Syntax of Things

Time to Change the Stationery

Often when I mention San Diego on this site, I'll call it "America's Finest City" not so much because I believe this to be true but because in most cases it contradicts the reality that I'm posting about.  Well, after today, I'll have to look for another slogan:

One of its congressmen admitted taking $2.4 million in bribes, the FBI has investigated City Hall, the mayor resigned, a $1.37 billion pension shortfall damaged the city's credit rating and fueled talk of bankruptcy, and two councilmen were convicted of taking bribes from a strip club owner.

Faced with all that ill repute, the city has quietly dethroned itself and dropped the self-proclaimed title "America's Finest City" from its official Web site.

Interestingly enough, the slogan came about in the early 70s at a time when San Diego was suffering from an image problem.  Now it's going away as the result of San Diego having an image problem.  What will replace it?  I'm thinking they may sale the slogan-naming rights to one of the Indian casinos, and if it helps to fill potholes, I'm all for it.

Update:  The new mayor, who was sworn in today, has restored the city's motto.  I guess I'll have to get used to the potholes.

Storm Howling

Our little ball of barking neurotic fury, Homer, had never experienced anything like last night.  Homer is a Southern California dog, born and raised, with at least four generations of San Diego County breeding coursing through his AKC-registered blood.  Just last week, I admired Homer's innate ability to protect himself in the event of an earthquake.  When the ground shook with a mild tremor, he abandoned his exposed bed and made a beeline for under the desk.  But last night would prove just how SoCal he is.

At around two in the morning, we had one of those most rare of meteorological events for this area: a bonafide thunderstorm.  In my seven-plus years living here, I've heard less than a dozen claps of thunder.  Last night, however, there was thunder and lightning galore.  Needless to say, like a true Southern Californian, Homer had no clue what was going on.  A home invasion?  Dogs from Outer Space?  The return of the Uberdog?  All he could do to ward of this mysterious visitation was bark.  But not satisfied with simply voicing his dismay, he decided that he would escape to the backyard, stand in the pouring rain with lightning flashing around him, and let the entire neighborhood, if not the whole world, know that something was amiss. In doing so, he became oblivious to the shouts of his father who really didn't want to go out in the weather to retrieve him.  But I had no choice.  We live next to an old lady on her deathbed on one side and some young children on the other.  I feared that cops or landlords would be called or a lightning strike would take him out, leaving us with nothing but a greasy spot and some hair to bury.  Doing what any good father would do, I grabbed a mop and chased him upstairs.

Homer doesn't seem right today.  Maybe his psyche is bruised, his karma misplaced.  Who knows when his next chance to bark at a thunderstorm might be?  I guess for now he'll have to settle for the UPS man.

Everything and Still Some

Thanks for all of the horse racing advice.  I'm going to spend the morning prepping, studying racing forms, looking at pictures of horses with funny names, and picking out the perfect hat to wear to Del Mar.  Instead of the regular goodness you've come to expect <cough>, I'm giving you a quick rundown and update of all the categories I've used here at Syntax of Things:

Baseball:  The Braves have regained their rightful place atop the division standings.  Ok, so they're tied for first, but it's been a long two months of waiting for the inevitable.

Books & Writers:  I will be picking up the McCarthy novel at some point before going out to the track.

General:  According to this report: "The central Appalachian states lead the nation in toothlessness. More than 32 percent of Tennessee residents surveyed last year had lost six or more teeth because of decay or gum disease, according to the Centers for Disease Control. That number was 38 percent in Kentucky and 43 percent in West Virginia, which holds the distinction of the most toothless state. Kentucky ranked No. 1 in toothlessness in 2003."

Hell in a Handbasket:  The Patriot Act is well on its way to renewal.  Doesn't that help you sleep better at night?

Images: 

Fisherman on Martha's Vineyard, Mass. display a massive 1,100-pound tiger shark Sunday, July 17, 2005. Unfortunately, the fisherman failed to capture first place in the monster shark derby because their boat was six minutes too late in returning to Oak Bluffs harbor with its catch. (AP Photo/Chris Lewis, ohmycod.com)

Impressions Before Reshelving:  I need to do a better job with the category.  To be honest, I forgot that I'd created it.

Load of Links:  See any post this week.

Music:  Bradley's Almanac has mp3s of Dinosaur Jr.'s recent homecoming show.  I've always been a fan of their cover of the Cure's "Just Like Heaven."

Ramblings:  No time for rambling today.  Got horses to study up on.

San Diego:  Well, let's see.  Our mayor resigned shortly after being named one of the three worst mayors in the country.  Within moments of the interim mayor's ascendancy to power, he was convicted, along with another city councilman, of taking bribes from some strip club owners who hoped they would help repeal San Diego's "no touch" law. There was actually a third councilman convicted, but he died last year of liver failure brought on by some heavy drinking (allegedly).  Well, the two convicted councilman have now resigned, meaning that I am without representation until at the earliest November.  Meanwhile, we are to elect a new mayor this Tuesday and I don't think anyone gives a damn. 

Smoking:  Operation Quit-by-Christmas is still in the planning stages.  Considering hypnotism.

