[Editor's Note: We all know local music and dive bars go hand-in-hand. So in the interest of merging the two together on Heard Mentality, we bring you our newest nightlife column Dive, Dive, My Darling. Read as our bold web editor Taylor “Hellcat” Hamby stumbles into the dive bar scene every week to find crazy stories, meet random weirdos and guzzle good booze.]
The color of the evening was blue–not blue in the sentimental way or the musical blues, but because the Bee Hive is the hue blue. From the identifying awning outside that's the color of a Dodger's cap to the baby-blue walls to the sapphire-toned bartops, this Huntington Beach dive is coated in blue's various shades. I don't know why–maybe Tobias Fünke is a co-owner?
The most colorful character of the evening was wearing the color, too–a navy-blue, long-sleeved T-shirt–while playing Golden Tee in the front corner of the room. As I passed him on my way outside for a smoke, he blurted out, “Do you even eat pussy, bro?!” apparently yelling at an online opponent from Minnesota whose username was, fittingly, Meow.
When I came back inside, our blue-shirted blurter had moved to the other side of the bar from where I sat. A man drinking a chilled schooner of an amber-colored beer sat a few seats down to my right.
“My name is Christopher, but I go by Christ,” Blue Shirt Man said, raving.
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“Oh, yeah? We share the same name,” said Christopher the Schooner Man.
“You want to avoid this spot right here,” the self-proclaimed Christ said, as he walked to the center of the bar and put his head down there.
“Chris, stop right there,” the Bee Hive bartender said, apparently knowing what he was going to say.
“Guy was only 45 and just drank too much and . . .” Christ trailed off. “My girlfriend's oldest daughter's father died right there,” he continued, pointing to the center of the bar.
“I dunno; I heard it was outside,” replied the bartender, who then told him again to be quiet and stop freaking out the customers with his drunken ravings and non sequiturs.
Perhaps in an effort to lighten the mood, Coherent Christopher chimed in: “You know what? Alcohol does not get the credit it deserves. And here's why: Who gets on a 30-foot piece of wood and sails off to find new worlds if they're sober? No one.”
The bar agreed with a howl of laughter. Can't argue with that.
“Do you guys believe in 'evolve or die'?” Christ responded. “You know what people hate about science? That it's true.”
“Walter White Jr. over here,” Coherent Christopher shot back.
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“No, Carl Sagan Jr.!” Christ retorted. “And if I was black, you could call me Tyson! You know . . . the black guy doing the Cosmos thing now. . . .”
“Neil DeGrasse Tyson,” I offered, but he didn't hear me.
“Chris, don't go there,” the bartender said. “We don't talk about religion or politics in the bar.”
“This isn't religion,” Christ proclaimed. “It's fuckin' science!”
I returned from a quick trip to the bathroom to find both Christ and Coherent Christopher had called it a night and bounced (damn you, bladder!). I was ready to close out and call my favorite Huntington Beach cabbie service, Fat Taxi, when the bartender cracked open another Pacifico bottle and stuffed in a lime wedge. I didn't really want it, but I figured I shouldn't let the beer go to waste. “That's attentive service,” I said.
“It's actually from [dude who's name I didn't catch] down the bar,” she said, motioning her head toward the only other patron in the bar. He silently nodded his head after I thanked him, then mumbled as we drank. Blue, me? Not at all.
BEST LINE OF THE NIGHT: “Some of the best songs we have are from people who battle lifelong addictions and sing about the struggle,” said Coherent Christopher. Didn't Sartre also say that?
FAVORITE PIECE OF FLAIR: The golden, antique fire extinguishers used as beer-tap casings. Ingenious!
The Bee Hive, 6431 Edinger Ave., Huntington Beach, (714) 892-5777.
See also
10 Punk Albums to Listen to Before You Die
10 Goriest Album Covers
10 Most Satanic Metal Bands
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When not running the OCWeekly.com and OC Weekly’s social media sites, Taylor “Hellcat” Hamby can be found partying like it’s 1899.
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