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My husband is slowly falling in love with San Diego
A long way from Chicago and Kansas City.
I always pictured myself in California. After my boyfriend Aaron received job offers in Oklahoma City, Topeka, and San Diego, we decided we would head to the land of fruits and nuts.
Within a few weeks, we had loaded up our station wagon with boxes of belongings, our dog, and our four-month-old son for the cross-country trek. We were giddy with excitement.
The decision was even easier for us after the previous year spent attending Aaron’s bizarre family functions in the suburbs of Kansas City.
At Christmas, his Uncle Bill had seated his anatomically correct doll, with Pamela Anderson breasts, at the dinner table. She was wearing a Santa hat. Uncle Bill had been playing with dolls for years, long before Lars and the Real Girl came out in 2007. In Uncle Bill’s family room, there was a shelf with dozens of porcelain dolls.
“It’s kind of creepy that your Aunt Linda has so many dolls in here,” I whispered to Aaron.
“Those are Bill’s,” he said.
“If we want to raise our kid to be normal,” I said, “we need to move, pronto.”
The first friends Aaron and I meet in San Diego want us to go bike riding. It’s September, and we are invited — at 8:00 in the fricking morning — to join these folks on a ride around Mission Bay. I become nervous when I notice the spandex they wear and the enormous water bottles strapped onto their ten-speeds.
My brand-new Walmart four-speed bike, with its comfy seat cushion, might not cut it for this particular outing.
At first, the ride is tolerable. Then we come upon the looming Mission Bay Bridge, which promises serious calf-muscle injustice. After a few minutes the incline gets to me, and I am huffing and puffing, sweating and swearing. I lag embarrassingly behind and nearly vomit. When I finally catch up, I manage to snarl to Aaron through clenched teeth, “We will never hang out with these people again!”
I am from Chicago. Ten-year-olds own bikes. Adults do not. For fun, we drink Old Milwaukee from plastic cups and attend baseball games. We do not wake up early on weekends to take painful bike rides. We are sensible and embrace beer bellies.
But Aaron is slowly falling in love with San Diego. The city has turned into a beautiful blonde, much more adventurous than I am. She shows him new hobbies, like surfing, scuba diving, and kayaking. I want to put a hit out on his sleazy new ladyfriend.
I make it clear just how much I dislike San Diego. That’s why I am shocked when Aaron says that he wants to stay put. He even goes so far as to describe, in detail, the beach condo we will own when he eventually retires.
“Here? You want to stay here in San Diego?”
He has been seduced.
So, with the optimism of first-time buyers, we start our search for a home. One warm Saturday afternoon, our realtor gives us the address to a condo in Santee.
“That’s a little out there,” I say to Aaron. “Didn’t some kid go on a shooting rampage in Santee?”
He tries to remain optimistic, even after the desolate strip malls and the never-ending ride down side streets. We pull into a parking lot off a busy road and notice two shirtless little boys running around with plastic guns. I lift an eyebrow and give Aaron a look. He sighs.
Our realtor is a young guy with slicked-back hair and shiny, black leather shoes. His keys jingle in harmony with his steps. We walk slowly behind him. He comes to a door with faded paint.
“This is it!” he says with the over-enthusiasm of an unemployed actor.
Inside, the carpet is filthy, and the kitchen apparently hasn’t been updated since the early ’80s. There is a tiny boxlike living room and a rectangular dining room that could, maybe, if we are lucky, fit a card table. There is a smell resembling raw sewage ineffectively covered up with air deodorizer.
“It has three bedrooms and a community pool with a hot tub!”
Our realtor’s voice is filled with so much unnecessary pep that I want to punch him. I make my way toward the master bedroom and wonder if a queen-size bed would even fit. Sensing our disappointment, the realtor is relentless. “You can walk to the grocery store!”
I look out the window and see a barefoot kid wandering aimlessly around the sidewalk. In the distance is a rusty pool gate. Everything appears dusty.
We look at a few more places. Most of the complexes resemble inner-city projects, and all share the same brown, speckled carpeting, tiny bedrooms, and sticky-faced children whose parents are nowhere to be seen.
On the drive home, Aaron lets out a long, weary sigh. I remind him that we could buy a mansion in the Midwest for the price of one of those small condos. After seeing the sad look on his face, I can’t continue.
We decide to stop looking. Renting in East County is perfectly acceptable for now. We both agree that when our son is school-age, I will go back and get a degree. We can buy a house when I am working full-time.
By the end of that year, most of our friends in San Diego have moved away to buy affordable houses in other parts of the country. Their Christmas cards are glossy photos of them standing in front of beautiful homes with large sweeping yards. Aaron tries to reassure me with the fact that they have to wear layers of clothing and bundle their kids up in boots and snow pants. They don’t have the opportunity to go snorkeling in February.
“They’re probably getting fat,” he tells me. “People who live in the snow always get fat because there is nothing to do.”
But they probably don’t have crackheads for neighbors.
The woman who moves in next door to us in Spring Valley is unnaturally petite. I am afraid that if I bump into her she will break. In the middle of the night, there are persistent knocks at her door, shortly followed by a strange smell, best described as a combination of burnt plastic and Skittles. She always has friends over. They hang out in the stairwell. They are getting in the way of my sleeping pattern. I want to yell at them to shut the hell up, but I am afraid of these people. The guy a few doors down clues me in on the neighbor’s crack habit.
There is an elderly woman who lives above us. She is Italian and missing nearly all of her teeth. She picks the mint that grows around our patio where our dog routinely pees. One afternoon, she walks to the grocery store, forgetting to turn off her stove. I smell the smoke and hear the persistent beeping of her fire alarm. There is smoke coming out of her windows. I call the fire department. I remove all sentimental items from our apartment. I sit with baby Andrew, my dog, a box of our stuff, and our rolling filing cabinet near the pool, waiting for the fire truck. I am tired of apartment life. When Aaron gets home from work, I tell him that we could’ve died. He says I am being dramatic. I probably am.
There is a mom and her newborn baby in the apartment across from us. Her military husband is deployed. She is having an affair with the dude who lives by the pool. Things get ugly when the husband arrives home from overseas. They end up moving. I am living in the ghetto version of Melrose Place.
The people at the far end of our complex have three kids. The little ones are always knocking on my door. They spend more time at my apartment than their own. They get taken away by Child Protective Services.
There is a shooting across the street at the Blockbuster. It’s broad daylight when it happens.
“They didn’t die, they were only shot,” Aaron reassures me.
Most of our neighbors are dysfunctional. Some are crazy. It seems as if Aaron and I are unable to escape dysfunction. It has followed us from Kansas. This is not what I envisioned when we decided to move to San Diego.
A year later, after the birth of my second son, my parents come for a visit. I notice that my mom clutches her purse whenever we leave the apartment. She constantly and neurotically reminds me to lock the doors. They are from the ’burbs. The only crime they see is their neighbors breaking the homeowners’ association rule by not mowing their lawns. My mom appears to be in a perpetual state of anxiety. I would’ve found it comical if I weren’t so insulted. Before flying home, Mom sits us down and insists that we move. Now.
Eventually, we do move. We find a cute rental in El Cajon with a nice yard. It even has a swing set. Our neighbors are normal, annoyingly normal. Within a month, I am bored out of my mind. I miss my crackhead neighbor, the pyro granny, and the mistress. There is something wrong with me.
We were so anxious to escape the Midwest that we didn’t have a plan for what to do when we arrived in San Diego. Our first apartment was a Motel 6 room that overlooked a parking lot and smelled like vomit and popcorn. Remembering a 20/20 episode about semen and other nasty body fluids found on hotel comforters, I found it nearly impossible to sleep. I scoured the newspapers daily for an affordable apartment that would accept Bela, our 70-pound chocolate Lab. I envisioned living steps from the beach in a cute house with flowers and a wrap-around porch. I was dismayed to discover how much we would have to shell out to rent a dirty studio apartment within walking distance to the waves. In Kansas, we had lived in an adorable old Victorian two-bedroom apartment for $385 a month. I couldn’t imagine paying more than $500.
After a lengthy search, we ended up in our Spring Valley apartment, surrounded by run-down strip malls with 24-hour check-cashing stores. Still, I thought our apartment was charming.
“It has a pool!” I gushed like a damn realtor. I found the popcorn ceiling inside amazing. “Look, it glitters.” I had the ridiculous optimism of a true Midwesterner.
Even after three cars were stolen from our parking lot, I still believed. I was the neighborhood mom. Hordes of kids descended upon our apartment when school let out. I supplied them with endless Freezee Pops. They watched cartoons on our Toshiba and entertained my son, who was just learning how to crawl. I was lonely, my only contact to the outside world was grade-school kids. It was depressing.
I was homesick. I was having a tough time adjusting to a life thousands of miles away from my family and friends. We only had one car, which Aaron took to work, so I was homebound all day with our infant son. I called my friends, sister, and mom in tears almost daily. I knew I was miserable when I started missing Aaron’s crazy family.
Back in Kansas, Aaron’s dad was spotted routinely around town, mostly at the courthouse, wearing an adult-sized Halloween bumblebee costume, complete with antennae and stinger. He was protesting what he called an illegal sting operation that had landed him behind bars. He was continually featured in the Kansas City Star’s weird-news columns.
“Maybe we can live by my family in Chicago,” I offered.
“Your family is just as whacked,” Aaron scoffed.
My family was morbidly normal in comparison to Aaron’s. Sure, my sister had an unhealthy obsession with Ralph Lauren. My brother liked to wear plaid pants and old-man hats. My pale, Irish-brogued father was part of a Native American flute group. We were artistic, not crazy. The most bizarre thing my mom had ever done was vote for Ross Perot, and my dad had the occasional habit of walking around in European man-sandals. None of them cuddled with life-sized dolls.
We go back to the Midwest to get married. There is no way I am exchanging vows under palm trees surrounded by bikinis and board shorts. Instead, we opt for an outdoor wedding in the Henry Lake Forest Preserves outside of Chicago.
On another trip to Kansas to visit Aaron’s family, Uncle Bill tells us that we have to check out the anatomically correct doll factory, Realdoll, located in San Marcos, California.
“It’s amazing.” His face lights up.
Uncle Bill takes it upon himself to share pictures from his recent trip. There are no beach photos, no quintessential palm-tree shot, only Uncle Bill posing with slutty-looking silicone dolls and creepy tourgoers.
Still, I leave Kansas feeling less than thrilled to be returning to Southern California. I feel like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day. Every morning I can expect the same thing: clear skies and mild weather. I start cursing the sun and its perfect rays. I want some variety, a little bit of the unexpected. Where, San Diego, is the mystery? The city is becoming a boring boyfriend who has wanted me to meet his parents ever since the first date. I am looking for something a little more reckless.
I will never forget the first time I witnessed rain in Southern California. Groups of people cowered under the shabby awning of my local grocery store. They were holding newspapers over their heads and making mad, frantic dashes to their cars.
“I think I’ll wait it out,” exclaimed a woman standing next to me.
It was drizzling. It was the most hilarious thing I have ever seen. Did these people think that this was acid rain? Were they afraid they would melt? I was starting to learn that people in San Diego were opposed to variety.
The thing that bothered me most was the lack of trees. Where were the forest preserves and sweeping prairie grass? I hated palm trees. With their anorexic trunks, they were an insult to arborists everywhere. Palm trees can’t even provide adequate shade from the sun that is always shining.
The truth was that Aaron never wanted to leave San Diego, and I had not yet loosened my grip on my Chicago roots. I wanted a Christmas-card landscape, with a sturdy house looming in the background.
But slowly, I came around to Aaron’s way of thinking. Slowly, I turned my back on the Midwest.
Now, people no longer crack up over my nasal drawl. I accept the cardboard pizza. I’ve learned how to surf and even have a tanning-salon membership. I get a sick sense of satisfaction when my Midwestern friends tell me how California I am.
When I visit Chicago, I complain about the bitter cold and can barely tolerate the wind. The thought of waking up early to scrape snow off my car windows and having to keep track of miscellaneous gloves and mittens is just too much. If that means giving up my dream of owning a home, I gladly will.
We are still renting. We are the ugly stain on our block, the only family on a pristine street who hasn’t forked over more than half a million dollars to buy our own place. We have taken over someone else’s.
When our new neighbors bought their houses, they were greeted with freshly baked cookies and invites to barbeques. When we moved in, we got dirty looks and were told all about how the last tenants hosted loud parties. We were reminded that this is a “quiet neighborhood.”
I always envisioned myself owning a house by the time I was 30. It was going to be pale blue with flowers neatly planted in rows. I would have a huge yard with teak patio furniture and a master bedroom with a walk-in closet. I saw this all in the fantastic brightness of my future.
I turned 30 in January.
Our three-bedroom rental house in Tierrasanta barely holds our family of five. Our neighbor is an elderly man who picks through the bottles in our recycling and reprimands us when our kids leave their toys outside. Our dog has dug up the patch of grass we call a yard.
I have started taking classes at the community college nearby. I attend in the mornings, while my kids are at school. I am usually the oldest one in the class, with the exception of an elderly woman with a cane (in anthropology) and an obnoxious Marine (in history). There is a boy in English composition who owns a shirt that says, “Your mom goes to college.” I hate that kid.
My son’s soccer coach recognizes me one morning on my way to class.
“I didn’t know you taught here.”
“I don’t, I take classes.”
“Oh,” she says, not bothering to hide the shock in her voice.
I see the future looming like a disaster waiting to happen. Aaron reminds me about the house we will buy when I finally have a job. He is the optimist and so cheerful when he says this. I am starting to feel the pressure. I am terrified that I too will end up with a crazy career. Maybe not sex-doll construction, but something far more remedial. What if I wind up an aging waitress with saggy skin and exposed cleavage, a grocery-store bagger, or worse, a Walmart greeter? I try to come up with an inventory of my skills. I have none. I start to panic.
Here's something you might be interested in.
My husband is slowly falling in love with San Diego
A long way from Chicago and Kansas City.