Sports:  "It is 'Faith Night' at the ballpark. The Class A Hagerstown Suns are among the minor league teams, mostly in the South, that will bring in Christian entertainers, have players give their testimonies, conduct faith trivia quizzes for prizes and have giveaways that could include biblical bobble-head dolls." (emphasis mine)

Television & Movies:  SoT recommends: Me And You And Everyone We Know

The Books I've Read:  I hope to have a sidebar up soon showing the list of books I've completed this year. Right now, I'm on book 32 of 2005, a little off of last year's pace but not bad considering the lack of time I've had this year.

The IJ Report:  Done, done, and done.

The Kerouac Project:  On hold.  Blame the recent slate of new books that have kept me away from Kerouac.  I still want to do this but for now Jack will have to wait.

Tour of California League:  Geoff and I will be hitting the road in August to check out the new park in Stockton and the non-Cal League stadium in Fresno.

Weather:  This is usually my least favorite time of year to live in San Diego.  Long months of no rain in the forecast.  Incredibly enough, we have a significant chance of some thunderstorms over the next few days thanks to a nice monsoonal flow and the remnants of the latest Atlantic hurricane.  This does mean that the humidity has gone up significantly, and along with a heat wave it makes for some uncomfortable sleeping in an apartment that has only one window a/c unit. 

Would You Like Fries with That:  This is the one project/category that I want to finish before the end of the year.  That's my goal, but I'm not making any promises.

Feel Mexico

Even though I could see Tijuana if I were to climb a tree in my backyard, it's rare that news from there makes it onto my radar, but this week there were reports out of TJ that the mayor, Jorge Hank Rhon, has passed an ordinance which requires all of the street vendors to wear brightly colored, traditional garb or face expulsion from the popular pedestrian mall.  While I'm pretty sure that very few Americans visiting Tijuana take note of what the vendors are wearing, the mayor claims that it will help tourists "feel Mexico."  Truthfully, I don't go down there enough to care, but this story has way too much in it to not point out some of the highlights:

...it will gradually be extended to other streets, including Avenida Revolucion — the bustling main tourist drag where one vendor donned a giant sombrero with the words "Mr. Viagra" written on it. He beckoned tourists to be photographed for $5 in a donkey cart.

...The dresses "are very nice, very clean, very colorful, very happy-looking," [the mayor] told The Associated Press in an interview Saturday in his City Hall office, which he shares with a caged parakeet, a parrot and a python in a glass tank.

...City officials say the costumes are no different from Colonial Williamsburg's Revolutionary War soldier outfits, Buckingham Palace guard regalia or Disneyland's Mickey Mouse costumes.

...More than two years ago, Mexico City ordered downtown police to wear charro outfits, dressing them in spurs, guns and broad-brimmed hats. The Mexican cowboy costumes were designed to put tourists at ease.

...Cecilia Angelos, who sells $3 metal bracelets, sunglasses and ceramic Micky Mouse dolls on a pedestrian bridge crossing the foul-smelling Tijuana River, was among the few vendors Saturday wearing the new costumes.

Where I Pay My Taxes

A wise man once told me that if I had an idea which I thought would be for the benefit of humankind I should sit on it for seven years, and after this period if the idea still seemed to have merit, I then should communicate it to the world.  While I haven't had an idea worthy of sitting on, it was seven years ago (and a few months) that a woman saddled up to me at a bar in Pensacola, Florida, and after a few beers and some idle chat revealed that she was planning on moving out to San Diego.

"California?" I asked.

Several months later, in June of 1998, this woman and I packed all of our possessions, her cat, and my dog into her Honda Accord and we began the what turned out to be six-day journey* across the United States to San Diego in California.

See What You're Searching

Thanks to the folks at A9, now you can stroll through San Diego's Gaslamp District without leaving your home and/or having to pay fifteen bucks to park, assuming you'd be able to find a parking place convenient to where you want to shop or eat.  And to think, you won't be hit up for spare change or a cigarette or have to smell the rotting sushi in the garbage bins or fight through the party crowds spilling out of the trendy bars.  Really, this is genius!  Practical?  Maybe not.

{via San Diego Blog}

The Sadness at the End of the Continent

That really loud thud that you heard Saturday night was not a rain-drenched Southern California falling into the Pacific.  Despite four days of off-and-on showers, we're still here, still getting out on the highways of adventure and eating our fish tacos.  Rocks may be sliding down cliffs and normally dry creek beds may have become rivers that have been keeping the lifeguards on standby, but Southern California hasn't gone anywhere, yet.

That thud you heard was something different.  It was the sound of thousands of disappointed San Diego Chargers fans jumping off of a bandwagon that they've been riding since mid-October.  Thousands of them who hadn't watched football since the mid-nineties--the last time their Chargers were in the playoffs--fell so hard that they may not remember spending over a hundred dollars for upper-deck seats and that they sat in the rain and watched as the field goal by the guy whose name they couldn't tell you without looking it up sailed right of target giving the other team--another New York team to bust the bubble of San Diego sports fans--the ball back.  When the kick by the other team split the uprights, the thud echoed through the city.  Then there was an eerie silence, the only sound was the rain and the slurred, indeciperable words of John Madden.  TVs were turned off, replica jersies removed and put in the wash, tears fell into beers.

