Hot Rod Magazine and it’s sister publications have moved their offices and photo studios to nearby El Segundo, and in showing off their new digs, hosted Von Fink’s car show and pinstripe event right in my backyard. My current cars don’t lend themselves to Kustom, but what a chance to take advantage of having the world’s best artists in my backyard.

After six months of trial and error, I just received a resuscitated vintage Martin Uke that had been abandoned with a crazed finish to prove it. A meticulous friend and luthier, John Kallas, put together the proper mix of lacquer to turn my eBay rescue into the “chosen one”.

Although I had never seen a matte black Uke before, a matte black Martin guitar inspired by Johnny Cash’s favorite displayed at the James Perse store in Malibu inspired me.

Not sure what I would find, I took the Martin and one of my Kamakas to the Von Fink show where Phoenix native Tony Perez, was putting his handwork on a murdered out, matte black motorcycle helmet.

I knew Tony was the man to work on my ukes, and while a bit sheepish to even ask, I did, and the process was incredible, the results amazing. Tony’s a steady handed, cool cat, and with no sketching or planning, he took on the two ukes, gave them completely different looks and, and freaked out most of the onlookers with a fantastic job.

There are a lot of bloggers who’ve done a lot of research on artisans who are doing it the “old way”. American made denim, revivals of old favorites and car/motorcycle builders who are doing it their way, one at a time.

Yesterday’s show was a chance to look at the coolest rat rods, backyard projects, and million dollar “trailer queens”. I used to be the guy who wanted to figure out how to garage just one more car, but in a new found desire to edit, Tony gave me the chance to put a little Kustom Kulture in my trunk, in a couple of uke cases.

For the last five years I’ve been traveling from LA to Palo Alto in my work for the most exciting company in the world.  Hotels in Palo Alto are tough to come by, and expensive during Stanford basketball and football seasons, and in 2005, I was lucky enough to find 225 square foot “mother-in-law” unit in a great mid-century Eichler house in a cool tract of Eichler homes.  While my pad up north lacks a kitchen (I get by with a mini-fridge and microwave), I’ve come to realize that less can really be more, and super livable.  When Manhattan Beach became “disco” in the old New Economy, and charming beach cottages made way for lot to lot McMansions, my disdain for large and overbuilt increased like beach front square footage, and had me thinking about what you really need if you live in a place you really love.

I’m renovating a 1920s beach bungalow with these thoughts in mind—more on that in another post—, but I’ve tried to take the concept of physical domicile downsizing to heart in many ways.  I’m far from austere and my posts on the love of things tells that my soul is one of a collector.  But what separates a collector from a hoarder is curating.  And besides, editing is good for the soul.

I’ve been lucky enough to deal with Japanese uber-collectors of midcentury modern furniture and vintage workwear.  While acquisitive to be sure, their collecting style is a highly edited one, dictated by urban space constraints of home and closet.  Rather than owning four mediocre pairs of vintage denim, or multiple variations of the Eames shell chair, Japanese collectors search for the best examples, and stretch for that one great piece.  It’s hard for a hunter/gatherer like me to say this, but I see the wisdom in their ways, and am taking it to heart.

I’ve always over-indulged—or been sloppy with—my choice of luggage.  I always go for the best stuff (i.e. Filson), but I go large. Too large.  Same with the Dopp kit I lugged around—it was so big, it would only leave my bathroom counter as I headed outta town.  This is unnecessary.  While carry-on luggage is the badge of honor of road warriors, I’ve never lost a piece of super-sized rolling luggage that I’ve always been proud to check.

But last month I took a different tack.  I’ve always been intrigued by aluminum luggage, and went through the Zero Haliburton phase, when Sonny Crockett was chasing Colombians through the streets of Miami with Haliburton cases, chock o’ block with blow, and cash.  The real deal isn’t the American-made stuff, but Germany’s finest—Rimowa.  Created for trips to the tropics, the water- and humidity-proof Rimowa was adopted by Japanese jetsetters who prefer their pieces beat up, true to the Rimowa tagline that “every piece tells a story.”  There’s even vintage, tag-covered piece on display high above the new pieces at Rimowa’s outpost on Kalakaua Avenue in Waikiki.

To do this right, I bought the 22” carry-on Rimowa from Tom Park at Leather Soul Hawaii , and I’m amazed how much I can fit inside.  The luxury of packing multiple pairs of shoes is gone, but editing my travel needs is cool.  My new smaller case called for a smaller Dopp kit as well, in effect downsizing from a desktop to a netbook.  I discovered the GoToob travel containers, and am “rolling my own” , packaging my favorite smell goods and Kiehl’s products.  I picked a tiny Eagle River waterproof bag to put it all in, and instead of using one set of toiletries at home and away, “mini-me” stays in the Rimowa between trips.

