Feature Stories
Okay, let's start from the top: The ugliest unit eyescape in Horton Plaza, and I mean the ugggliest, is the view straight on with your back to this kid store called Gymboree on the topmost …
Outside Abercrombie and Fitch, a blond surfer — tanned Alex — waggled fur-lined boots a plaid Pendleton scarf, fur-lined leather gloves He snarled. “I don't feel the need to these in Southern California. They’re going back to the store.”
This past August, while San Diegans tanned and party delegates decided our nation's fate, a paper was delivered to 300 sweaty, sausage-chomping academics at the Second Polish-American Semiotics Colloquium held in Atlantic City. The paper, …
She sighs. “But I can wear jeans and a slobbed-out shirt, and if my nails are painted, I feel glamorous." She lifts her glance from my fingers to my eyes. “You know what I mean?”
An August Sunday afternoon, lemonade weather. Leaves drooped on Balboa Park's giant eucalyptus. The Home States picnic, an annual event of America's Finest City Week, sponsored by the San Diego Junior Chamber of Commerce, drew …
Al Frost was a shrewd businessman. By specializing in hardwoods with their myriad uses, the company has avoided the up and down cycles of the construction and softwood lumber businesses.
Maureen Connolly could do anything she wanted on a tennis court — except stay there forever
Don’t flatter yourself. My life is not an open book. "You don’t learn this from no fuckin’ book. Don’t need no education for it,’’ says Jerome. You don’t. You really don’t. To us, the man …
L.A. is so spread out, you get used to long drives. It takes forty minutes to drive from the L.A. basin to the valley. We used to drive forty-five minutes to see friends in Pasadena.
Years pass, winters, Watergate. Five o’clock stubble shadows the jowls. I hear from my mother that the piano teacher had a “nervous breakdown.” We’re slow-dancing at the Elks Club to Frankie Valli’s “My Eyes Adored You.”
Last year when sheriffs deputies were ticketing people for walking their dogs on the Coronado side of the imaginary line on the oceanfront, townspeople revolted, organizing under the banner of “Don’t Mess With My Dog!”
"All this talk of the shortness of Michael Dukakis. Listen, he's two inches taller than me." It's been getting to him, says Josh, this nitpicking about the Democratic presidential candidate's height. "This tongue-in-cheek use of …
Notes on our major incognito.
Furtively, I sought the opinion of Gary, my drinking buddy and best friend of nearly twenty years. I asked him what he thought of my entering a place called Morningstar, a North County treatment facility …
“Once I rode 120 miles to Calexico from San Diego.” I didn’t elaborate about the Calexico ride. If I had, I would have admitted that it occurred fourteen years ago and had so exhausted me that I returned by bus the next day.
At home my friend played flamenco guitar, a skill he had taught himself. Outside the apartment complex, Rome burned. I couldn’t tell him that. I mustn’t in any way intimate that the out-of-doors was a vexing place.