Chief says he's earned the right to peacefully regulate “his” beach, working with the locals to take care of problems the police either can’t or won’t deal with. “If they don’t like it, I’ll ban them from the beach. The police can’t ban people; I can,” the Chief of the Beach told me.

“I’ve been here for 66 years; [the police] just showed up six days, six minutes ago. I don’t blame them, and hey, I don’t want alcoholics on this beach either. I don’t want drug addicts on this beach. If I catch anybody fighting it—see my teeth?  That’s why they’re all knocked out, sir.”

The Chief explained that the previous week’s altercation was the result of three “knucklehead” drummers nobody knew, and that the police crackdown was in response to three plastic bottles thrown from the boardwalk, not glass.

Despite the encroaching presence of the LAPD, many of the locals seemed content with their presence, as it meant fewer drug addicts and troublemakers, although they too seemed oblivious to the effects of increased regulation.

For the next few hours till sundown, the crowd doubled in size, splitting into two interconnected circles. The Chief wandered around, smiling and laughing. Every hour another SUV would pull up to the crowd and empty a few officers onto the sand.

With 20 minutes to go, a half dozen officers surrounded the officer in charge, Sergeant Brian Gura. I asked him how many he had prepared, and he gestured toward the boardwalk: “Enough. We want to avoid a repeat of last week.”

Lining the boardwalk must have been at least 30 officers ready to grab the incoming crowd if things got ugly. As the sun dipped into the water, the cops on the beach piled into their cars and turned on the Christmas lights, driving slowly and deliberately towards the crowd.

The Chief waved toward the drummers and sliced his hand through the air as if to say, “We’re done!” A few other regulars did the same, and about half the crowd dispersed toward the boardwalk.

Marina del Rey to get a modern makeover

The marina remain trapped in era when kitschy nautical and Polynesian themes were in vogue. Now county planners are pushing to make it relevant once more. But some older parts of the marina can feel like an anachronism. Wood-shingled buildings sit empty behind caution tape on Panay Way. Water drips over the buzz of a freezer at a neglected ice cream shop hidden inside Fisherman's Village. The county's new planning document for Marina del Rey acknowledges that the area's architecture and infrastructure is "dated" and said a key goal is to "create a vibrant destination." All of the marina's restaurants, retail and other attractions are on L.A. County-owned land, with merchants operating on long-term leases. Consequently, government officials can play a major role in the future look of the area. The vision statement is expected to guide the county's lease negotiations in the coming years. More than a third of the marina's leases are set to expire over the next decade, and officials can demand that lessees revamp their property to match the new plans. For some longtime business owners, deciding exactly how to modernize is a struggle. More than 40 years after it opened, fishing nets still form a tangled web over the weathered wharf posts that stand at the entrance to the Warehouse. Inside the restaurant's dimly lit waiting area, faded pictures framed by tiki wood show people from around the world holding up the restaurant's menu and grinning in their straw hats and oversized sunglasses. The drinks come with stirrers made to look like tiny mermaids. Owner Marti Spencer said that the restaurant was a hot spot for first dates in its heyday, but "it was a time and place that I don't think will probably ever exist again." Today the Warehouse still has loyal customers, most of them older. Spencer said she knows she needs "to appeal to the young." But Spencer said the restaurant's lease expires in 2022 — and she wondered how management can balance the needs of longtime clients and new diners. "It is what it is. It's an old warehouse, and all we do is refurbish the furniture. The structure as it stands is how it was originally built," she said. "How much can you really change the Warehouse without the public that has grown up with the restaurant saying, 'Oh you took that away, or changed that?'"