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SDReader.com Launch Party
(cont.) I moved through the by now large crowd and waited at the bar for my free drink. The Tommy Bahama girl was there, passing out free mini-cocktails. I grabbed two and struck up a conversation. Brittany (that's her real name, honest) studied sociology in Colorado before coming to San Diego to find another life-style. Our conversation: "I'm working three jobs just to pay the bills." "Will you date me?" "Security!" Before I could leave, I still had to meet Barbarella and Josh. Barbarella was easy to find. She was wearing feathers. This time the conversation didn't even last a minute: "If you don't stop staring at me like that, my husband's going to kick your colon up through your chest cavity and wrap your intestines around your lungs." Josh didn't look anything like his picture in the Reader. He's a lot taller in person. "Well, sometimes I write the Party Crasher column, and people will say that it's a great job. But the truth is I've been in and out of rehab for the last few years. I try to quit...but then I have to write another column and fall right back off the wagon." "Can't you ask for another assignment?" "No way. They say no one else can write the column the way I do it." "Oh, come on. How difficult can it be?" "Very difficult. I was at a twelve parties last night alone, trying to come up with a good angle. It's getting so bad, I've started shooting up just to cope." "That is bad." "You don't know kid. You just don't know." At that point, Josh started crying and I felt very awkward just hovering over him as he rolled up into a small ball on the sand. It was time for me to go. Chris, the DJ, cued up some Dead Kennedys, and the crowd got into a bit of impromptu slam dancing, with Don Bauder leading the mosh pit. The noise and confusion gave me my chance to escape, and I crept down the back stairs to the street. As I walked toward Little Italy on Columbia, I could hear the noise of the rowdy partiers. I flipped open my mobile and called the police. "I'd like to make a noise complaint, please?"— May 29, 2008 6:26 p.m.
SDReader.com Launch Party
Jane, this is a cross post from http://www.sandiegoreader.com/events/2008/may/28/… so if that's against the rules here, feel free to take the appropriate action. Note: Josh Board, as a Reader employee, is disqualified from writing the Party Crasher column about this event. So the ever diligent and mighty powerful have asked regular commenter Fred Williams to provide the details. "No, Not THAT W! It's a hotel." I arrived just before seven at the W. Hotel downtown. It's one of those oh-so-chic places I'd normally never go, being more of a drink at home in front of the television kind of guy. But since the Reader had invited me, and Barbarell promised to show up in feathers, I figured it might be a good time. The first surprise was that far from being on the roof, way up at the top, it was on the roof about two stories up. So no stunning views of the skyline. The second surprise was that at this "beach bar" there was actual sand. Yep. Very trendy. White settees and a few roped off "bottle service" tables. It would have been great if the Reader had provided name tags. I looked in vain for "LookAway" and my good friend "fumber", but since I have no idea what they look like, or even their gender, I never found either of them. In fact, if the kind lady from the Reader's HR department hadn't pointed out Matt Potter to me, I'd never have met my Reader heroes. Matt was both older and heavier than I'd pictured him. I had this vision of a wild haired skinny radical, pursuing politicians through the corridors of power with a leaking pen and a wild eyes. Instead, he was most remarkable for not being very remarkable. Just a nice guy drinking a bit of wine and chatting amicably with the guests and his fellow writers. Our conversation went something like this: "Wow! I'm such a fan!" "Kid, can't you see I'm busy right now talking to all these important people. Why don't you just go away?" Next was Jim Holman. Again, name tags would have helped. I had envisioned a portly cigar chomping cynic. Instead I met a trim man with an attractive wife engaged in polite talk. Another conversation: "Hi Mr. Holman, do you think you could give me a job?" "Security! Security!" (cont.)— May 29, 2008 6:25 p.m.
SDReader.com Launch Party -- 05/28/08 at W San Diego
Hi Josh! My liver would never handle the Party Crasher job. Besides, I'm a life long morning person. I'm up at five every morning and usually fast asleep by ten every night. (But please note, this has made me neither healthy, wealthy, nor wise.) Seriously, it was good to meet you, Matt, Barbarella, and the rest of the Reader crew last night. Thanks for the party everyone! Fred— May 29, 2008 5:32 p.m.
Sanders, Gwinn, Dumanis Have Quietly Plotted To Shift Family Justice Center to YWCA, Says Aguirre. The Planned Move May Trample on Rules
San Diego suffers from "Battered Spouse Syndrome". In lay terms, this is a reference to any person who, because of constant and severe domestic violence usually involving physical abuse by a partner, becomes depressed and unable to take any independent action that would allow him or her to escape the abuse. The condition explains why abused people often do not seek assistance from others, fight their abuser, or leave the abusive situation. Sufferers have low self-esteem, and often believe that the abuse is their fault. Such persons usually refuse to press criminal charges against their abuser, and refuse all offers of help, often becoming aggressive or abusive to others who attempt to offer assistance. Often sufferers will even seek out their very abuser for comfort shortly after an incident of abuse. (from: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battered_person_synd…) I think this explains why some people are so hostile to Aguirre. He's trying to help the situation, but the suffering populace abuses him instead of the real culprits, like Casey Gwinn.— May 29, 2008 4:40 p.m.