My husband is slowly falling in love with San Diego
A long way from Chicago and Kansas City.
I always pictured myself in California. After my boyfriend Aaron received job offers in Oklahoma City, Topeka, and San Diego, we decided we would head to the land of fruits and nuts.
Within a few weeks, we had loaded up our station wagon with boxes of belongings, our dog, and our four-month-old son for the cross-country trek. We were giddy with excitement.
The decision was even easier for us after the previous year spent attending Aaron’s bizarre family functions in the suburbs of Kansas City.
At Christmas, his Uncle Bill had seated his anatomically correct doll, with Pamela Anderson breasts, at the dinner table. She was wearing a Santa hat. Uncle Bill had been playing with dolls for years, long before Lars and the Real Girl came out in 2007. In Uncle Bill’s family room, there was a shelf with dozens of porcelain dolls.
“It’s kind of creepy that your Aunt Linda has so many dolls in here,” I whispered to Aaron.
“Those are Bill’s,” he said.
“If we want to raise our kid to be normal,” I said, “we need to move, pronto.”
The first friends Aaron and I meet in San Diego want us to go bike riding. It’s September, and we are invited — at 8:00 in the fricking morning — to join these folks on a ride around Mission Bay. I become nervous when I notice the spandex they wear and the enormous water bottles strapped onto their ten-speeds.
My brand-new Walmart four-speed bike, with its comfy seat cushion, might not cut it for this particular outing.
At first, the ride is tolerable. Then we come upon the looming Mission Bay Bridge, which promises serious calf-muscle injustice. After a few minutes the incline gets to me, and I am huffing and puffing, sweating and swearing. I lag embarrassingly behind and nearly vomit. When I finally catch up, I manage to snarl to Aaron through clenched teeth, “We will never hang out with these people again!”
I am from Chicago. Ten-year-olds own bikes. Adults do not. For fun, we drink Old Milwaukee from plastic cups and attend baseball games. We do not wake up early on weekends to take painful bike rides. We are sensible and embrace beer bellies.
But Aaron is slowly falling in love with San Diego. The city has turned into a beautiful blonde, much more adventurous than I am. She shows him new hobbies, like surfing, scuba diving, and kayaking. I want to put a hit out on his sleazy new ladyfriend.
I make it clear just how much I dislike San Diego. That’s why I am shocked when Aaron says that he wants to stay put. He even goes so far as to describe, in detail, the beach condo we will own when he eventually retires.
“Here? You want to stay here in San Diego?”
He has been seduced.
So, with the optimism of first-time buyers, we start our search for a home. One warm Saturday afternoon, our realtor gives us the address to a condo in Santee.
“That’s a little out there,” I say to Aaron. “Didn’t some kid go on a shooting rampage in Santee?”
He tries to remain optimistic, even after the desolate strip malls and the never-ending ride down side streets. We pull into a parking lot off a busy road and notice two shirtless little boys running around with plastic guns. I lift an eyebrow and give Aaron a look. He sighs.
Our realtor is a young guy with slicked-back hair and shiny, black leather shoes. His keys jingle in harmony with his steps. We walk slowly behind him. He comes to a door with faded paint.
“This is it!” he says with the over-enthusiasm of an unemployed actor.
Inside, the carpet is filthy, and the kitchen apparently hasn’t been updated since the early ’80s. There is a tiny boxlike living room and a rectangular dining room that could, maybe, if we are lucky, fit a card table. There is a smell resembling raw sewage ineffectively covered up with air deodorizer.
“It has three bedrooms and a community pool with a hot tub!”
Our realtor’s voice is filled with so much unnecessary pep that I want to punch him. I make my way toward the master bedroom and wonder if a queen-size bed would even fit. Sensing our disappointment, the realtor is relentless. “You can walk to the grocery store!”
I look out the window and see a barefoot kid wandering aimlessly around the sidewalk. In the distance is a rusty pool gate. Everything appears dusty.
We look at a few more places. Most of the complexes resemble inner-city projects, and all share the same brown, speckled carpeting, tiny bedrooms, and sticky-faced children whose parents are nowhere to be seen.
On the drive home, Aaron lets out a long, weary sigh. I remind him that we could buy a mansion in the Midwest for the price of one of those small condos. After seeing the sad look on his face, I can’t continue.
We decide to stop looking. Renting in East County is perfectly acceptable for now. We both agree that when our son is school-age, I will go back and get a degree. We can buy a house when I am working full-time.
By the end of that year, most of our friends in San Diego have moved away to buy affordable houses in other parts of the country. Their Christmas cards are glossy photos of them standing in front of beautiful homes with large sweeping yards. Aaron tries to reassure me with the fact that they have to wear layers of clothing and bundle their kids up in boots and snow pants. They don’t have the opportunity to go snorkeling in February.
“They’re probably getting fat,” he tells me. “People who live in the snow always get fat because there is nothing to do.”
But they probably don’t have crackheads for neighbors.
The woman who moves in next door to us in Spring Valley is unnaturally petite. I am afraid that if I bump into her she will break. In the middle of the night, there are persistent knocks at her door, shortly followed by a strange smell, best described as a combination of burnt plastic and Skittles. She always has friends over. They hang out in the stairwell. They are getting in the way of my sleeping pattern. I want to yell at them to shut the hell up, but I am afraid of these people. The guy a few doors down clues me in on the neighbor’s crack habit.
There is an elderly woman who lives above us. She is Italian and missing nearly all of her teeth. She picks the mint that grows around our patio where our dog routinely pees. One afternoon, she walks to the grocery store, forgetting to turn off her stove. I smell the smoke and hear the persistent beeping of her fire alarm. There is smoke coming out of her windows. I call the fire department. I remove all sentimental items from our apartment. I sit with baby Andrew, my dog, a box of our stuff, and our rolling filing cabinet near the pool, waiting for the fire truck. I am tired of apartment life. When Aaron gets home from work, I tell him that we could’ve died. He says I am being dramatic. I probably am.
There is a mom and her newborn baby in the apartment across from us. Her military husband is deployed. She is having an affair with the dude who lives by the pool. Things get ugly when the husband arrives home from overseas. They end up moving. I am living in the ghetto version of Melrose Place.
The people at the far end of our complex have three kids. The little ones are always knocking on my door. They spend more time at my apartment than their own. They get taken away by Child Protective Services.
There is a shooting across the street at the Blockbuster. It’s broad daylight when it happens.
“They didn’t die, they were only shot,” Aaron reassures me.
Most of our neighbors are dysfunctional. Some are crazy. It seems as if Aaron and I are unable to escape dysfunction. It has followed us from Kansas. This is not what I envisioned when we decided to move to San Diego.
A year later, after the birth of my second son, my parents come for a visit. I notice that my mom clutches her purse whenever we leave the apartment. She constantly and neurotically reminds me to lock the doors. They are from the ’burbs. The only crime they see is their neighbors breaking the homeowners’ association rule by not mowing their lawns. My mom appears to be in a perpetual state of anxiety. I would’ve found it comical if I weren’t so insulted. Before flying home, Mom sits us down and insists that we move. Now.
Eventually, we do move. We find a cute rental in El Cajon with a nice yard. It even has a swing set. Our neighbors are normal, annoyingly normal. Within a month, I am bored out of my mind. I miss my crackhead neighbor, the pyro granny, and the mistress. There is something wrong with me.
We were so anxious to escape the Midwest that we didn’t have a plan for what to do when we arrived in San Diego. Our first apartment was a Motel 6 room that overlooked a parking lot and smelled like vomit and popcorn. Remembering a 20/20 episode about semen and other nasty body fluids found on hotel comforters, I found it nearly impossible to sleep. I scoured the newspapers daily for an affordable apartment that would accept Bela, our 70-pound chocolate Lab. I envisioned living steps from the beach in a cute house with flowers and a wrap-around porch. I was dismayed to discover how much we would have to shell out to rent a dirty studio apartment within walking distance to the waves. In Kansas, we had lived in an adorable old Victorian two-bedroom apartment for $385 a month. I couldn’t imagine paying more than $500.
After a lengthy search, we ended up in our Spring Valley apartment, surrounded by run-down strip malls with 24-hour check-cashing stores. Still, I thought our apartment was charming.
“It has a pool!” I gushed like a damn realtor. I found the popcorn ceiling inside amazing. “Look, it glitters.” I had the ridiculous optimism of a true Midwesterner.
Even after three cars were stolen from our parking lot, I still believed. I was the neighborhood mom. Hordes of kids descended upon our apartment when school let out. I supplied them with endless Freezee Pops. They watched cartoons on our Toshiba and entertained my son, who was just learning how to crawl. I was lonely, my only contact to the outside world was grade-school kids. It was depressing.
I was homesick. I was having a tough time adjusting to a life thousands of miles away from my family and friends. We only had one car, which Aaron took to work, so I was homebound all day with our infant son. I called my friends, sister, and mom in tears almost daily. I knew I was miserable when I started missing Aaron’s crazy family.
Back in Kansas, Aaron’s dad was spotted routinely around town, mostly at the courthouse, wearing an adult-sized Halloween bumblebee costume, complete with antennae and stinger. He was protesting what he called an illegal sting operation that had landed him behind bars. He was continually featured in the Kansas City Star’s weird-news columns.
“Maybe we can live by my family in Chicago,” I offered.
“Your family is just as whacked,” Aaron scoffed.
My family was morbidly normal in comparison to Aaron’s. Sure, my sister had an unhealthy obsession with Ralph Lauren. My brother liked to wear plaid pants and old-man hats. My pale, Irish-brogued father was part of a Native American flute group. We were artistic, not crazy. The most bizarre thing my mom had ever done was vote for Ross Perot, and my dad had the occasional habit of walking around in European man-sandals. None of them cuddled with life-sized dolls.
We go back to the Midwest to get married. There is no way I am exchanging vows under palm trees surrounded by bikinis and board shorts. Instead, we opt for an outdoor wedding in the Henry Lake Forest Preserves outside of Chicago.
On another trip to Kansas to visit Aaron’s family, Uncle Bill tells us that we have to check out the anatomically correct doll factory, Realdoll, located in San Marcos, California.
“It’s amazing.” His face lights up.
Uncle Bill takes it upon himself to share pictures from his recent trip. There are no beach photos, no quintessential palm-tree shot, only Uncle Bill posing with slutty-looking silicone dolls and creepy tourgoers.
Still, I leave Kansas feeling less than thrilled to be returning to Southern California. I feel like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day. Every morning I can expect the same thing: clear skies and mild weather. I start cursing the sun and its perfect rays. I want some variety, a little bit of the unexpected. Where, San Diego, is the mystery? The city is becoming a boring boyfriend who has wanted me to meet his parents ever since the first date. I am looking for something a little more reckless.
I will never forget the first time I witnessed rain in Southern California. Groups of people cowered under the shabby awning of my local grocery store. They were holding newspapers over their heads and making mad, frantic dashes to their cars.
“I think I’ll wait it out,” exclaimed a woman standing next to me.
It was drizzling. It was the most hilarious thing I have ever seen. Did these people think that this was acid rain? Were they afraid they would melt? I was starting to learn that people in San Diego were opposed to variety.
The thing that bothered me most was the lack of trees. Where were the forest preserves and sweeping prairie grass? I hated palm trees. With their anorexic trunks, they were an insult to arborists everywhere. Palm trees can’t even provide adequate shade from the sun that is always shining.
The truth was that Aaron never wanted to leave San Diego, and I had not yet loosened my grip on my Chicago roots. I wanted a Christmas-card landscape, with a sturdy house looming in the background.
But slowly, I came around to Aaron’s way of thinking. Slowly, I turned my back on the Midwest.
Now, people no longer crack up over my nasal drawl. I accept the cardboard pizza. I’ve learned how to surf and even have a tanning-salon membership. I get a sick sense of satisfaction when my Midwestern friends tell me how California I am.
When I visit Chicago, I complain about the bitter cold and can barely tolerate the wind. The thought of waking up early to scrape snow off my car windows and having to keep track of miscellaneous gloves and mittens is just too much. If that means giving up my dream of owning a home, I gladly will.
We are still renting. We are the ugly stain on our block, the only family on a pristine street who hasn’t forked over more than half a million dollars to buy our own place. We have taken over someone else’s.
When our new neighbors bought their houses, they were greeted with freshly baked cookies and invites to barbeques. When we moved in, we got dirty looks and were told all about how the last tenants hosted loud parties. We were reminded that this is a “quiet neighborhood.”
I always envisioned myself owning a house by the time I was 30. It was going to be pale blue with flowers neatly planted in rows. I would have a huge yard with teak patio furniture and a master bedroom with a walk-in closet. I saw this all in the fantastic brightness of my future.
I turned 30 in January.
Our three-bedroom rental house in Tierrasanta barely holds our family of five. Our neighbor is an elderly man who picks through the bottles in our recycling and reprimands us when our kids leave their toys outside. Our dog has dug up the patch of grass we call a yard.
I have started taking classes at the community college nearby. I attend in the mornings, while my kids are at school. I am usually the oldest one in the class, with the exception of an elderly woman with a cane (in anthropology) and an obnoxious Marine (in history). There is a boy in English composition who owns a shirt that says, “Your mom goes to college.” I hate that kid.
My son’s soccer coach recognizes me one morning on my way to class.
“I didn’t know you taught here.”
“I don’t, I take classes.”
“Oh,” she says, not bothering to hide the shock in her voice.
I see the future looming like a disaster waiting to happen. Aaron reminds me about the house we will buy when I finally have a job. He is the optimist and so cheerful when he says this. I am starting to feel the pressure. I am terrified that I too will end up with a crazy career. Maybe not sex-doll construction, but something far more remedial. What if I wind up an aging waitress with saggy skin and exposed cleavage, a grocery-store bagger, or worse, a Walmart greeter? I try to come up with an inventory of my skills. I have none. I start to panic.
Comments
Ponzi, you need something better than whatever you used for #101.
