Do You Know The Way-Go To San Diego?
Back in town now from a brief sojourn to San Diego, speaking at an environmental conference on behalf of Chartwell Information, my longtime employer. Brother, you want to know anything about solid waste, I’m your man. Anyway, some highlights from the trip:
–Wednesday afternoon, I dined on fish tacos (NOT a double-entendre, for once) at the Coronado Brewery. Not that there’s any connection whatsoever between the fine fish tacos and intestinal jihad, but that evening, I felt like I was going to vomit my kidneys right into the San Diego Bay. I had to excuse myself from an awards dinner–didn’t think projectile hurling would go over too well with my fellow conference attendees–and managed to recover out at the waterside, leaving only that telltale line of near-puke/fever sweat across my hairline.
–I stayed at the lovely Carole’s Bed and Breakfast near Balboa Park, where I ran into some honest-to-God Cali granola heads. As I was wearing conference-appropriate business casual wear–a marked improvement from my usual ballcap and shorts–they looked at me like I was the soul of all Bush-style evil. After some snippy PC conversation, I was ready to throw a right (ha!) cross (double ha!) and bust ’em in their tree-huggin’ chops, but then that would have only cemented their image of me as ultraviolent, misogynistic, xenophobic Bushie. Ah, well. Opportunity lost.
–Thursday night, I dined on the Pacific Oceanside patio of the lovely Hotel Del Coronado, a magnificent old hotel that allegedly served as inspiration for Frank Baum’s visions of Oz. There’s also apparently a ghost that hangs around the joint, though we didn’t see her. We did see the lights of Tijuana just down the beach, though, and finally decided that getting busted at a donkey show just wouldn’t be the best way to promote corporate brand synergy.
–Friday morning, still on Eastern body time, I went walking in Balboa Park, a lush Eden in the center of the city. Stunning views of the skyline, the mountain peaks jutting out of the ocean, and skies that are the platonic ideal of blue.
–Cali chicks are weird. They’re either absolutely gorgeous silicone-jacked bims–which, don’t get me wrong, ain’t bad–or smug, smirking-yet-humorless, pseudointellectual neo-hippies. They annoy me.
–And now I’m back in the South–mucho thanks to my man Jim for showing me a great time in the–what the hell is San Diego’s nickname, anyway?…Google search shows it’s “America’s Finest City.” That’s just stupid, but damn, when you’re in a place that beautiful, you don’t have to be imaginative. Anyway, later this week, some recommendations and reviews, including an exceptional book on the recent history of Dixie and a stack of comics that’d be good for folks who claim they “don’t read comics”–like those millions who went to see Sin City last weekend.
–Oh, and baseball has begun again. Life is right.