While this may not seem like a big deal, and my partners in crime have always “carried on,” this is pretty new to me, and I like it.

It’s a good meditation on how I want to live my life, focusing on the stuff—literal and figurative—that matter and make the important things easier to achieve.

As you can probably tell, it’s the introduction to the things that I love that are as important as the things themselves.  I love the surf mats, because of the memories that the smell brings, or the feel of my father’s shell cordovan wallet.

The late 60’s IH Scouts have the same appeal, not because we had one—we didn’t, but because of my relentless and unsuccessful pursuit to get my dad to buy one.  The same can be said of the 1968 Mustang California Special that I really thought my mom should drive, and the near breakdown I had a couple of years later in a Santa Monica Ford Dealer, where I felt I was making progress to get my dad to spring for a 1972 DeTomaso Pantera as his daily driver… I was so close…

The Scout infatuation was really about the dealer experience.  Bob Hansen in Hawthorne, CA, just east of Manhattan Beach.  Hansen was a big game hunter, and the dealership was full of his trophies.  The most impressive of which was a giant polar bear, up on his rear legs in full attack mode.  There were many diversions by Bob Hansen’s to see his latest conquests, and we always found some reason to get our moms/dads to stop by and the way to/from a Cub Scout meeting/outing.

The IH Scouts were our favorites on the dealer lot.  Simple and functional, they reminded me of a more civilized army jeep, or the Revell half track models that I used to build.  I like that they were modular—some were hard tops, others were soft tops, or pickups.  The most romantic version was the topless Scout with the windshield folded forward—the perfect surf wagon.

One day we were driving down Rosecrans and my dad stopped without any whining from me.  On the marquee out front was a notice about the new Subarus that had just arrived.  The Subaru wagon was available for just over $1,500, and my dad bought one on the spot.  While not particularly cool, the fact that it came from the home of Polar Bears and Scouts is what made them okay.

In the last 35 years I’ve gone through different IH phases, looking for IH Travelalls, and always keeping an eye out for a Scout project.  For the last few years, I’ve been eying a rust-free, desert project.  I’ve penciled out what needs to be done, and even began the conversation with Hot Rod builder and Chip Foose alum, Rob Phillips on what it would take.  I talked to the owner, a proud lover of Scouts, and maybe we’ll figure something out.  What I don’t need is another impractical ride, but I’ve got to get one.

Growing up on the beach in the pre-boogie board era made for interesting wave riding tools. The L.A. County beaches’ black ball flags meant that surfing was forbidden after 11 am on most summer days, so we got creative.

For some years, Paipo bellyboards were the boards of choice, but these mini-surfboards, complete with fins and hard glassed rails, were as dangerous as the surfboards they were modeled after. Remember, this was also the pre-surf leash era—we lost our boards and had to know how to swim.

At a couple of Manhattan Beach spots—the pier, Rosecrans, and Marine Street— snack stands and rental shops rented inflatable surf mats in navy blue canvas with chrome yellow trim. Inflated to rock hardness, these mats got harder as the sun expanded the air within. We got pretty good at riding these mats and by the end of the summer, we were were standing up on them.

Smells of the summers of my youth included zinc oxide—striped across the nose and on the lower lip—, the dusty smell of beach sand sticking to a wet body—laying on towels were for non-locals—, and the smell of vulcanized canvas and rubber surfmats baking in the sun. I can’t remember which summer it was, but L.A. County lifeguards ultimately banned our surfing the inflatables, so the indestructible blue and yellow mats were lumped in with cheap plastic inflatable pool rings, and poof!—the inflatable mats were gone. By 1972, the first Morey Boogie Boards—sold as kits assembled in Manhattan Beach garages by dads and older brothers—were on the scene, immune to the black ball.

A few years ago, I was cleaning out an old garage, and found a dead stock surf mat. I opened a box, and before I saw it, I smelled it: that same summer smell that took me back 30 years. I’ve shown it to old friends, and they all put it to their nose before they unroll it.

In London five years ago, I was shopping at Duffer of St. George in Covent Garden, and while it was completely out of context, I smelled that summer smell. It wasn’t a surfmat, but a Mackintosh raincoat, made in the same impermeable canvas-rubber-canvas sandwich as the old mats were.

Because of their rubberized canvas, Mackintosh coats are as hot to wear as they are dry—especially in a Los Angeles beach town. But Macks have that summer smell, so I had to buy one. In SoCal, I rarely get to wear the Mack, and it’s usually on San Francisco and New York  trips that I relive those summer days between third and sixth grade.

My art-collecting friends have been consistent in the one thing they tell me: “Buy what you love.”

As a collector of many things, as detailed here, I’ve acquired art that has specific meaning to me: a Glen E. Friedman Dog Town-era Tony Alva photo from 1977, a 1960s Laguna Beach oil painting by George Michaud that hung in my house as a kid, and some amazing “found” surf photos and paintings I always discovered while looking for other stuff, mostly vintage furniture and car parts.