Ms. Fish, you sexy vixen worthy of universal adoration of all intelligent men everywhere
Ay gringito!
Love Filippi's! I even wrote them into a story! Delish pizza!
magicsfive... mmmmm, homemade lasagna.
Touche once again refried. You are correct in that sense. I personally think that registered citizens of California shouldn't be allowed to vote. Ahnold,Reagen,Bono and Eastwood are the reasons. Are you listening Tennesseee and Minnesota?
Sorry. I meant Reagan.
Refried declared:
"The Governator is SORT of a republican"
That's like being a little pregnant, dude.
Either you is or you ain't.
:)
San Diego is one of the biggest con jobs ever perpetrated on the American people. The weather isn't that great, and that's about the only attribute this place can claim. It's a desert. It's Salton Sea except with greedier, shrewder developers and politicians-- and more gullible citizens. (Even city employees and their pension are grifters!) Like the author I've lived all across the country, but never have I encountered a place so self-absorbed and provincial. Mike Davis nailed it. This is a giant cul-de-sac with too few ways out or in.
Dream on, Charger Fans. It's all good. Your team will win. Real estate prices will rise. There's always tomorrow.
Meanwhile, in US cities which respect the residents and taxpayers more than the tourists and the military, life goes on. Communities thrive and problems are solved. And as soon as I can-- I can't wait to get back to one. Siobhan, you're a brave chick.
I moved from NYC to SD for three months in 2004. I loved the weather, the clean streets, the relative compactness of Hillcrest and its slower-than-NYC pace. What I didn't like was the sleazy side, including some noise meth-head neighbors who NEVER slept. I was also floored by the negativity of SD natives, many who, when I told them I just moved here from NYC, looked at me like I was crazy and told me I should go back because I'd end up hating SD because it was a rathole.
I don't think SD is a rathole; far from it. But I ended up moving back to NYC (Staten Island) because I couldn't find a decent job (and this was in 2004!) and because of the ever-rising rents and home prices. But mostly the world-weariness and negativity of the natives left me with a bad taste, something that NYers, as cynical as we can be, didn't have. I've visited a few times since, and love being here for a week or so, but I guess some of us just aren't made for the SD way of life.
But the burning question is:Was Brown a liberal elitist like the majority of California Demoncrats?
--forgot "olive green," that very special olive green shag carpeting color--now back in style :)
SurfPup, you seem to be agreeing with me...
By refriedgringo
Yes-of course.
Wow, you know I used to hang out at another forum where one of the posters was always hijacking threads with her self-centered whinging, they started calling her a troll and would complain about her to the site admins. Got banned, she did.
Course I'm a newbie here, what do I know about anything.
I enjoyed this story. My parents moved from Chicago to San Diego in the 1950s and never looked back (except for visits to their parents).
Perhaps it's already understood by most of us...but in case it's not obvious, people who grew up here have many advantages over people who did not. This is true everywhere, including Chicago, where my father's connections helped him get real estate deals and jobs. I don't think they knew anyone in San Diego before they moved here, but my dad (like the husband of the writer of this article's husband) had a job offer before relocating. Ironically, he had to take a huge pay cut. San Diego was just a sleepy little mostly military town back then.
In my own case, I landed a terrific first after-college job because of a connection at SDSU (I'm an alum). A connection at that job got me an incredible rent ($300/mo...a deal even in 1980)on a house in P.B. Interestingly, I have found that grads of SDSU seems to get extra points from prospective employers, no doubt because so many are SDSU grads themselves.
And, just a few years ago, we were able to buy a great house at a discount (to the point where the mortgage is the same as rent would be) because we bought it from one of my siblings.
I wish the author much luck. I don't say that sarcastically; her family just needs to develop a strong network.
Won't happen here, Ms. Fish. They're fair. Whinge away!
"Because you are competing with so many single, education and local people already.... Once you start having children it’s difficult to devote time, have too incomes and save money."
Gee, I gotta get me some of that Dragon Naturally Speaking software.
DEAR SIOBHAN, (who names there kid siobhan anyway?} Hit the road, your not welcome here, this short comment provided by your local local.
There is this thing called projection, AG. :)
Please do not, russl :)
russl, ha ha very funny!
Since I am not composing and essay and just trying to get a fast post in, I don’t typically spend a great deal of time proof reading my work. If spell-check doesn’t catch a mistake, then it’s good to go. I’m not the grammar or spelling police and I extend the same attitude towards the typos of other posters. I will point out the errors in an authors story though.
That particular series of posts was at 7:30 am when I am just waking up and dragging my laptop from my nightstand onto my comforter and checking the morning stock report, news, email and then to just have a little fun, the Reader. I was not awake. But mostly since I not be graded, just judged by the critical, I don’t care.
By the way, this was also created without using the keyboard. J
Ponzi, as long as you know and admit that it looks stupid and that you don't care, then fine, I guess. "By the way, this was also created without using the keyboard." It looks like it too.
If you're going to place your faith in software and trust it to not make you look stupid, just keep in mind that the spell-checker is only as good as the idiot using it.
Turning over in his freshly dug grave, Ponzi :)
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/33046695/ns/politics-the_new_york_times/?GT1=43001
SDaniels: "Refried is a published writer."
He's so bad, the editor had to carve up his "winning" piece, "Lesbians Without Tacos" (name changed too) to make it publishable. He's offended many posters with his "holier than thou" attitude and he still thinks he's God. The nerve of someone who has never had a Reader cover to critique someone who has! He is a Refried a**hole, as is SDaniels.
Great story, Siobhan. I love your style. It ranks right up there with the the turtle piece. Refreshing, easy to read. Not at all like slogging through molasses. Certain posters should take heart.
Well, okay, I guess I can try.
Refried, you're a jealous copycat, so there. Because of you and SD ragging on my extraordinarly brilliant writing, I had to sell my wormy old chest. Oh woe, oh woe! What do you care if a certain famous singer really didn't rock my world? You're messing up my life, waaaaaaaaaaaaaah!
Hmmm. I don't know, I don't think I can get the hang of it.
Pete proclaimed:
"I agreed that Chicago was not everyone's cup of meat. It's a tough town for tough people."
To say the least. I was just commenting on Fish's blog about the murder of 16-year-old Derrion Albert.
http://www.sandiegoreader.com/weblogs/memorial-life/2009/sep/29/one-more-hurt/
Apparently, Chicago's up to 30+ kids a year being murdered? Nice place. Oprah can't swoop in with her Godlike powers and fix that s***? She's right there, for crying out loud. Seems like somebody could make a dent.
I know a lot of folks just love Chicago. Supposedly has a great arts scene, restaurants, museums, etc. But it's also got one hell of a dark side to its rather "interesting" personality. I thought Detroit used to be worst for violent crime, but I guess it's Chicago now.
"The Whale's Vagina is hardly what I'd call a tough town. It's hard to get tough when you have a world-class baseball team with many World Series wins,a world-class football team with hundreds of Lombardi trophies,SeaWorld,Balboa Park,hundreds of acres of sand to waste gas in and let's not forget about surfing in a beautiful,non-polluted ocean that abuts our neighbors to the south that would never dream of jumping the border to take advantage of us.."
San Diego? "Tough?" LOL. That's a hot one. Except for the ghettos in L.A. and Oakland, there's not a lot of "tough" to be observed out here, certainly not in coastal California.
Spoiled, entitled, narcissistic, tantrum-prone, selfish, rude, ungrateful, shallow, stupid, and ridiculous, perhaps.
But "tough?"
Not.
Doesn't apply to everybody, of course. Just most of the people I observe on a daily basis. The younger they are, the truer it seems to be. The oldsters as a group are nicest, but I think that's true anywhere. Raised in a different time, with manners and ethics.
So if the above description doesn't apply to whomever is reading this, there's no reason to be offended, is there?
:)
(#113) That's a very sad passing, SD. Thanks for the news.
Refried apologized:
"What I seriously apologize for is hijacking thread of the authoress. Ma'am, I'm sorry. Sincerely. It was an honest article, and even though I took exception to it, I do admire all who are truthful in their writing."
I'm sure she's observant enough to note that trying to navigate a story through here without getting hijacked by banditos is about like trying to drive an RV from Texas to Mexico City without the same thing happening. ;)
Being a non-native of San Diego, I actually liked the original article.
"I am from Chicago. Ten-year-olds own bikes. Adults do not. For fun, we drink Old Milwaukee from plastic cups and attend baseball games. We do not wake up early on weekends to take painful bike rides. We are sensible and embrace beer bellies.
But Aaron is slowly falling in love with San Diego. The city has turned into a beautiful blonde, much more adventurous than I am. She shows him new hobbies, like surfing, scuba diving, and kayaking. I want to put a hit out on his sleazy new ladyfriend."
I like this a lot. There's a choppiness to the first paragraph that reflects irritated terseness, then gives way to the first 3 sentences of the second, then back to the irritation. Cool. :)
And totally understandable. I completely relate to her disgust at the one-bedroom dumps one has to pay $850 (a nice house payment elsewhere) to rent out here. My apartment looks like something I lived in while in college in the 80s, and hated even then. I call this one the same thing, "Brown Town." That's not a racial epithet, BTW, it's a reference to the fact that everything here is BROWN. Brown cabinets, brown carpet, brown doors, brown baseboards, brown exterior...
The key word here would be BROWN. They should just call this place the "Not Cute Apartments" and be done with it. They should print up brochures that say, "Hell no, they're not cute. They're CHEAP (relatively speaking). WTF do you expect? It's California! YAY, California!!"
And what's also irritating is the fact that people out here don't seem to know any better. They act like it's perfectly normal not to be able to afford a decent place to live when you have a middle class income. Ignorance is bliss, as the saying goes, and ain't that lucky for Californians?
On the rare occassions when it drizzles a bit in SD, I've also laughed at people taking cover to huddle like frightened little sun bunnies when the shadow of a big nasty hawk goes soaring overhead. It's comical. In the northern end of the same state, up in Humboldt, people will whip out their umbrellies and go about their business in a deluge that would give Noah pause.
Yeah, I didn't follow his column all the time, but know people who did, and will be jonzing. All the Renaissance-types are dyin' off, ya know? :(
There was once a circle of what could be considered as true conservatives. Saffire was certain one, along with Buckley. Their aims were true and their voices were reasonable. They were forced from their perches by the Bushes and the Clintons. I will miss Saffire as much as I miss Buckley. I didn't always agree with them, but at least I understood them.
Mindy, apparently, the only "poster" I've offended is yourself. The editor changed the title, this is what editors do. Get over yourself. You really have some issues.
"The nerve of someone who has never had a Reader cover to critique someone who has!"
I've not sent a "cover story" to the Reader, Mindy. When I do, feel free to comment with stuff like, "Oooohhh! I Hate this guy! He insulted me! Ohhh, Ohhh!" I'm sure you'll get lots of sympathy.
Nah.
Probably not.
This is lame. Who cares about being 'tough?'
Gringo eulogized: "There was once a circle of what could be considered as true conservatives."
Sad when 'true' is an informal synonym of 'intelligent.'
The Republican Party was hijacked, SD. I remember talking to my mother about it at the time, she was/is a life-long conservative. It happened the day that Bush the 1st was nominated over Jack Kemp. That was my last day as a Republican.
The issue of National Review that came out after Kemp had to bow out of the race, where they wrote something along the lines of WE BELIEVE THAT IT WAS OBVIOUS THAT WE SUPPORTED KEMP IN THE PRIMARIES, BUT WE WILL BACK GEORGE BUSH, was the last issue I read.
Conservatism is dead, it has been dead for two decades.
Y'all tried Napoleone's Pizza down in National City?
Only downside: It's next door to a funeral home! :)
John Adams(our 2nd POTUS)was the father of John Quincy Adams(our 6th POTUS). Theodore Roosevelt(our 26th POTUS)was the 5th cousin of Franklin D.Roosevelt(our 32nd POTUS). George H.W.Bush(our 41st POTUS)was the father of George W.Bush(our 43rd POTUS).
Pete, didn't mean to step on your post, I didn't know you came in again before I sent "post comment".
Save it for Dr. Lunacy, refried :)
It was a grassroots effort by the churches. If I remember correctly, they actually did it with letter writing campaigns kinda like knitting bees.
I think that there was a PBS / Frontline documentary on it.
crazy. - Joe
"Power to the people, ma'am. Rip it right out the the hands of the politicians. It's yours, not theirs."
Viva il revolucion refrito! :)
re: #141:
"...where I can get a decent meal without fish in it,"
Ahhhh, that's just mean, AG.
re: #143:
"for not being food snobs, for having "ugly" apartments..."
Hey, what's wrong with being a foodie? Rather than be proud of our pathetic restaurant scene, we need to continue to encourage better!
As a lifelong apartment dweller, here, in OC, and NYC, I can say that any pad can be personalized to satisfaction. The most noticeable change for the least money? Just paint the walls your color of choice!
... or, stop bitching, stay, and try to make it better here.
If you have to leave, Austin is a killer choice. I'd live there in a heartbeat.
way too many cool things happen in ATX: http://www.lonestarroundup.com/
All is forgiven refried. ;-D I've never been to Napoleone's but someday I'll try it. Maybe next week...
Perhaps the citizens should not elect an individual who has run the CIA to presidency? Isn’t it rather foolish to let someone who may have to goods on powerful people have access to the highest office? Then to arm his stupid son with a Dick?
Let's not forget the greatest Demoncrat to ever grace our fine land-John Fitzgerald Kennedy. The LAST American president. If there were more of him,I might not be so Independent. JFK:"Ask not what your country can do for you but what you can do for your country." Obama:"Do as I say,not as I do."
I loved that line AG :-D Thanks.
(#121) Sprintmeister, our local yokel, poses the question, "Who names there kid siobhan anyway?" I think you meant "their," but to answer your question, how 'bout the Irish?
Girl, don't talk to me about pathetic restaurant scene, as far as I can see there's plenty of good food to eat here, more than enough, maybe even too many places! Long as I got me some good place to eat some good tacos and tamales, I'm a happy campesina!
