It’s the South OC Triangle, a mysterious FM radio void between Laguna Beach, Dana Point and San Clemente, where one can’t get lock onto a strong NPR signal. Static electricity drowns out All Things Considered, This American Life and Fresh Air whenever one is driving within the city limits of some of the bluest towns in a very red county. Conspiracy or coincidence? You decide.

It’s the winos of San Clemente, swerving their cars up and down the PCH on a Saturday night.

It’s where guys come to bro out, and gals come to be beach chic.

It’s four season flip-flops.

It’s surfer guy dogma – a blend of oceanic mysticism and boys club croneyism.

It’s signing a surfboard instead of a guestbook at an OC wedding.