SDReader.com Launch Party -- 05/28/08 at W San Diego
(cont.) I moved through the by now large crowd and waited at the bar for my free drink. The Tommy Bahama girl was there, passing out free mini-cocktails. I grabbed two and struck up a conversation. Brittany (that's her real name, honest) studied sociology in Colorado before coming to San Diego to find another life-style. Our conversation: "I'm working three jobs just to pay the bills." "Will you date me?" "Security!" Before I could leave, I still had to meet Barbarella and Josh. Barbarella was easy to find. She was wearing feathers. This time the conversation didn't even last a minute: "If you don't stop staring at me like that, my husband's going to kick your colon up through your chest cavity and wrap your intestines around your lungs." Josh didn't look anything like his picture in the Reader. He's a lot taller in person. "Well, sometimes I write the Party Crasher column, and people will say that it's a great job. But the truth is I've been in and out of rehab for the last few years. I try to quit...but then I have to write another column and fall right back off the wagon." "Can't you ask for another assignment?" "No way. They say no one else can write the column the way I do it." "Oh, come on. How difficult can it be?" "Very difficult. I was at a twelve parties last night alone, trying to come up with a good angle. It's getting so bad, I've started shooting up just to cope." "That is bad." "You don't know kid. You just don't know." At that point, Josh started crying and I felt very awkward just hovering over him as he rolled up into a small ball on the sand. It was time for me to go. Chris, the DJ, cued up some Dead Kennedys, and the crowd got into a bit of impromptu slam dancing, with Don Bauder leading the mosh pit. The noise and confusion gave me my chance to escape, and I crept down the back stairs to the street. As I walked toward Little Italy on Columbia, I could hear the noise of the rowdy partiers. I flipped open my mobile and called the police. "I'd like to make a noise complaint, please?"— May 29, 2008 6:56 a.m.
SDReader.com Launch Party -- 05/28/08 at W San Diego
Note: Josh Board, as a Reader employee, is disqualified from writing the Party Crasher column about this event. So the ever diligent and mighty powerful have asked regular commenter Fred Williams to provide the details. "No, Not THAT W! It's a hotel." I arrived just before seven at the W. Hotel downtown. It's one of those oh-so-chic places I'd normally never go, being more of a drink at home in front of the television kind of guy. But since the Reader had invited me, and Barbarell promised to show up in feathers, I figured it might be a good time. The first surprise was that far from being on the roof, way up at the top, it was on the roof about two stories up. So no stunning views of the skyline. The second surprise was that at this "beach bar" there was actual sand. Yep. Very trendy. White settees and a few roped off "bottle service" tables. It would have been great if the Reader had provided name tags. I looked in vain for "LookAway" and my good friend "fumber", but since I have no idea what they look like, or even their gender, I never found either of them. In fact, if the kind lady from the Reader's HR department hadn't pointed out Matt Potter to me, I'd never have met my Reader heroes. Matt was both older and heavier than I'd pictured him. I had this vision of a wild haired skinny radical, pursuing politicians through the corridors of power with a leaking pen and a wild eyes. Instead, he was most remarkable for not being very remarkable. Just a nice guy drinking a bit of wine and chatting amicably with the guests and his fellow writers. Our conversation went something like this: "Wow! I'm such a fan!" "Kid, can't you see I'm busy right now talking to all these important people. Why don't you just go away?" Next was Jim Holman. Again, name tags would have helped. I had envisioned a portly cigar chomping cynic. Instead I met a trim man with an attractive wife engaged in polite talk. Another conversation: "Hi Mr. Holman, do you think you could give me a job?" "Security! Security!" (cont.)— May 29, 2008 6:55 a.m.
Sunrise Powerlink — a chess game for the big guys
How many former Enron employees are now at Sempra? How much money has Sempra given to politicians, local, state, national? If I recall correctly, Sempra is one of the biggest backers of Prop. C. That's the proposition on next week's ballot that would take away any chance of having an independent auditor in San Diego...the fox guarding the henhouse. Didn't they also give a lot of money to the Mayor's campaign slush fund? Now, why would an honest, upright, public-spirited bunch of people like Enr...oops...Sempra give so much campaign money? Could it be so they can get people like Jim Madaffer to do their dirty work for them, as shown in this article? Could it be so that our Mayor for Sale Sanders would look the other way while San Diego looses it's chance for real energy security? Sorry, Sempra. Your KPBS commercials of little girls talking about renewable energy doesn't fool us a bit. You're a greedy manipulative trading house that will take money even at the cost of destroying the future prospects of this region. Time for some pickets and rotten eggs at your downtown office tower.— May 29, 2008 6:25 a.m.
Fred Sainz, the key to Mayor Jerry Sanders’s door
So the Mayor's staff will whore a story out to any outlet in the country...except the Reader which is subject to a total embargo. The fact that you continue to report such interesting and informative stories in spite of this blackout is inspiring. Keep up the good work.— May 28, 2008 5:39 p.m.
Small world
It's a tight little oligarchy we got here in San Diego. Hopefully this year will see a new Mayor and Council following a new path. Time to Change San Diego.— May 28, 2008 4:49 p.m.
Blackwater Sues City, Claims Its Bid for Border Facility Thwarted by Politics
Now you guys quit picking on my good friend fumbler. Why just last night at the wet sheets and hot air encounter group, he squeezed my manly mamaries and slipped me some porno and a joint. Unfortunately, I'm so grossly overweight now that I am completely unable to locate my shrunken genitals, but I sure did appreciate his generosity. I just wish he'd give me back my ACLU card. He claimed he was just "borrowing" it, but I suspect he's using it at parties to impress women. So leave fumber alone you bullies! It's not nice to pick on the retarded kids.— May 28, 2008 4:33 p.m.