So buying what I love came naturally, because I only picked up and kept stuff along the way that I really like.

You may have gotten from earlier posts that I am a bit nostalgic, especially around things surf and South Bay. Growing up in Manhattan Beach in the ’70s was a different time. Manhattan had yet to become the “disco” beach suburb that, I regret to say, it has become. People lived here because they loved the beach, surf, and volleyball. A small-town vibe where teachers, lifeguards and firemen could afford to live in the town where the worked and served their neighbors. Those days are gone.

During the late 1970s and early ‘80s, L.A. boasted a well documented punk music scene, and I was lucky enough to see many great shows at various venue: The Police, 1979, at both the Whisky and Hollywood Park racetrack, all the major ska bands at the Whisky and, a week of Clash shows at the Hollywood Palladium.

The South Bay had its own scene, defined by local bands Black Flag and the Circle Jerks. The Black Flag ethos was defined a relentless beat, Henry Rollins’s vocals and Raymond Pettibon concert flyers and album art. As the brother of Black Flag founder, Mike Ginn, Pettibon’s monochromatic, anti-authoritarian style became synonymous with the band. This recognition allowed Pettibon, who still lives in Hermosa Beach, to begin an art career in earnest–to amazing success. While some of his images and subject matter are provocative, his surf imagery is truly without equal.

While Surfer Magazine founder and artist, John Severson, defined the “wave” aesthetic in the 1960s, Pettibon’s perfect barrels, and use of subtle and not so subtle coloring, has earned him an international following of surfers, museums and serious art collectors. This lead not only to amazing accolades, but a Whitney Biennial exhibition in 2004, along with a Bucksbaum award.

Not all of these are surf images, in fact, most aren’t. But these are the paintings and drawings that I have lusted after. I follow the major auction houses (Phillips, Christies, Sotheby’s) closely, and am always on the hunt for a surf picture that I can afford. There are a couple of non-surf monochromatic pieces in next week’s Phillips contemporary art sale. There are also some great Pettibon books, Plots Laid Thick, is a favorite. Although it sounds weird, there is also a very cool Pettibon beach towel, part of an amazing artists series.

I’ve gotten lucky over the years, and picked up some good examples, at prices I could afford.

With too many interests, and too little time, I’ve had to edit my collections, staying focused, and after years of searching, Pettibon’s have made it into the collection. Buying what I love has been the filter.

I was lucky to have parents who cared about good design. Early toys included the smooth wooden blocks and trucks from Creative Playthings. In fact, inspiration for the Creative Plaything pieces were the Froeble blocks, that caught the attention of a young Frank Lloyd Wright.

Manhattan Beach in the mid-60’s wasn’t a mecca of modern design, but Southern California was becoming one. The Arts and Architecture magazine sponsored Case Study houses had people thinking about how they were going to live in different ways, and new materials, building techniques and the cultural zeitgeist had people thinking about life in a more modern way. As an architectural history student at UCLA, I came to appreciate how cultural and political thinking was manifested in architecture, from the craftsman movement through post-modernism. The modern movement reflected the time, and new rules for design replaced the old playbook.

What Manhattan Beach did have was a legacy of pottery. Metlox Pottery on the corner of Manhattan beach Blvd and Valley Drive, cranked out plates, cups and saucers, in the colorful California tradition best ascribed to Bauer. But, farther East, on the corner of Aviation Blvd and Rosecrans, stood the home of Architectural Pottery (AP.) While mostly a factory, the Architectural Pottery factory included a store, and the highly sought after factory seconds that could literally be had for under a dollar. I have vivid memories of exploring there, after my elementary school at Grandview School—based on a Richard Neutra design, so we did have some architectural inspiration in Manhattan Beach.

Founded in 1950 by Max and Rita Lawrence, the company’s unique take on large and small scale planters and accessories, received immediate attention from design cognoscenti, and was included in the 1951 Good Design Exhibition and included most of the young company’s pieces form their initial catalog. AP designers were many of the same thought leaders making the most influential art, and designing the cutting edge products and homes that were defining mid-century modernism. Good design attracts good design and the most influential architects of the period, Rudolph Schindler, John Lautner, Richard Neutra, Raphael Soriano, Gregory Ain, Pierre Koenig, and Richard Dorman included AP design in many of their projects. AP designers like ceramicist LaGardo Tackett, and furniture designers like Paul McCobb and Malcolm Leland became synonymous with the AP brand. Replacing terra cotta flower pots with the smooth design, matte glazes and the cool colors of AP helped blur the lines between indoor and outdoor living. Shapes like the Peanut, defined the brand.