Now, let's hear how useful it is to saddle someone with the term "liberal elitist."
"What's the mattah with the American fahmah today? He's stahving."
Now, see Pistola, I like it when you aren't in character. :)
LOL. Character? Where exactly is National City anyway?
In yet another display of overkill, gofurry piled on:
"Hey! Get thee to "Possum Kingdom Lake" Yaaahoooo!!!"
Furry, that lake is nowhere near Austin.
But here it is, jest fur yew:
http://www.possumkingdomlake.com/
Oh, and Mindy, one more thing before I ignore your crap again. Some advice. Not about your writing, there isn't time for that (in the universe, in all of human existence!). It's about your attitude, I'll give you some advice on how to fix it.
First, get a hammer. A big hammer, something with some weight. Next, buy nails. Not the little box, the big one. You'll need a lot of nails for this. Next, call the lumber yard. You'll also need a lot of wood. A lot. Of wood.
Now, once you have the lumber, the nails, and the hammer, do this:
BUILD A BRIDGE AND GET OVER IT!
She's right about the crappy pizza, too. People out here will actually express the opinion that California Pizza Kitchen is "good." Really? Why? Because is has "California" in the name of it? Cardboard. Oh, but they give you a pager and buzz you when your table's ready? Technotoys are involved? Okay. Well I guess it must be good, then!
The good news: The ocean/scenery, the weather (although it does get a bit boring after a while), the seafood, the tourist attractions, museums, etc., and a community college system with tuition rates that are the cheapest in the U.S. Really, it's the one bargain there is to be had out here.
http://www.cccco.edu
Wow, this was a great article and really captures how I am feeling right now about San Diego. My wife and I moved back for the 2nd time (mainly this time cause her sister moved here who later turned out to be a mental case-long story) and I am completely disenchanted with what this place has become. And the trick is I am not sure if it is what it has become as much as what is has proven to be in time. If you do not own real estate here, you can find the most luxurious rental here in San Diego, and you still will be subjected to loud, rude neighbors (packed in 7 deep in a 3 BR!), drug users, and low life thug wannabees. In my opinion, SD has become a mini-burb of what LA represents; superficiality, wannabees, self entitlement, and narcissism. I think when one moves here they get enthralled in the weather, the beautiful people, and only see the good things. Once that veil is removed in time, you see the area for what it is. You learn to accept things people in other cities would not accept. And all for the weather?!? Its not worth it. I had fun but I will be leaving as soon as possible. Now bring on all you angry, hatin', negative, SD defenders who will do nothing but prove my point! Great article S. Braun.
PistolPete -- Calling you "creepy" and "tripping" was not a compliment. You are sort of a schmuck, actually, and one wishes you'd have come down off your tear in the privacy of your own padded quarters, not all over the too-tolerant Reader e-letters page. Back to basics, I congratulate Siobhan Braun who wrote a funny and engaging cover story.
go furry, go furry, go furry, go furry!
cabbage patching around the lobby
See what happens when you try to hand them their hat? :)
?
Fishy gushed:
"...as far as I can see there's plenty of good food to eat here..."
Well it's fine as long as all you're doing is looking at it. :)
Nice. I almost went to UTA for grad school, did you know? Maybe we would have met lounging poolside :) Instead, I chose the big bad ole city, and rathole apts.
Fish suggested:
"I think we may have identified the problem. Now, what is the solution? I know! Move!"
Again? No thanks. I've done nothing but for the last several years. Cheapest in town, cat sitter lives next door, only 8 miles from work.
I'll tough it out for a while, here in the Whale's Rectum.
:)
i agree with post # 1. Bye, now....
Honey, I once read a writer who had lived in New Orleans and moved to San Diego describe it as "the bland leading the bland."
It's okay. We get that you don't get it. We don't get why you keep coming here and stay here, especially as you continually keep griping about life here and how great your life was elsewhere, but maybe it has to do with the way y'all was raised.
Life is good here. It could be better. But then it wouldn't be San Diego. It would be Chicago, or New York, God forbid. We like being bland. We don't want it any other way.
Good one Ponzi (#99). I often have to remind myself of the importance of attitude. I wish Pete would take it to heart.
"He is a Refried a**hole, as is SDaniels."
Hmm. Welp, tried to offer some understanding and a hand up on your latest, Mindy/thestoryteller, but you are still apparently obsessed with pointing out my nether regions; shoes, humps, bumps. I guess it makes sense, since you've had zero to say to the thinking parts of me.
For posters' reactions to you--for yes, it is all about you: Might be wise to read Shizzy's comment on your latest, antigeekess's Wiki link to histrionic personality disorder, and maybe reread that advice about bridges above.
"Hmmm. I don't know, I don't think I can get the hang of it."
It was my tight jeans. Mindy was jealous. Michael liked me. I could tell. The little bastard moonwalked for me, right in front of my car!
What I seriously apologize for is hijacking thread of the authoress. Ma'am, I'm sorry. Sincerely. It was an honest article, and even though I took exception to it, I do admire all who are truthful in their writing.
I hope, beyond all, that you find great joy in San Diego! It's a great place. Our wine sucks, our seafood rocks. You know how it goes. Hell, you lived in Chicago.
Bingo,AG. Leave it to a native Californian to bring up politics and look like a complete douchebag. No offense to Fish,I like your column and have no beef with you personally but AG has your balls on that point.
Virtue is knowledge, not an instinct.
LOL Does anybody remember when Maria stood on that ladder outside of OJ's house when that whole drama was going on? I do believe she really thinks of herself as a journalist, poor soul!
As you can tell,I was born to be a Kennedy Demoncrat. ;-D
Tom Waits worked there. http://www.tomwaitslibrary.com/topography/napoleones.html
Gotta try it!
Please do us all a favor.....move back to the Midwest where you can enjoy your Old Milwaukee and baseball. We have too many like you already. In fact take a few back with you.....ok?
Thanks!
I really wanted to be amused by this. I tried, Lord knows I tried to be amused by this. I pictured myself getting my face pounded by Chicago locals while standing on Waveland trying to get a souvenir. I imagined myself trying to expose corrupt Chicago politicians (it seems there is no end to them) in the local paper only to receive two men named Lenny and Mac at my front door, armed and serving notice that Assemblyman Jones sends his regards. I pretended to contract frostbite while waiting for the "L" on a platform that smelled like urine and vomit, with a zero degree windchill and three feet of snow.
I tried to put myself in your shoes, but instead I decided to kiss the good, hot, dry earth I walk on, breathing the furnace-air of the Santa Ana's. You can have Chicago, the Cubs, the Bears, the wind, the cold, the snow, the idiots, the murders, the corrupt cops and politicians, the overrated pizza, the cheap beer, and Roger Ebert, all of it is yours.
I'll take the palm trees.
And my warmest regards to Uncle Bill, he sounds pretty sane to me.
YEAH! 'Cause Sandy Eggo is God's gift to a**holes,right? O_o Sandy Eggo is like every other town in America.
Great story, I really enjoyed it. I moved here from CT 9 years ago.
I can't figure out why the other posts are so hostile. If you have enough money it can be a dream to live here or while going to college. Over the long haul, I'm not sure.
A lot of people fall into the SD trap of low wages and expensive apartment living. Good luck and keep writing.
Did anybody get the address of that doll factory?
Abyss Creations 475 E Carmel Street San Marcos,CA 92078-4362
Pete: I really enjoy the heat. I realize it's a personal preference, but honestly, I'll take this anytime over snow. And I grew up in Los Angeles, San Diego isn't L.A. There are three things I miss about Los Angeles: Tito's Deli in South El Monte, a Thai/Mexican burrito place in Glendale (that probably isn't there now), and my youth. Otherwise, I'd take San Diego, with all of its imperfections and oddball residents and myopic sports fans anytime over the smog, traffic, and general chaos two hundred miles north of here.
Mrbios: People that live in San Diego are persnickety. Hostile is a little bit of an over statement. My guess is that this story was published to garner the exact responses that it will receive in here. Many people love San Diego, and others simply shrug and come to accept it.
Mz. Fish: http://sandiego.citysearch.com/profile/434939/san_marcos_ca/abyss_creations_llc.html
I too LOVED the heat in my youth. I still love the heat but EVERYDAY gets to be a drag. Like I've said before,there's something cathartic about the changing of the seasons. Call it sweet anticipation(even if it is the same 4 seasons every year)if you will. As for the L.A./Sandy Eggo comparison,I'll kindly beg your pardon and disagree. Plastic people are plastic people whether here or there. "I hate Los Angeles. Those people are so fake"says the douchebag with the fake tan,board shorts,Crocs,Ed Hardy T-Shirt,Frank Sinatra hat and $150 sunglasses who also drives a Prius. YEAH! Nothin' fake about him ;-D I'm wearing a pair of black Hanes shorts from Target,a white FOTL t-shirt with stains on it and it's one size too small so my beer gut hangs out just ever so slightly and a pair of flattened Crocs flip-flops. I just let out the nastiest soda and peanuts for breakfast fart you could ever imagine and I've got $738 and some change in my pants pocket. By October 1st,I'll have around $650 till my next divedend check comes in. I'm not pretty in the least bit but I refuse to spend $$$ to look like an ultra-hip,not-really-cool douchebag. And if that ain't country,I'll kiss your a$$... :-D
Gringo, was j/k, but thanks anyway!
Just for s***s & giggles,I googled douhebag and came up with this... http://www.cracked.com/article_15822_5-douchebag-behaviors-explained-by-science.html
SurfPup, you seem to be agreeing with me...
Pete, it's almost four in the afternoon and I'm still in my robe. In my closet you'll find ten pair of Levis/Wranglers, an assortment of polo shirts, and maybe one dress pant and a button-down shirt. I own one pair of boots, one pair of tennis shoes, and one pair of dress shoes (I got married in those, by the way, seventeen years ago).
I'm also cash-and-carry. I have no credit cards. I have three hundred and ninety dollars and sixty pesos in my pants pocket upstairs, and about eight hundred dollars in checks that need to be cashed tomorrow.
So, I get the reference to phony, trendy, want-to-be hipsters. Perhaps San Diego and Los Angeles have that in common. But otherwise, I'll take San Diego anytime over Los Angeles. I mean, even if you want to term San Diego as Los Angeles LIGHT, I'll take the light. More flavor, less filling, perhaps.
Fair enough. Personally,the closest I've ever been to L.A. was at the train station on my way up to Ventura. I've always wanted to do the"tourist"thing there but as I was telling SD earlier today(I believe),I can't really do that. I like immersing myself into the local flavor of the towns I visit. See the good. See the bad. Make a judgement. If I never get there,I'll never regret it. I can definetely see Sandy Eggo as L.A. light.
I blame my generation's and the next generation's douchebaggery on poor parenting. Take media for example....Today's music?SUCKS! Today's TV shows? SUCK! Today's movies? SUCK! That's my generation's fault and I'm thoroughly ashamed. My mother would've slapped the s*** out of me if I wore a pink polo shirt with the collar"popped".
It seems to me Ms. Braun wants to blame SD for not living up to her expectations, when she should be blaming herself for her life. You're the one who chose to move away from your family. You're the one who chose to live in a neighborhood you didn't enjoy. San Diego has many neighborhoods, all with their own flavor. Look around. It seems you blame the weather for the boredom in your own life. If you need the weather to entertain you, you truly do live in the wrong place. You're also the one who decided to have three kids on one income, Ms. Braun. Lack of money leads to living arrangements sucking. As you said " I try to come up with an inventory of my skills. I have none." If you have no money you live with the losers. Finish school and get a decent job. You will find life more enjoyable. People like you and PistolPete truly annoy me. Pete gets annoyed by Charger fans in SD supporting their team. What do you expect them to do Pete? YOU'RE IN SD! People here love THEIR city and support THEIR teams. The only difference between them and you is they are HOME. As I've said before, if where you came from is so much better, and all you can do is bit&% about SD, GO BACK WHERE YOU CAME FROM! Seriously. Nobody is twisting your arm trying to get you to stay. GET THE F*#& OUT!
Interesting to hear a man who employs such foul language in a public forum complain about poor parenting. Your own parents were apparently not so on top of things, Pete.
You will NEVER hear me say that Chicago is better than Sandy Eggo. Every city is the same when you think about it. You're born in one place,grow up in that one place,move on and realize that no matter how bad you want to get out of that one place,you've just sustituted another place for that one place. Maybe I should just throw in the towel and go back to that one place since this place is no different than that place....
My 3 biggest beefs with Sandy Eggo are(in no particular order): 1.-"We're not like Los Angeles". Ummmmmm-Yes! Yes you are! 2.-"The Sandy Eggo Super Chargeless are the greatest team to ever have graced the NFL". Ummmmmm-No! No they're not! and I'll save the best for last because it's September and it's 100 degrees outside. I'm sweating like a whore in church. 3.-The weather. There is nothing and I mean nothing special about breathing in the same stale air that you breathed in last year. I'd ** for about 20 inches of snow or rain right now. They both mean that fresher air(which we all need)will be along soon.
My least favorite subject. Comparing Republicans is like comparing farts and arguing which one's the smelliest.
(D'ja like that, Pete?)
;)
And now, to go and be entirely more productive...
What's up with the READER placing this waste of space on the front page......???
How about hiring some decent writers to do some real stories....?
I thought the story told the truth. Hate to break it to you Sandy Eggans but your place on Earth isn't the end-all,be-all to living life. I know you dweebs out here like to think you're all that and a bag of chips but the cold,hard reality is-you're not. There's NOTHING here that I can't get back home. I know,I know,it's a shocker.Like I've said before,ANY town with the balls to claim to be America's Finest is in dire need of a mirror.
And again,thank you Reader.com for removing the things I've said. Censorship is so in style right nowrolls eyes. I wonder if I really were to blog on here if that would get censored as well....Lord knows I could say whatever wanted in regards to cuss words not getting censored. O_o
People like you and PistolPete truly annoy me.....
