If you move to somewhere on the East Coast, such as Boston, NYC, or Philadelphia, fewer people will try to hug you, mostly because they’re all too caught up in trying to get ahead.
"Horton Plaza. A dizzy, busy weekday noon. The perfect place and time to sneak a peek at San Diego fashion fundamentals. Execu-femmes wearing sharply lined suits in this season’s hot parrot’s plumage tones make a beeline for Nordie’s their padded shoulders the perfect defensive tool with which to brush Mervyn’s-bound suburban matrons in polyester flower print blouses out of their path."
Mayor accidentally reads wartime propaganda of famous children's author at birthday celebration.
“Someone must have found Trap that Jap!, which bore the ominous subtitle Oh, the Places You'll Go!, when the Mayor asked for Seuss's 1990 book by the same name … let's just say that mistakes were made and never speak of it again, okay?"
“It was so hot and so dry that we might as well have been in Arizona. As we enter this rebuilding stage and look back over what's happened, one thing becomes clear: this situation is no longer working. San Diego needs to plan for an eventual move to L.A."
"See the shameless millionaires schlep bottles of Evian and tubes of heavy-gauge sunscreen through this, the City without Pity. See her sycophantic cohort DaRosa brazenly prostitute sacred journalistic values to record the mayor’s exquisite horror slavishly. See them: Sisters in Suffering. Chip and Dale chez the Disappointed."