, Doughnut, the hourglass and candleholders I had all but forgotten about AP, but when I began to become a serious and passionate collector of mid century modern furniture, I rediscovered these iconic design pieces I had loved as a kid. My parents still had a few pieces that I was able to take over, and while searching for mid century furniture around the country, I found amazing examples of AP places as far from Manhattan Beach as St. Louis and Honolulu; from serious collectors to flea markets. There was still plenty of AP around Manhattan Beach, and I knocked on doors and looked over back fences and amassed a very cool collection. Pottery collectors are an interesting lot, and border on compulsive. Moving to a new house four years ago, I chose to really edit much of my collection and keep only the favorites. These include an ultra obscure stylized Polar Bear design, candleholder, an orange hour glass, Peanut and various diamond planters. My good friend Louie Kallas is particularly fond of the more organic David Cressey pieces, defined by their volcanic glazes.

While original pieces are tougher to find, they’re still around, and as prices of most collectibles have dropped, there are some good values still on eBay and at the domestic auction houses. San Diego based Vessel Pottery has done an amazing job of painstakingly recreating many of the AP designs, and authentically reproduced the glazes and finishes that are unique to AP. Started by a fellow collector, and reproduced with the attention to detail that only a collector can provide, Vessel pieces happily live side by side with my originals.

Southern California’s amazing monster South Swell two weeks ago brought epic surf to most south facing beaches, but left west facing beach breaks like my home break, Manhattan Beach, with massive close outs if the tide wasn’t perfect. I was lucky enough to catch the tide right for surfing–the Stretch Quad detailed before, on one of the mornings, but the low tide boomers brought me back to my bodysurfing roots.

My dad was first and foremost a bodysurfer. He was old school all the way…Never, ever wore fins, and rode in the straight down, one foot up technique pioneered on Venice beach in the ‘40’s. He brought that technique to the South Bay, and I always ride my last wave in, one foot up.

Back to the last swell. As you may have read, conditions were heavy and a bodysurfer met his demise at Newport’s Wedge during the swell. I was sitting on the beach checking the surf, when a lone Churchill fin, like the ones we cherished as teens, washed up. It was a left foot large, and while I normally would wear a single right fin, I did what we used to do as a kid, snatched it, put it upside down on my right foot and swam out. It was an amazing session, and I forgot how great it is when it’s just you, a fin and big surf. 10 years ago, my buddy Dave Madden and I caught a similar amazing Manhattan Beach swell, where lifeguards were plucking people out of the water at a rate of 10 per hour….This past swell was right there. Except, this time the lifeguards needed jet skis to keep up. There was just that much water moving. Later that afternoon, knowing the single fin left me undergunned, I made sure I had my seven-year-old pair of yellow Neo Fins. I’ve been through Churchills, Duck Feet—including the really cool natural rubber color, and Vipers, which should be branded Cripplers. What makes the Neo Fins so great is that the foot is actually neoprene attached to a flexible fin blade. They’re super comfortable and work great. I cant seem to find neo Fins online anywhere, but it looks like the Meistrell’s at Body Glove have taken over the brand and are having them made under the Body Glove label. I got some of the best bodysurfing waves in warm South Swell waters that I’ve seen in my life in Manhattan. Another great session, made longer by comfortable equipment.

We used to take bodysurfing pretty seriously. As a water polo player at Aviation High School, my team mate Carl Pech, was so committed to Churchiil fins, that he was selling mini aluminum Churchill replicas that we all wore as necklaces—we thought we were pretty badass. We also wore water polo caps on the big days, favoring the orange Beverly Hills High school caps we stole during Pioneer League play in a pool that was under a basketball court that slid off to one end. The BHHS Normans still use that pool.

Aside from the mayhem created by last week’s Manhattan open Six Man Volleyball tournament, the Surf Festival always hosts a lifeguard competition, pier to pier (Hermosa to Manhattan) swim and paddle board race (Manhattan to Hermosa pier.) There is also a Saturday morning bodysurfing contest, that brings out the best locals and old timers who travel to one of the sport’s few events. I played in the 6 man this year with my really early childhood chum Derek Levy who reminded me that he had won the bodysurfing contest 10 years ago, with his brother Mark taking second. The Six Man brings out all of the Manhattan old timers and I saw Aviation High star athlete, and wave charger, Steve Lastrappes walking up the beach from the bodysurfing contest.  He’s a terrific waterman and has the collection of competitor T-shirts to show for it.

The last two weeks, from the swell to the Six Man, to the Surf Festival have made me nostalgic for bodysurfing and living a summer committed to the beach. Bodysurfing and volleyball was just what we did, after we surfed the dawn patrol. We always had some other diversions thrown in, and in 1973, I won the inaugural Surf Festival Skimboard contest, with a handful of 360’s and a handstand…Viva South Bay!