By rickeysays
And to think I thought I was the only one who "annoyed" Ricky ... I feel so much better.
Pete: I really enjoy the heat. I realize it's a personal preference, but honestly, I'll take this anytime over snow. And I grew up in Los Angeles, San Diego isn't L.A. There are three things I miss about Los Angeles: Tito's Deli in South El Monte, a Thai/Mexican burrito place in Glendale (that probably isn't there now), and my youth.
By refriedgringo
I went to school in the Lansing/East Lansing Area of MI for a few years, and if you give any palce a chance it will have an effect on you.
San Diego has the most sunny days per year out of any major metropolitan area in America-about 325 per year-while Lansing/East Lansing wss the exact opposite-the second most number of overcast days per year-behind Seattle. It was so different. But it grew on me, and at the end of my stay I actually really enjoyed the area-even though it is so opposite from our area weather wise......So I can see how people get attached to areas....
As for what LA has that San Diego does not have-only one thing-"Tommy's Burger", the original location is still the best.
You're right, Surfpuppy, I forgot about the Tommy's (I think it's on Rampart?), that place was awesome! The franchises weren't as good. Great call!
"It seems to me Ms. Braun wants to blame SD for not living up to her expectations, when she should be blaming herself for her life."
Maybe she thought she was moving to"America's Finest City"and realized that it was no different than what she could've had out in the Heartland.....
Here's my take,musically speaking,on the differences between a resort town like Sandy Eggo and a real town like Chicago....
Sandy Eggo: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dw5mkSnqOM8
Chicago: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kYvOsnhV6ZY
I truly feel sorry for you native Sandy Eggans and your sheltered lives. I was born & raised in a town that would eat Sandy Eggo for breakfast and s*** it out for lunch.
Lay off guys. Geez.
The article was interesting, quirky, and was in no way self-aggrandising. Quite the opposite, the author poked fun at herself as well as her new home and lifestyle.
Sure, it's not an expose of the corruption in the city, nor a hagiography of San Diego's glory...just a personal take on the writer's San Diego experience.
So lay off. Okay?
Pistol, you and Refried write wonderfully sometimes. I love that line "sweating like a whore in church."
You both have the time to write lots of comments. I wonder why neither of you have yet submitted a story for the cover? I think the Reader pays about $1,500 for a cover story. Not gonna make you rich, but that's not trivial money either.
Go for it! Write now!
Pistol, write a cover story length article about all the reasons San Diego sucks. Be sure to use lots of colorful metaphors (sweating like a whore in church...swear I'm gonna use that one) to make it interesting.
Refried, write an article about what it's REALLY like living in TJ. You've got the skill and experience.
Please lay off Ms. Braun who's just starting out as a writer it seems, and actually did a pretty good job. She had the courage to submit a story and supplement her income...you may not like her story, but at least she's been published. When you both comment so harshly, I begin to suspect you're a wee little bit jealous.
So get writing, okay? I'd like to read YOUR cover stories.
Best,
Fred
You're right, Surfpuppy, I forgot about the Tommy's (I think it's on Rampart?), that place was awesome! The franchises weren't as good. Great call!
By refriedgringo
Yes, Beverely and Rampart, that is the original and that place gets a line of about 50-150 people at lunch on a nice summer day-but the line with even a 100+ people in it goes through in about 10 minutes.
Those chili burgers/dogs are the best. Funny, but that place is like In N Out Burger-Southern Cal originals (even though In N Out is now all over the west coast).
Fred, I do keep a weblog here, and cover story or no cover story, I'm open for criticism. If I wrote a cover story for the Reader (I'm working on one, shhhh!), I'm sure I would get my share of irate readers. It's what makes things interesting! Relax, my friend, Siobhan Braun will be just fine, although I will take this opportunity to warn her that some passages come dangerously close to being much too passive (command your passages, don't allow them to command you).
It's sort of like when that young lady wrote the piece about turtles. I bet she got a lot more out of that than fifteen hundred bucks in the way of healthy criticism. I would gift a cover story to the Reader if I got honest advice like that. Mine, at least, is not mal-intended.
Thanks Fred. I've actually thought of that. Not so much why Sandy Eggo(contrary to what my feelings may invoke,I don't hate Sandy Eggo any more than I hate whatever city I'm currently existing in)sucks but more of an outsider's view of this town. Not unlike Mrs.Braun's but more in depth I suppose. I'm not sure if you're telling me to lay off her story or not but Fred,I'm in no way criticizing her story in any way. I've been a pretty faithful reader of The Reader for 4 years now and I think today's issue might be the first one I keep just for the cover story alone.
In reference to the church line I used,every now and then I'll come across a nugget. My grandmother wasn't the most religious woman but like most grandmothers,she believed in God."Sweating like a whore in church"and"that went over like a fart in church"were two of those nuggets I heard her use every now and then growing up. Religious one-liners were often invoked in my family's Catholic household.
I'm really surprised at the negative comments to this story. I enjoyed it. Made me remember my first few apartments in east county.
Pete. It's San Diego, not Sandy Eggo. You really are not funny.
sd_inside. Wow... you are an ass. Lighten up. I was born here, and have lived all my life here. It's a fact that people from other parts of the states are going to move to San Diego, but I no one that I know is as down on them as your statements portray you to be.
Fred. Google "sweating like a whore in church" - that line has been around for years man.
Siobhan. Please write more articles...
Oh, and Pete... http://www.hotchickswithdouchebags.com/
This farmer is leaning against his fence when a guy in a car drives up and asks the farmer for directions to the next town. He tells the farmer "I had to get out of the last town. I've been stuck there forever, I've never seen such a collection of dishonest, no good, uncaring people, in my life. What are the people in the next town like?" The farmer says "I think you'll find they're pretty much the same" and the guy drives off.
A little while later another car pulls up and the driver says to the farmer "I'm so sad I have to leave the last town. I spent many happy times there. The people were loving and open, and always greeted me with open arms. What are the people in the next town like?" Farmer says "I think you'll find they're pretty much the same"
Can't speak for PP, Fred, but refried is a published writer. Well-intentioned on your part, but a wee bit condescending, no?
tiki pretty much covered the rest @#30.
LMAO tikicult! The last one on that link with the Hollyrock bar & grille was f*in' hilarious! As for my use of Sandy Eggo,I'm not doing it to be funny. I'm doing it to be an ahole. And I guess I'm doing it well. Consider it one of the few Reader trademarks I leave laying around. Can you spot my other literary trademarks?
Nah, SD, Fred has a point. I've read this article about ten times now, and there are some things that stand out. She does manage to go back and forth pretty well, I should have patted her on the tush for that (not in a sexist way, sort of in a football player way). I like Fred a lot. He's smart, witty, and quite observant. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt.
I can't imagine anyplace better than this region, but then again, I am from here. I reckon that occasionally, I could use a nudge from someone who appreciates something else. After all, my own parents live in Tennessee. There's no accounting for geographical preference.
I've always been told that I write exceptionally well for a man with no formal education. Maybe I missed my calling in life. I've also had the talent to make people give up their security and comfort of apathy and mediocrity to actually think for themselves instead of getting what they"should"be thinking of from our corrupt media. The only time I've been"published"twice in letters to the editor of the NCT. Here http://www.nctimes.com/news/opinion/letters/article_2aabb6f1-3509-55ee-89de-fc081a7353e3.html Look for a letter titled"Accident brought out valient,everyday heroes" and another that Google isn't currently pulling up(although I've seen it)right now regarding a letter I wrote in defense of saying no to Prop 8 last fall. It is kind of cool picking up the Reader and seeing my nom de pluer in print.
There are ALOT of extremely intelligent posters on this forum including SDaniels(even if we aren't exactly each other's cup of meat,I'll still give credit and respect when I see it's due). You guys really make me think. When ya'll were posting about Tao Te Ching,I was googling Tao Te Ching and learning something new. I'm one of the few people I know who use the computer for what it was invented for-a learning tool.
Pete, I think a stronger case can be made that the computer is a labor-saving device. (That's what I use it for, 'cause I'm a lazy mother****er.) The computer, it was once said, is a fast pencil.
LMAO! Never looked at like that. It's funny you mention that. I can't type.let's the laughter die down Really though. In high school and working in the print shop in prison I learned that I cannot for the life of me QWERTY type like I'm playing a piano. I chicken peck using my right hand middle finger. I just do it really fast. That's why I make a typo now and then. I'm looking at the keyboard instead of the computer screen.
I also can't drive a stickshift.
There is a lifestyle sacrifice or decision that must be made when one wants to own a home and raise a family in California.
You start with buying the home first. Because you are competing with so many single, education and local people already. Also many people choose to retire in California so they have a nest egg they can use to buy a home.
Once you start having children it’s difficult to devote time, have too incomes and save money.
Don’t believe that you can catch up to the real estate price escalations either. Not without adding a good income or a windfall. The real estate market has cycles and right now it’s in a down cycle. It will gain momentum soon and the prices will again steam forward to new highs.
I did like your story and I have to say that I believe it is one of the most commented on features that I have seen on The Reader (since they have been online).
Maybe that's Josh Board's problem too (one-finger typing).
Learn to type; it'll change your life. It's the single most important thing you should have learned in school.
It's a hand/eye coordination thing with me. My brain doesn't think like the normal human's does in regard to everyday life. Ya'll can quit snickering now. :-D
Pete, there is one thing about you, an endearing thing, and even your detractors should take note: You are an honest man. That counts, a lot, regardless of whatever else could ever be said of you.
I will tell you, right here and now, I really appreciate that.
(#41) Well, typing does require eye-hand coordination, true. But make no mistake, typing is a LEARNED SKILL. You get in a classroom, you're given specific exercises, and you do ENDLESS PRACTICE. After a semester or two, you start to get it, and you take more typing classes to get better. It's a life-changing skill.
"I am usually the oldest one in the class, with the exception of an elderly woman with a cane (in anthropology) and an obnoxious Marine (in history)."
"Anthropology" and "history" should be capitalized.
LOL. I tried to refrain from using the Whale's Vagina(one of only two great moments in Anchorman)but someone really said that they didn't find my use of Sandy Eggo humorous so I went with the latter. And that would make a great name for a bar.
And Fish? It did infact sound as if you were trying to sound superior to Texas politics. At least to AG and I,it did.
And here comes jhutt with a grand slam(Or is it Grand Slam? Or is it capitalized only at Denny's at 4am?)out of left field....crickets chirp
jhutt: Not necessarily. If the classes were more specific, I'd totally agree with you (Anthropology 102, History 101, i.e.), but it seemed generealized. Or, explain and teach me a new trick! In other words, if I said, "I was taught anthropology and history in college," that would be acceptable without caps, because it's general. I never though it had to be capped unless I got specific with it.
Well thanks refried. I come off as being arrogant but my honesty prevents me from that. I'm WAY more humble in real life. I'm not saying I'm not an ahole in real life,I am,but I'm not the ahole that everyone thinks I am. Like I've stated before,I'm the type of guy you want on your side when life isn't exactly going as planned. I've seen enough of life that I'll never get out of this world alive.... :-D I may be rough around the edges on here but I'm really a teddy bear once you get to know me. Maybe it's the anonymity of the net that shows the rough edges of my double-edged sword. If that's the case,I'm far from alone in that regard.
As for typing,I've been there and done that russl. I drank VERY heavily for two months in high school while trying to practice my skills on the keyboard. Then I realized...."Who gives a flying f*** if I can type or not? The end result is just as fast as if I could QWERTY,right? RIGHT!". Call it part of my rebellious,non-conforming charm.
I find PP to be endlessly self-aggrandizing and narcissistic, as well as completely thoughtless of others, and not especially nonconformist, but appreciate his idea that he is on a learning odyssey--if not his virulent bigoted farting.
Jeez refried, give my brain back :)
My brain is yours, SD. Except for the parts that seem to leak excessive vowels in my comments here. That's the tequila ;)
Watch out! You almost stepped on my train of commas. That's the pain meds :)
(#41) Well, typing does require eye-hand coordination, true. But make no mistake, typing is a LEARNED SKILL. You get in a classroom, you're given specific exercises, and you do ENDLESS PRACTICE. After a semester or two, you start to get it, and you take more typing classes to get better. It's a life-changing skill.
By russl 11:55 p.m., Sep 23, 2009
Guess what russl? I only type half of the time. Most of my comments on blog are created with my voice using Dragon Naturally Speaking software. I just type, spellcheck and post. The comments above I only tocuhed the keyboard for a few keystroke, the rest was voice recognition. Soon keyboards and typing withh be a relic of the past just like typewriters.
Hah! I was reading a great rant against semicolons earlier. I LOVE THE SEMICOLON! ;;;;;
It's, like, you write this big giant rambling sentence that seems to go nowhere but insists on being written and reaches a point where it's far too large to be acceptable but not quite finished; and this happy little thing called the simicolon makes the world whole once again.
Gringo has it right (#47). Names of course titles are capped (e.g., Art 101) but not names of subjects or areas of study (physics, sociology).
I agree, and have stated as much elsewhere; I won't go on ;)
MAN! You so crazy.....
No, it's standard, grammar, no matter the time of day. I was talking to the editor of the article. He or she was remiss.
"russl" makes a great point, about typing. I'm 41, and my whole life I've never had anything good to say about my time in junior high -- I mean nothing -- but, God damn, I learned how to type. Despite the fact of the little hot blonde next to me who never paid attention and always wanted me to help her. For the final exam I typed my entry, gave it to her, then typed it again for my own. Never got anything out of it. Or her.
Anyway, great article. And you finger-typers have a life too hard. I can't imagine "going back" to learn it.
I'm going to dream of semicolons stealing my Twinkies tonight.
jutt, you're high. You're wrong on that one, and so is the editor. At any rate, we need you in film reviews! Please write something soon.
I am afraid to ask what 'Twinkies' are in this situation.
