Marty Graham 5:30 p.m., Aug. 26
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One Night at Black's Beach
"Black's Beach, everyone knows, you don't need no buttons and bows. Black's Beach, everyone goes - there's a bunch of crazy people there without any clothes." (From one of KGB's old Homegrown vinyl albums - can't recall the band, only the lyrics)
It's after midnight, and around me there are something like four hundred people ostensibly celebrating the full moon. Most of them are naked, some not. A few have children in tow, all but the toddlers at least partially clothed.
None of the kids seem shocked at the sight of so many nude adult bodies. "It's good to teach them that the body is nothing to be ashamed of, as long as we're not degrading it" says a muscular guy (whose name I can't write down due to, er, no pockets).
He looks to be in his fifties and has been coming to these informal monthly gatherings for "too many years. Bringing down the moon, we call it. We're, like, Druids and this is our Stonehenge ."
Only a couple of dozen drummers form the drum circle, a small crew compared to past "organic raves" held here. Everyone I talk to first discovered the unsponsored event through word-of-mouth recommendation.
"This kind of thing used to be just for old school Deadheads, hippies," says Serena, a buxom blonde drummer who's wearing pieces of a spangled Wonder Woman outfit. "Tonight, there's an awful lot of newcomers. Look how the guys keep their clothes on, or just strip down to their bottoms. The girls, they can't wait. There's not a girl here who isn't naked! Guys have more to hide."
At sunup, around sixty people remain, some bleary eyed but many still on their feet and partying. A middle aged couple is performing - she plays guitar while the guy sings. They play one Beatles song after another, on and on.
It appears they know practically every song in the Beatles lexicon, and they're going through the repertoire, an impressive feat that makes them stand out in a crowd of inebriates, most of whom I suspect would be hard pressed to count their toes.
The startling thing is that the couple plays the Beatles songs in alphabetical order. Insisting upon it, even.
"Play 'Rocky Raccoon,' " a girl calls out to them.
"We can't," the guy says, "we're only on the Gs."
And the duo launches into "Good Day, Sunshine"……
Author Corey Lynn Fayman has written a book called Black's Beach Shuffle – below is excerpted from the book descrip at Amazon.com:
"Black's Beach Shuffle updates the classic Southern California gumshoe world of Raymond Chandler and Ross McDonald with contemporary technology riffs, new millennium anxieties and sun-blotted humor. It pumps out a page-turning mix of plot twists, colorful characters and laugh-out-loud humor as Rolly's investigation ricochets him from the high-tech industrial parks of Torrey Pines Mesa to downtown blues clubs, from street taco shops to the penthouse of the La Jolla Hyatt, from the hallowed halls of academia to the sands of Black's Beach, San Diego's official clothing-optional playground."
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