So it's over Chargers fans.  A good ride, but you knew it had to end sooner or later.  Or did you?  This team played over its head all year, got lucky more times than not, and Saturday night, the luck went wide right.  Even for a non-Chargers fan, like myself, it was enjoyable following this team, watching a city that expected at best four or five wins galvanize around a team that ended up winning twelve games and home-field advantage in the first round of the playoffs.  It was easy to cheer them on and hope that they might go the distance.  But the realists knew that the end was nearing.  Maybe it just came one week early.

Take it from an Atlanta Braves fan, after a few weeks you'll be able to enjoy life again.

+ A song so you won't forget.

Fire!

I have to remember to start bringing my camera to work.  This morning, I missed the chance to take pictures of a three-alarm fire with all of its black smoke and flames and fire trucks, not to mention the hundreds of people gathered on sidewalks everywhere to watch.  It was an interesting way to start the morning.  At first, I thought the sirens might be a side effect of the jet lag, but when people started gathering around the windows, I quit installing my new laptop port to watch for myself.  At first, we thought it might be a car fire  but then the smoke grew heavy and before long flames started shooting out of the top of a building, which turned out to be a residential hotel.

It took the fire crews around an hour to contain the flames, another hour of watching and investigating, and by mid-morning the Red Cross was set up in the parking lot across the street.  Now the news is reporting that one person died and at least seven are missing, though those seven might not have been in the hotel at the time. 

Speaking of fire, the photo at the right shows the aftermath of a blaze that destroyed the "Love Shack" (bugmenot login: dawgathens2 password: theevent), the house that inspired the B-52's song and in which the band wrote the song "Rock Lobster."  I guess it's fitting that the tin roof, though of course rusted, appears to be the only thing that survived the fire.

Some Rain, A Flood, and Gas

A quick note to any San Diegans reading this. The National Weather Service has twice interrupted my watching of the back of my eyelids in an attempt to recover from Jetlag Part II to inform us, in their dire muffled voice and scrolling bold letters across a red background, that they have issued a FLASH FLOOD WARNING for the southern part of San Diego County until 3:30PM today. I have a feeling that this is the first in a series of warnings that we'll be given over the next few days. Remember, we went half of a year without any rain, so while you may be a tad agitated about having to drive home on the rain-slicked roads, dodging the pirohetting cars, we really do need this. Even the .08 inches yesterday was cause for celebration.

On a quick, unrelated note, gas prices in San Diego County are now averaging $2.47. That's for the low-grade stuff. I could be wrong, but that's about a 30-cent increase in the last two weeks.

I Hear Your Arrival

The planes kept me up all weekend. Usually they don't bother me much, but this weekend I've been sensitive to the sound of their deceleration.

We've lived under the flight path for five years now. Three different apartments, three different locations just under the path of landing planes. The first few weeks after moving to this neighborhood, I didn't think I would make it. Every thought became punctuated by the noise. Dreams and conversations rudely interrupted, halted abruptly by the shriek of a Delta flying in from Cincinatti or a British Airway from New York. As months passed, I figured out the ways around these disturbances: stereo speakers hooked up to the TV and placed near the couch, radio on at night, telephone conversations in the closet behind a closed door.

San Diego's Lindberg Field, the international airport serving the U.S.'s sixth (some say seventh) largest city, sits next to downtown, surrounded on all sides by thriving neighborhoods. This means that anyone on either side of its single runway suffers from a daily routine of immense concentration, an effort sometimes beyond human to block out the distraction of planes leaving and departing an always busy tourist destination. Some days the task is easy. One gets caught up in the routines of reading or watching baseball or blaring a CD and the planes' noise is hardly noticeable. One might sit in a favorite La-Z-Boy watching the 11 o'clock news and remark that the air traffic seemed rather light today, when in fact it has been just like every other day, save 9-11- & 12-01 when the silence was overwhelming.

Today with the head splitting from lack of solid sleep and too much coffee without food, I've been unable to do anything but hear the planes. Every two or three minutes, another one streaks low across the palm tree tops, cutting a trail of noise and then nothingness. Then it's wait until the next one. Better yet, it's wait until the headache goes away and the noise is nothing but background to a normal day.

Chicken Migration

I've complained for years that San Diego is lacking in some of the finer dining experiences. I don't know how I've lived out here this long without easy access to a Waffle House or a Cracker Barrel, not to mention Krystals or Captain D's. Well, as of yesterday, this city's fast food now has a hint of the motherland:

Chick-fil-A, Inc., the nation's second-largest quick-service chicken restaurant chain, which is credited with inventing the boneless breast of chicken sandwich, is bringing its award-winning menu, drive-thru service, interactive playground and unique indoor dining experience to San Diego on Aug. 26 as it continues its aggressive expansion into Southern California.

Agressive expansion is a phrase that goes well with a Chick-fil-A diet.