"I typed my entry, gave it to her, then typed it again for my own. Never got anything out of it. Or her."
Unrequited typing (or, perhaps, Unrequited Typing 101?).
You should tell this story in detail, I'd read it.
http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/sociopath
By definition I'm a sociopath. On the otherhand,contrary to what you'll believe on here,I actually do give a rat's a** about humanity. Afterall,I have to live with other humans. If both of our needs are met or at least compromised on,aren't we happy interacting with each other. If anything,life has turned me into a sociopath. How would you guys react to being raped at 13,scraping a dead friend's brains off his wall after he blew his own head off,seeing a man get murdered in front of you at point blank range,seeing the after effects of a night out partying ending with a friend's full car careening off the road and slamming into a tree head on killing all passengers inside? That's just the tip of the iceberg. I've looked death in the face. I've cried out of fear. I've been worried. Now I just laugh. Death is a blessing,not a curse. If my brutally honest examination of death makes me a sociopath,then so be it but I refuse to conform to someone else's definition of what I should or shouldn't feel about an inevitable fact of life.
I think the very bottom line is, rules aside: you have to take it as the reader is reading it.
"I am usually the oldest one in the class, with the exception of an elderly woman with a cane (in anthropology) and an obnoxious Marine (in history)."
Reading this for the first time: she has a cane in anthropology? He is an obnoxious Marine in history?
Caps on Anthropology and History solves.
As for the Twinkies,I was only joking.
I understood it the first time I read it.
jhutt? Not to be a total polesmoker or anything but I'm going to assume you're one of these guys that casually floats through life not paying attention to the slightest intracies around you.
jhutt, I have a friend (actually more than one), who is a literary editor (for one of those high-flying publishers in New York). I could run it by her (or him, if her is busy). If we agree that she/he is the deciding vote, I'll do it...
But...I brought up the intricacy. And who said anything about polesmoking?
I can see myself as narcissistic. I've also always been told that I have a very unique way of looking at the world. Very humblelike if you will. I laugh at myself because I feel it's ok to laugh at you. My grandmother once caught me laughing at a retarded boy when I was about 5 or 6 years old. She wasn't condescending to me because she was smart enough to realize that even at 5 or 6 years old,I was going to see through any bulls*** she threw my way. I was a VERY bright boy growing up. Anyhoo,she sat me down and gently told me that it wasn't ok to make fun of retarded people until I could make fun of my own shortcomings. It was the old"Take a walk in my shoes"lecture. So if I'm narcissistic,it's because I've been taught that I have alot to offer people in the way of looking at life.
I once had a piece of s prison social worker tell me that I was a sociopath. I stared at here real intense for a few seconds and as monotonous as I could said"The dingo ate your baby". I then laughed sheepishly and literally skipped out of her office and back to my cell. Just when you think you've got me all figured out,I'll throw you a curve ball and make you say"WHERE IN THE MOTHERF DID THAT COME FROM?".
"Just when you think you've got me all figured out,I'll throw you a curve ball and make you say"WHERE IN THE MOTHERF*** DID THAT COME FROM?"."
That has yet to happen.
"I once had a piece of s*** prison social worker tell me that I was a sociopath."
She was probably right.
refiredgringo, I'd love to hear it. I didn't mean to flame, just thought the Reader was remiss on that one. Please provide a deciding vote.
I'll do it tomorrow evening, jhutt. They're on the East Coast, and I'm not here tomorrow, but by Friday we'll have resolution.
I had no trouble understanding that passage, jhutt. It's clear from the context that the author is talking about academic classes, and I submit to you that there's no confusion that needs to be resolved with caps or anything else.
You THOUGHT you brought up an intricacy but you really didn't. As for polesmoking,if you have to ask,you either wouldn't understand or you need to get out more. I'll give you a quick example-yesterday my roommates and I were in Esco looking at an empty house because we're moving soon. The 4 of us were on the side of the house looking at a koi pond. There are two fences about a foot away from me. One is a wrought iron fence and the other is a taller,wooden fence. These two teenagers ride by on bikes. I couldn't see through the wood fence but I could see them through the iron fence. Just as I'm getting ready to flick my cigarette butt into the street this thought occurs to me"What if there's someone on the other side of that fence about to appear?". I flicked my cigarette about 5 feet above the top of the iron fence just as a kid about 7 years old comes flying out of nowhere on a skateboard. Had I not thought about the reaction of my action,that kid would've had a really hot cigarette suddenly hit him in the face. That would not have been cool. I'll be the first to admit that I have my blonde moments but they are few and far between. I am CONSTANTLY,from awakening till the time I sleep,thinking about what I'll do or say next. Absentmindedness is a miniscule part of my lexicon.
As a long-time reader of these posts...I concede.
And I have no idea what PistolPete is saying.
Atta boy Jihad-er jhutt. I appreciate your overwhelming enthusiasm regarding our lexicon as a lover of said lexicon,but you dropped the ball on that one. Maybe. I could be wrong and a condescending prick but we'll get the final call from our fearless linejudge,refriedgringo.
jhutt: Never concede. Challenge! Hell, I'm not always right. None of us are. But I will ask, and who knows? I am always game to learn something new.
What I'm saying is:Pay attention. You thought you were doing all of humanity a service by policing the grammar of The Reader's authors but you really weren't. I have a cookie,a trophy and a Bozo Button. Which would you like? Or would you prefer the handsome gold star?
And refried is correct,jhutt. NEVER give up! http://media.photobucket.com/image/never%20give%20up/NSUDemonChipmunk/never.gif?o=40
jhutt see #44 (don't trip on the drunks on your way up ;)
Now go down four (watch out for flailing limbs) to #48. There's your answer.
tikicult you must be related to the author.....have a nice day, jerk!
31 and 83:
http://www.hotchickswithdouchebags.com/
If we had a picture of sd_inside_man, we would probably find a fair number of markers of douchebaggery.
tiki, I also wish you a FAB, douche-free day!
http://www.peopleofwalmart.com/
Thanks. I'll try to check it out next week.
I need Dragon Naturally Speaking software. Now.
Why don't you guys go and get a room! I'm available anytime one of you bee boppers is ready! The internet is a wonderful place for all you self-absorbed wanna bees to air youe peculiar slants.
HAVE A NICE DAY!
I haven't seen these type of lame attacks since Jr. High School. Tell me, can your dad kick my dad's ass.....?
Sheesh! GET A LIFE!
Bzzz. I'm a "wanna bee!"
HAVE A NICE DAY!
Sheesh!
GET A LIFE!
You too, sd_man. Add a couple more cliched sentiments especially from me to "youe"
Smooch
Can politics ever be discussed without reliance upon the same tired old dichotomy of donkey and elephant? Yes! I think it can!
I once had a friend who shared many of the same complaints about San Diego: the lack of trees, the changeless climate, the overpriced housing. I always used to tell him, "hey, at least you're not in Fresno..."
This article isn't a screed against San Diego. San Diego is merely an innocent bystander here, and one of many, so readers shouldn't get too upset with the author.
Wow, I have been missing out on the "hot daily topic" of the Reader= someone email me when you get a "hot" thread liek this so I can weigh in with my usual drivel (did I spell that right?.
(See post #4)
Apparently either: someone is in dire need of having their scrip refilled. or, that same someone got pistol-whipped recently.
Just when you thought it was safe to go back onto this forum.
You did and I will.
Pete I thought we got you to agree on an earlier thread to start treating your cig butts as litter and stop throwing them around willy nilly, like the world is your ashtray. Now here you are bragging about how you managed to launch your cig like a firework on the fourth, without taking anyone's eye out. Well done, dumba$$.
Yes, tha patio in back is a greta place to eat on a nice summer night!
How did creepy tripping PistolPete manage to hijack the conversation about Ms. Braun's amusing recollection of settling in San Diego? As I read it, she's now got a household of three kids and a husband and she's going to Community College to get a degree. For which I congratulate her and urge her to continue until she's got a Bachelor of Arts diploma and meanwhile, keep on writing! This piece was funny, but has the ring of truth -- 40 years post facto, I'm realizing it's possible one never fully gets over moving here from the Midwest.
Seeing as my roommates or myself didn't own the property we were looking at,I didn't want to leave any cigarette butts in the yardpats self on back
Creepy tripping?O_o Thanks....I think.....
Home is where the heart is....follow your heart,Please!
Translation:I'll add nothing to this conversation because I'm just a lame native who grew up in the Whale's Vagina. You've invaded my turf and pointed out how stupid we all are. How dare you!
Was wondering if there were any Tom Waits lyrics about this place, then, as well as the freeway. Thanks for that valuable bit of SD history!
85
http://www.peopleofwalmart.com/ By PistolPete 11 a.m., Sep 24, 2009 > Report it
THANK GOD* gofurry wasn't pictured in that series.(whew!)
LMAO! PeopleofWalMart is my new website toy.
I hope to complete them in the next 5 years or so, and then move my arse back to Texas. Austin, in fact... By antigeekess
Hey! Get thee to "Possum Kingdom Lake" Yaaahoooo!!!
AG concluded: "..you live in a Republican state..."
Not so accurate. The Governator is SORT of a republican, but really, most of the government in California belongs to the donkey side of things. Both U.S. Senators and the vast majority of both State and Federal legislative reps are Dems. It used to be considered a Republican State, but that really changed some time ago.
Only reason Ahnold even holds office is because Gray Davis was such a stupid assclown.
Yeah, but Gekko, it seems to me that this is a pretty easy criticism, although I would personally admit that it has some truth to it, depending upon who you hang out with: "In my opinion, SD has become a mini-burb of what LA represents; superficiality, wannabees, self entitlement, and narcissism."
When we are unhappy,we tend to see things in one shade (pardon, AG). I may be unhappy with San Diego's lack of a coherent arts scene (poor Jeff Smith has zilch to review for theatre!), but what's a poor guy to do when all he has to work with are shades of singing plaid?
Let's not forget that our surroundings are largely colored by the level of our ambition in life.
You can live in one part of SD and think you are in absolute monochromatic apartment hell; or live in another, and it is a material paradise, with a rainbow of interesting folk around you who have traveled the world, but can simply afford, through whatever means, to stay here--and stay here well.
"Brown" --or orange, or saffron yellow (all of those yummy shades of the 70s shag carpet for apartment 'homes')--are potentially anywhere and everywhere you go!
"Now bring on all you angry, hatin', negative, SD defenders who will do nothing but prove my point!" By Gekko4321 Nice of you to bring such "positive" observations of my former "sleepy little Navy town". Unfortunately, it is precisely due to the fact of people such as yourself that this place has become full of "loud, rude neighbors (packed in 7 deep in a 3 BR!),drug users, and low life thug wannabees". "I think when one moves here they get enthralled in the weather, the beautiful people, and only see the good things." - hardly seems like the "angry, hatin', negative" people you describe, doesn't it?. Please, I implore you to be "leaving as soon as possible"! Go find that Shangri-La (sp?) that SD is obviously not for you - I hope you find it.And, of course, with all the positive feelings I can muster - Please! Have a nice day! (insert smiley face thingy here)
Fish bubbled:
"It's okay. We get that you don't get it. We don't get why you keep coming here and stay here, especially as you continually keep griping about life here and how great your life was elsewhere, but maybe it has to do with the way y'all was raised."
The thing is, this article could be written about any town, anywhere, and have pretty much the same reaction and comments. People who have lived in one town all their lives are predictably provincial. Whatever they ID with (town, football team, etc.) is attached to their ego, and they get all offended if there's any suggestion that it's anything less than perfect. Anybody looks at it with new eyes, who hasn't been brainwashed into the cult from birth, and that person is attacked.
There's nothing inaccurate about the original article. Just an honest reflection of one individual's experiences. That's it.
And you'll notice that most (or at least a LOT) of people who come here in fact do 'not' end up staying, as the author notes. I'll be joining that group as soon as I'm done with the place.
For now, however, I've got things to do that can best be done in California. I hope to complete them in the next 5 years or so, and then move my arse back to Texas. Austin, in fact...
...where I can get a decent meal without fish in it, paid for with what I won't have to pay in state income tax.
:)
LOLOL Like I said we get that you don't get it. Precisely because you weren't born here. Now, some people, like the writer of this piece, take longer to appreciate what we have, though her boyfriend is clearly more intelligent. :)
If anyone thinks we are going to apologize for riding bikes in beautiful weather, for not being food snobs, for having "ugly" apartments (I'm sure that's only true of San Diego), for having to pay more for living in perpetual sunshine, they got another very long think coming.
The thing is, there's no lock on the door, and I suggest that when y'all leave, you don't let the doorknob hit you in the arse! Don't take that wrong!
:)
By the way, I lived in San Antonio when I was a kid, and my mother lived in Houston. As I recall, it was so frickin hot in the summer, everyone stayed inside under the air conditioner, and in the winter there were storms that flooded the entire city. The state government is, well, all I will say Bush is an accurate reflection of the state of affairs in Texas; what he inflicted on America is basically how they like living down there in the land of steers, only with more guns. Two good things came out of Texas, Ann Richards, and Molly Ivins, in the last few years. I can't think of anything else but I'm sure you will be good enough to enlighten us, AG!
:)
Joe posted:
http://www.lonestarroundup.com/
Nice if you're a car dude. :)
I'm more interested in stuff like this:
http://sxsw.com/film
Not to mention these places, open year round:
http://www.drafthouse.com/
...where you drink while you watch a film and get better food than most of the restaurants in California serve.
And once a year, there's also this:
http://www.aclfestival.com/default.aspx
Or on any given Monday night - which looks like Friday or Saturday night in most other cities - you can stumble down to Nuno's and catch guys like this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7GkB-o7tt_8
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1kqL3znKPW0
:)
"As a lifelong apartment dweller, here, in OC, and NYC, I can say that any pad can be personalized to satisfaction. The most noticeable change for the least money? Just paint the walls your color of choice!"
No it can't. I live in a dark cave that has windows only on one side. I might as well be living in a rectum.
I could paint it, but anything but white walls would make it appear even darker. Besides, management here would have a conniption.
Here is what "student apartments" look like in Texas:
http://www.rent.com/rentals/texas/austin-and-vicinity/austin/southeast-austin/longhorn-landing-student-apartments/219892/1/?sp=1&searchrank=4&fl=&password=Oliviam04&x=63&y=9
More Fish bubbles:
"The state government is, well, all I will say Bush is an accurate reflection of the state of affairs in Texas; what he inflicted on America is basically how they like living down there in the land of steers, only with more guns."
Um, yeeeeaaahhh...
Let's see, Fishy...you live where? In California? The California that is "run" by this guy?
Soooo, you live in a Republican state (like Texas) in a Republican city (unlike Austin) that is, well, flat broke (unlike Texas), is cutting things like education left and right...
...and you really want to bring up politics as an example of why California is superior?
Really?
Agree with you about Ivins and Richards. Love 'em. I left Texas shortly after Bush was elected to his first term as governor there.
Seemed a good time to leave for a while and miss the whole thing.
"The thing is, this article could be written about any town, anywhere, and have pretty much the same reaction and comments. People who have lived in one town all their lives are predictably provincial. Whatever they ID with (town, football team, etc.) is attached to their ego, and they get all offended if there's any suggestion that it's anything less than perfect. Anybody looks at it with new eyes, who hasn't been brainwashed into the cult from birth, and that person is attacked."
Not exactly. I'm from Gurnee,Ill(where I was raised the majority of my life). It's about an hour north of Chicago. I consider myself a Chi-town boy. I LOVE Chicago as much as I hate Chicago. I've lived off and on in various towns in Wisconsin. I LOVE Wisconsin as much as I hate Wisconsin. I've been to New York City. I LOVE New York City as much as I hated New York City. I've lived in the Whale's Vagina for 4 years now. As much as I don't"hate"this city,I fin' hate this city. I have no problem telling people Chicago is a shole. Look what happened to that honor student the other day. I think a major turn off for us transplants is the fact that residents of the Whale's Vagina proudly boast that their city isn't the best in America but the finest in all the land. Seems pretty obnoxious to me.
As for the food,Lido's in Lemon Grove has the finest pizza I've tasted yet in California. Submarina is a Godsend to a fat tub lard like me who grew up with Chicago's best delis. However,when I first arrived here just over 4 years ago on a hot summer night via Greyhound,I was parched. I was hungry,angry,lonely and tired. And needed a beer. I found this place in Esco called Chicken+. It's still there. There's a Mexican place on the other side of the building. I ordered a gyro,salad and a beer and waited paitently. When my gyro came,I almost s*** a brick. The cook had cut my pita bread into about 5 triangles. O_o Kind of defeated the purpose of the whole sandwich. Needless to say,in 30 minutes,California lost it's allure.
Pete pecked:
"I think a major turn off for us transplants is the fact that residents of the Whale's Vagina proudly boast that their city isn't the best in America but the finest in all the land. Seems pretty obnoxious to me."
Exactly. California in general, San Diego in particular x10. There's just a level of blowhardiness about the whole thing that's WAY out of proportion with...well, the liveability of the place, I guess. The housing is the worst thing. You just have to live in such a craphole out here, unless you're loaded down with $$$ or your parents set you up, which is the case with most people who have anything at all.
I don't even currently reside in SD. I made the 'interesting' decision of moving up to Humboldt a few years ago to live in the redwoods, and now am back to about an hour north of San Francisco. Now THAT is a city I DEFINITELY can't afford to live in...which is unfortunate. Beautiful place, a little nippy.
As is SD, actually. I think LA has better weather. That's where I'm planning on going next (Long Beach, most likely), before eventually returning to Texas.
The Whale's Vagina, Pete? Sounds like a good name for a bar. Coincidentally, I think there's a thread around here that might be able to use it. :)
...and you really want to bring up politics as an example of why California is superior?
Really?
Where exactly did I say that California was superior to Texas on any basis, including politics? In fact, I think I've gone out of my way to say, or imply, that San Diego is mediocre at best, in nearly every way.
But okay, I'll play.
You want to compare Bush to the Governator?? Really??
I'd say that either indicates a profound lack of knowledge of both men, or you haven't been paying attention!
:)
And by the way, LOL to this!:
"No it can't. I live in a dark cave that has windows only on one side. I might as well be living in a rectum."
I think we may have identified the problem. Now, what is the solution? I know! Move!
Okay, then don't blame San Diego for your attitude! :)
Refried declared:
"The Governator is SORT of a republican"
That's like being a little pregnant, dude.
Either you is or you ain't.
:)
By antigeekess 9:28 p.m., Sep 29, 2009
Gringo's actually correct, you know. Ahnuld can't hold a candle to, say, Reagan or Wilson, in terms of conservative views and policies. In many ways, he's way liberal, in many ways, Libertarian. I wouldn't call him a full-blooded Republican, I suppose because he is married to that horrible little person who happens to be from a bleeding heart Democrat family.
Yes but it's hard. Most Republican'ts and Demoncrats don't have the testicular fortitude to argue politics with an Independent such as myself. I called my sister on her birthday Friday and the subject turned to Obama. I voted for the man but only because Ron Paul is more talk than action and I didn't want a certain Alaskan bimbo in power. I was trying to explain to her the similarities that Obama has with the Nazis. Not just Hitler but the nazis in general. She got all pissed and said that she doesn't know enough but if I wanted to be a Republican't,that was enough for her to dis own me. WTF???? I'm a registered Demoncrat whose left-leaning. I'm socially liberal and fiscally conservative. Before the Midterms,I'll be changing to an Independent and will be voting along party lines. If no Independent candidate,then it'll be a Republican't vote from me.
Anyway,she knows jacks*** about political history bu wants to disown me when I bring up a halfway intelligent argument? I don't understand Demoncrats. They're just like rabid Republican'ts.
yes SDaniels , i think in this day n age we need to move beyond or just forget the party lines, we are to blended n mixed . family members are on different parties. i dont always agree with my church. we are a globe now, we tore down the berlin wall . why are we putting up a border ? we need to work together
AG opined: "That's like being a little pregnant, dude.
Either you is or you ain't."
Well, apparently, except in politics. They change parties all of the time. The governator was a card-carrying Republican, sure! But married to a Kennedy? That's like a Hatfield marrying a McCoy (okay, that actually happened, but you know what I mean).
Arnie hasn't exactly embraced typical conservative views. I think about the California I grew up in, from Brown (Ed, and shut up, I go back THAT far) to Reagan, to Brown's little boy Jerry (and the bastard's running AGAIN!), to Duekmejian, to Wilson, to Davis, and now to Schwartz. Out of the first seven, three were Dems and three were Pubs, and I challenge anyone to compare Ahnold to any of these guys!
And really, the Governor of California doesn't have nearly as much power as people might think. Basically it's this:
Veto (which can be over-ridden) Executive Budget (needs 2/3 of house approval) Appointments (limited and temporary) Commander of State Militia (you know, in case Oregon attacks) Clemency (this is one hell of a power, but is it worth all of the trouble?)
Otherwise, it's a crappy job if you're a member of one party and the house of reps are overstaffed with the other side of the aisle.
Do I detect a note of sarcasm when speaking of one of our greatest governors, Jerry Brown??
You know, the man who ran California when it had one of the highest ranked educational systems in America, when people could actually afford to go to school in the UC system? The governor who managed to deliver balanced budgets under the sales tax of 6%? Who advocated for the environment, and for that was dubbed "Governor Moonbean" and "the Ozone Man" by Bush Senior? Who supported and funded the CA Arts Council? Who opposed the death penalty? Oh and who by the way did away with tax breaks to the oil industry, is that the Governor Jerry Brown you are speaking of?
And it doesn't bother me at all to discuss politics, and while it would never be my intent to upset anyone that believes that a political party has all the answers to our problems, I don't believe in political parties and I don't belong to one.
"By 2000, politics will simply fade away. We will not see any political parties." - R. Buckminster Fuller
And every time I see this quote I hope that Bucky was simply off by a decade.
"..the man who ran California when it had one of the highest ranked educational systems in America, when people could actually afford to go to school in the UC system? The governor who managed to deliver balanced budgets under the sales tax of 6%? Who advocated for the environment, and for that was dubbed "Governor Moonbean" and "the Ozone Man" by Bush Senior? Who supported and funded the CA Arts Council? Who opposed the death penalty? Oh and who by the way did away with tax breaks to the oil industry, is that the Governor Jerry Brown you are speaking of?"
Yep, that's the guy. Of course, HE did all of that, it wasn't state legislature or anything. Ms. Fish, the Governor's power really is limited, in essence, to my list. But that's besides the point. My problem with Mr. Med-Fly has more to do with running for a THIRD TERM! Sure, the law was passed after he was VOTED OUT of office (lost the election), so on a technicality he can run again, but doesn't that really violate the spirit of the law passed by the voters to limit terms to two?
“Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country.”
• These are powerful words, and they do specific things. For example, they employ:
• A rhythmic repetition, easy to remember;
• A chiasmus (fancy term for making a double statement by reversing the words, as in a mirror-image), that works like repetition, to emphasize certain ideas. This creates the mental image of the mirror; it is each of us who must face ourselves, and take personal responsibility to ‘act for the country.’
• A direct address to the listener (you), which works to catch the attention and direct it toward personal responsibility;
• A command appears in the form of "ask," which is also a word of action, like "do." This is effective because the listener or reader can easily focus on the command; JFK asks us to do something difficult and act for the good of the country, but makes it sound easy, like a task of one simple step.
• Simple verbs: It also sounds easy because the verbs are in the simplest form possible in the present tense, which emphasizes the here and now.
• A sentence beginning with a negative ("Ask not") still ends on a positive, uplifting note ("Ask what you can do.") This is effective in rallying a crowd or reader.
I never said Kennedy really expected us to follow through. It was the early 60's afterall. Times were a bit more simpler back then. I'd take Kennedy over Mr.Teleprompter anyday.
And I'll take Fish's silence as a yes answer to my question. Actions do in fact speak louder than words. Care to disect that,SD? :-D
Oh I see, so you aren't judging him on his actual record and accomplishments, just on the fact that he wants to add to his record and accomplishments.
To answer your second question, the law is the law. If it doesn't apply to him, it doesn't apply to him. I'm sure his opponents will try to defeat him on that ground. Good luck with that.
By the way, I personally wouldn't mind seeing either him or Newsom in office. And further, I think, with the shape of the state at present, that if he thinks he can make things better, by all means, let him have a go, I don't think you would deny he has the experience, intelligence, and know-how not to do the job as compared to the other candidates?
I should have said that last post was directed to refried. This is directed to SD:
“Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country.”
• These are powerful words, and they do specific things. For example, they employ:
• A rhythmic repetition, easy to remember;
• A chiasmus (fancy term for making a double statement by reversing the words, as in a mirror-image), that works like repetition, to emphasize certain ideas. This creates the mental image of the mirror; it is each of us who must face ourselves, and take personal responsibility to ‘act for the country.’
• A direct address to the listener (you), which works to catch the attention and direct it toward personal responsibility;
• A command appears in the form of "ask," which is also a word of action, like "do." This is effective because the listener or reader can easily focus on the command; JFK asks us to do something difficult and act for the good of the country, but makes it sound easy, like a task of one simple step.
• Simple verbs: It also sounds easy because the verbs are in the simplest form possible in the present tense, which emphasizes the here and now.
• A sentence beginning with a negative ("Ask not") still ends on a positive, uplifting note ("Ask what you can do.") This is effective in rallying a crowd or reader.
By SDaniels 10:43 p.m., Sep 29, 2009
Wow! You just knocked my socks off lady! xxxx
Ms. Fish, excuse me but your ideology is showing ;)
I don't give a rat's whisker whether the guy's re-elected. And we could spend all night batting around the Jerry Brown gubernatorial piñata. There's some good candy and some bad candy in there, so if you eat the stuff you're sort of faced to deal with both. Pete's "elitist" comment really isn't that unappropriate when you think about Ed & Jerry, George and, um George (obvious lack of originality in THAT family), Bill and Hillary, it's like a monarchy! Don't even get me started about the Kennedy's...
One office. One term. Six years. Then, it's back to private sector with the rest of us. ASK NOT WHAT YOUR COUNTRY CAN DO FOR YOU, just serve it for six years and get back to whatever you did before you ran for office! We are raped, ladies and gentlemen, by a system that recycles politicians like aluminum freaking cans. A can is a can is a can. ASK WHAT YOU CAN DO FOR YOUR COUNTRY and when someone asks, "Change the stupid system?", then give that a lot more consideration than political parties and ideology.
My dear dear Gringo,
I am most of all a practical person. If a plumber has done a good job, I have no problem re-hiring him. If he does a bad job, out he goes. That's the problem I have with term limits, is that IT IS AN ARTIFICE, which substitutes for judgement by the voters. When I don't think Susan Davis is doing her job, I will campaign for her opponent. I'm not gonna bounce people out automatically that are perfectly competent to do their job. And secondly and almost as importantly, it makes unelected staff people far too important in the system when there is a constant turnover in political offices.
As to this other argument, about regimes, that is just silly. Nobody, I think, would argue that Bush Senior and Junior are the same people with the same views??? I heartily disliked both men, but at least Senior had a brain, among other things, at least he refused to overthrow Saddam. Bill and Hilary, now that's an interesting question, and I will use her answer: Which did you object to, the peace or the prosperity? I mean, please. Where is the argument? That more good is bad??? As to the Kennedys, again, are you trying to tell me that electing Bobby would have been a bad thing???
Sorry, I have a different system of judging a candidate, I guess. I don't think so much about their relatives. I think about their merits, experience, intelligence, and abilities.
My sweetie-pie Ms. Fish:
Government should never, ever, and even in an emergency or temporarily or come hell or high water EVER be considered as an industry. I shall tell you why.
Lets pretend that you and me start a company, we'll begin in my garage (I don't even have a garage, but let's pretend I do). We'll make widgets. The object of our venture? Profit! Of course! And expansion, oh do we want to expand. Soon, it's out of my garage and into a nice building in Chula Vista. And baby, we can make some bad-assed widgets, so soon, we're so good, we're hiring left and right and we're moving to La Jolla! Big giant huge building. And now we'll have branches on the East Coast, too!
Ten years later, we're freaking HUGE! And, no one has ever produced a better widget than we have. I'm a widget genius, and you, my dear are the financial wizard of the entire thing! You're awesome, Ms. Fish. And now that we've been in business for over twenty years, I think we deserve a raise, and we need to give some of our employees BIG bonuses, because they do good work! WE really need to keep them around, they really know their stuff. And our profit margin is amazing!
Yeah, well, that's not how politics should work, ma'am. I've never known a politician who created a damned thing, not even a fictional widget. The money doesn't come from people who need to buy fictional widgets, it comes from you and me. These people aren't hired. They're elected. They don't deserve an extension, they deserve a dose of humility. Deserve... serve... interesting comparison.
Government should never, ever, and even in an emergency or temporarily or come hell or high water EVER be considered as an industry. I shall tell you why.
Not true-if you were to ever want chaos to rule the earth gov would be the answer.
Gringo, my lovepuppet,
Please help me with my history. As I recall, we've only had two instances of near relatives inhabiting the White House, one set in our early history, one set more recently. To fear things that aren't there is illogical and unproductive. Like viendo monitos con tranchete.
Ms. Fish, you sexy vixen worthy of universal adoration of all intelligent men everywhere,
Herbert and Dubya were father and son, and so were John and Quincy. They weren't "near relatives", they were, basically, not even able to marry in Kentucky!
But I think you're missing my point. It is simply this: Elected office is servitude, not some inherited entitlement. Politicians enjoy a great deal of perks that they're not deserving of, and we permit it. I fear no thing, except that perhaps the people will never see that the rey no tiene ropa.
Power to the people, ma'am. Rip it right out the the hands of the politicians. It's yours, not theirs.
OK - enough politics! Let's get back to Pizza.
PP wrote "Lido's in Lemon Grove has the finest pizza I've tasted yet"
Now you are talking! Great pizza, really nice people (I have known Liz and Marco for years). My grandfather used to go to Lido's after being out on his tuna boats.
I'm starving.
Another cool place that I went to when I was in Austin was The Oasis. Can't wait to get back to that town. http://www.oasis-austin.com
Just south of San Diego, when you go under the I-5 bridge, that's the border. To get to Naps: If you are going down I-5, you can get off on Eighth Street, take a left, go up to blocks to National City Boulevard, turn left, and I believe it's two blocks down on your right.
Not expensive, family owned, real Italian food. Nice people, Sal got mugged a few years back, but he's still there, God bless him. Oh, they aren't open on Sundays.
Oooh, those were bad directions! LOL, here this is better:
http://www.yelp.com/biz/napoleone-pizza-house-national-city
This is from Wiki:
Album closer "I Can't Wait to Get Off Work (And See My Baby on Montgomery Avenue)" has a simple musical arrangement, boasting only [Tom] Waits' voice and piano. The lyrics are about Waits' first job at Napoleone Pizza House (still at 619 National City Blvd, National City, CA) in San Diego, which he began in 1965, at the age of 16.
If you go, their cheese pizza is loaded with cheese. The other great one is the Works. Everything else is ordinary, but decent.
Think Waits wrote two songs about Napoleones, hang on ...
Ghosts of Saturday Night http://www.tomwaitslibrary.com/lyrics/theheartofsaturdaynight/theghostsofsaturdaynight.html
"I Can't Wait to Get Off Work (And See My Baby on Montgomery Avenue)"
http://www.metrolyrics.com/i-cant-wait-to-get-off-work-and-see-my-baby-on-montgomery-avenue-lyrics-tom-waits.html
Apologize for that second link, it is ad hell, here is a better one, I hope:
http://www.lyricsty.com/lyrics/t/tom_waits/cant_wait_to_get_off_work.html
...and the full title of the song is: "The Ghosts of Saturday Night (After Hours at Napoleone's Pizza House)"
and there is "San Diego Serenade"
http://www.lyricsfreak.com/t/tom+waits/san+diego+serenade_20139014.html
There is another song where he mentions the 5 fwy merging with the 805. I have it somewhere on a compilation, but can't remember the name. It has a strong jazzy bass behind it--anyone remember?
LOL I wonder how many people go into Nap's to eat just because they heard of the Tom Waits connection? What, do they think they might find the same mop he cleaned the toilets with? It's just a diner, folks, go for the pizza!
Here's the Waits song, if you want to hear it. He mentions the funeral home, Berge-Roberts.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZNK-8FTcVno
Funny thing, when did this convo turned all political?!? Stick to the story you bloggers! As for all the 'slammers' who say to us, who keenly observe the truths about SD, I can truly say that all the 'negativity' you espouse when you tell us to not let the door hit us on the way out, proves my point! It's hard for me to imagine you riding your bike in the sunshine peacefully when you have this much pent up aggravation to people speaking their mind! It tells me that you are the people I spoke about in that your rude and loud, but let me throw some other descriptors of SD'ers I have noticed...obnoxious, narcissistic, pretentious, self absorbed, immature, and mentally unstable. And these are the remains of the drug users and criminals that walk the streets every day and night. These are whats left....the best of the rest. Not all of you mind you (I am not that close minded), but way more in SD than most other cities in the US....in my opinion of course.
"..obnoxious, narcissistic, pretentious, self absorbed, immature, and mentally unstable..."
Wait, I thought you didn't want to talk about politics...
All is forgiven refried. ;-D I've never been to Napoleone's but someday I'll try it. Maybe next week...
By PistolPete
I'm telling you folks, I have been going to San Filippo's on 5th Ave in Hillcrest for over 20 years and that is the best Italian food around.
http://sanfilippos.com/
http://sanfilippos.com/photos.html
http://sanfilippos.com/menu.html
SP619 - San Filippo's is pretty damn good, too. I owned a business in Bankers Hill for a while and we would get pizza and sandwiches there.
It was really nice to eat in the back patio.
No one has mentioned Filippi's in Little Italy. I love that place... best damn Lasagna in town.
I guess it's time to express some opinion. Reading all these paeans to Filippi's and its variations, and keeping in mind the record of the late Roberto di Philippi (who owned and operated the infamous Butcher Shop steak houses), I can only say "nobody makes pizza lika' da Mafia."
nope, tiki...they do have marvelous lasagna...but I make the best damn lasagna in town....when and if i get back to MY BELOVED SAN DIEGO, i will be happy to prove it :D
Something for you, Visduh:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WQE_pGaGTYk
I gotta agree with Gekko4321. Like you all know and as I eloquently pointed out to AG last night,I'm from Chicago. I've talked to literally 1,000's of visitors to my fine city(sarcasm intended) and many,many transplants. Quite a few of them said that Chicago was the sh***iest town they'd ever seen. The violence and corruption coming out of my city was mind boggling. My answer? I agreed that Chicago was not everyone's cup of meat. It's a tough town for tough people. I never got pissed. I took it as-that's their opinion. The Whale's Vagina is hardly what I'd call a tough town. It's hard to get tough when you have a world-class baseball team with many World Series wins,a world-class football team with hundreds of Lombardi trophies,SeaWorld,Balboa Park,hundreds of acres of sand to waste gas in and let's not forget about surfing in a beautiful,non-polluted ocean that abuts our neighbors to the south that would never dream of jumping the border to take advantage of us..
magics boasted: "I make the best damn lasagna in town."
Lasagne--off!
Joe revealed: "I owned a business in Bankers Hill for a while and we would get pizza and sandwiches there."
In my hood! How long ago? What kind of biz, if you don't mind saying?
This whole argument is lame and a waste of time.
Daniels opined:
"This is lame. Who cares about being 'tough?'"
Well, Daniels, it should be everybody. Maya Angelou once observed that of all the virtues, the most important is courage. Why? Because without it, it's impossible to consistently practice any of the others.
Without courage (mental toughness), we'll be talked out of the rest of them, either by ourselves, by someone else, or by society in general. Because when the going itself gets "tough," the wimpy sell out.
I don't see a lot of toughness in California. I see a lot of callousness, which is a different thing entirely.
Angelou is not the best vehicle to make a point to me; I think she is cheesier than cheese. But thanks for clarifying with a definition, and I get the point about courage vs. callousness--now there's a discussion starter. I see callousness everywhere, and that underneath some pretty thinly smeared social differences, we aren't all that different from city to city. Peeps is peeps :)
Daniels complained:
"Angelou is not the best vehicle to make a point to me; I think she is cheesier than cheese."
That's a nice general statement about a very specific comment. So you're saying she's wrong when she says...
“Courage is the most important of all the virtues, because without courage you can't practice any other virtue consistently. You can practice any virtue erratically, but nothing consistently without courage.”
...because that's the only thing from her that was cited.
And Fish bubbled:
"There is this thing called projection, AG. :)"
Well aware of it. I've known many projectionists who should've just gone down to the local movie house and made themselves a career out of it.
Whether it's accusations of cheating out of the mouth of a cheater, accusations of lying out of the mouth of a liar, or accusations of selfishness out of the mouth of a selfish little prick, it's always entertaining.
Your point?
I don't see a lot of toughness in California. I see a lot of callousness, which is a different thing entirely.
I don't see a lot of callousness in California. I do see a lot of toughness, which is a different thing entirely.
Could be projection. But I don't watch a lot of movies.
:)
"Furry, that lake is nowhere near Austin." By antigeekess
I know. Don't yew have a car, darlin'? sheeeee-it!
“Courage is the most important of all the virtues, because without courage you can't practice any other virtue consistently. You can practice any virtue erratically, but nothing consistently without courage.”
Allllrighty, then, dear, but what is there to disagree with here, really?
“Courage is the most important of all the virtues, because without courage you can't practice any other virtue consistently. You can practice any virtue erratically, but nothing consistently without courage.”
Merlin disagreed. He said that truth is the greatest of all virtues. He said that when a man lies, he kills some part of the world.
I agree with Merlin.
Confucious say"Man with hole in pocket feel cocky all day"
SD wrote: "In my hood! How long ago? What kind of biz, if you don't mind saying?"
Computer service and sales... corner of 5th and Thorn. I was bought out almost 6 years ago. The company is still around, run by my old business partner out of his house.
Pete - Confucius never said that. He didn't wear pants...
Allllrighty, then, dear, but what is there to disagree with here, really?
By SDaniels 12:53 a.m., Oct 1, 2009
Nothing, AG, that's what I been trying to say all along. Surely you didn't need me to tell you that
Refried opined:
"Merlin disagreed. He said that truth is the greatest of all virtues. He said that when a man lies, he kills some part of the world.
I agree with Merlin."
Well, besides the fact that neither truth nor honesty are on the list...
The four classic Western Cardinal virtues are:
- Wiki
...you don't think it takes courage (fortitude) to consistently practice honesty?
Let me ask you this:
Does my butt look big in these pants?
:)
I think that question may fall under the better part of valour!
:)
"Does my butt look big in these pants?"
My "classic Western Cardinal" answer is obvious:
I wouldn't know, ma'am. You'll have to remove the pants.
I thought that the question was "Do these pants make my butt look fat?"
To which, Al Bundy replied...
The point I could have made: in #236 by refried: Like a Mad Lib, you can insert any of the virtues in turn, and make a great case for it. That's why they are virtues ;)
Leave. Just leave. Or else I will find you and kick you out myself.
A little late there to the party,eh dviii? LMAO! I take it you didn't get the memorandum being circulated through the neighborhoods of the Whale's Vagina.....Us transplants got together and thought to ourselves"If these pussies are as tough as their football team,let's throw THEM out and we'll enjoy this resort town". Sorry dviii. You've been banned. I here Idaho is kind of nice this year though.... :-D
Sorry. That should've been-I hear Idaho is kind of nice this time of year though.... :-D
I am a transplant as well, but if you can't see this beautiful place for what it is then you need to get the snow out of your eyes. The above article sounds nothing like what I or friends here have experienced, I would say to the author - Get an education, have some standards, and if those areas where you ended up are any indication of who you are then congratulations on your ability to write an article. Gather up any sums paid and buy a greyhound bus ticket out of here and leave the miserable beaches and palm trees to those who appreciate the climate. As for you pistolpete, trying to incite emotional response by insulting the football team does nothing except let everyone here know that that is the basis of your arguments - Professional sports teams in which you have no participation, mere observation and that is the extent of what makes you feel alive. good luck with that, and your ban.
So what you're saying is you've been brainwashed? I by no means hate this town as much as I come off as but this place is far from being America's Finest City. The other day during a phone call to my nephew to wish him a happy birthday,I actually"Love ya and have a nice Easter". That's not normal or right. My season are backasswards because the seasons don't change. I didn't come out here for what the Whale's Vagina had to offer. I came out here because I fell in love with someone. Someday,hopefully in the next few years,I can convince her to get a divorce and follow me back home to the Midwest to enjoy how people REALLY live.
Please. Everyone who can't stand the horrible life in SD - leave. Thank you.
You could only get so lucky gofurry. :-D
thank you, gofurry....my sentiments EXACTLY. and i don't even have the privilege of living there anymore, but once a native ALWAYS a native.
I don't know about all that magics. Once a Heartland cowboy in the concrete jungle,ALWAYS a Heartland cowbow in the concrete jungle...
Pete: Do YOURSELF a favor and GET OVER IT! You're beginning to sound excessively whiny, which is what so many longtime San Diegans observe about many transplants. Enough, dude. We get it. San Diego is inferior to your homeland. Oh, and you ain't no cowboy.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-cIPtFr0pXU
:)
I prefer this.... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xbJQT2eDseA and this.... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sNThC2mI0mM and this.... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p-L0NpaErkk