Tag Archives: San Diego

Dayglow San Diego 2013 (a.k.a. Life in Color)

Dayglow San Diego pissed off about 3,000* people last year who couldn’t get down to the over-packed floor, so I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised when it got re-branded as “Life in Color” this year with noticeably restricted ticket sales.  I didn’t comprehend this at first. I walked in past a dude shouting “is anyone selling tickets,” I didn’t wait in line, and I walked in to what felt like a very empty San Diego Sports Arena Valley View Casino Center. I thought to myself, where is everyone?

I think they did right. Security felt relaxed throughout the night. I didn’t really get patted down; a tired-looking woman whisked her hands on my sides while avoiding eye contact. So much for the sticks of Stride I hid in my crotch (wasn’t sure if they’d be confiscating gum and I really wanted to have it, don’t judge me)…  I heard about 30 people bum-rushed the event fences, so for awhile they checked tickets in and out of the smoking patio.  Later, I helpfully asked a zoned-out yellow-shirter if he’d be checking my ticket. He laughed, said “yah” before ushering me through the door without even a glance. Ok, saucer-eyes, I guess not.

Or, maybe, you know, security didn't spend a lot of time patting me down because I didn't wear very much clothing.

Or, maybe, you know, security didn’t spend a lot of time patting me down because I didn’t wear very much clothing. Picture stolen from Mel Marcelo, who photographs like 90% of the event pictures in this town.

Later I jumped up on my lesbro’s shoulders for a better view of the stage because I felt like being TALL. I made eye-contact with one of the guards. ‘Want me to get down?’ I mouthed. He shrugged and let me stay. Kids sat all over the floor, enjoying light shows and massage trains. At Beyond Wonderland last year they did not allow anything like this. It felt like being in a kindergarten where you’re allowed to eat the crayons. I got down from my perch and said, “I’m looking for people to adopt as my rave children.”

I enjoyed the relative emptiness of the venue. We saw the same faces, had space to burst around the halls, could find friends again we made an hour ago.  A skinny, solo guy shook and jittered next to me. His eyes pointed in different directions. Overcome with empathy, I asked if he needed a hug, and squeezed him like I could make his pupils point forward again.  Later I spotted him looking much happier, and much less cock-eyed.

Another picture by Mel Marcado. I wasn't too sure about my decision to wear braids until a girl ran up to me, touched them, and told me I looked "so cute, like an anime character."

Another picture by Mel Marcelo. I wasn’t too sure about my decision to wear braids until a girl ran up to me, touched them, and told me I looked “so cute, like an anime character.”

I had a major moment of skeptism when they unleashed the confetti. I hadn’t even made it down to the floor yet; I sat in the darkened stands at the far end. A cloud blasted into the paint smothered bodies below us. “Great,” Katelyn said, “Let’s make paper mache. Wow.” She insisted that it was paper, but the pieces fluttered like wings and shimmered like mylar. They floated upward (turns out it was the rising heat) and really did look like live butterflies. I imagined insect antennae and legs sticking to wet skin and grimaced. Yet the whole night all I saw was a single square of tissue paper stuck to Mel Marcelo’s clavicle — the only evidence that the thick sparkling swarm had ever existed.

_____________________________

Visit this article for photos of a similar confetti cloud effect @ a paint party in Dallas last year – it’s a good read too.

*Ok, rough estimate. I had a difficult time tracking down actual numbers. Google Fu is weak today. I blame hangover. When do I ever not blame stuff on my hangovers?

YOLO is Banned in 2013

So Katelyn and I were driving down to Ocean Beach to poke some anemones (tide pools) and I saw this monstrosity:

yolo-board-ocean-beach-san-diego

“Seriously?” I said, and took a picture. YOLO has been around for almost 10 years. I can’t believe they’d use it in a business name…again.

The earliest known use of the acronym is attributed to Adam Mesh from the third season of the NBC reality show The Average Joe. Mesh launched the “You Only Live Once” (YOLO) clothing line on March 20th, 2004.

YOLO kind of represents everything I hate.

Hippies have been pointing out for decades that you ought to make the best of your one life, and appreciate the beauty in the world, and climb that mountain, and dream that dream…all I hear is “yammer yammer I baked in the sun too long.” I realize that makes me sound ungrateful, but you didn’t grow up with my mother. Her happiness is real, and bleeds from her warmth and glitters in her sweat and frazzles her blonde curly hair. She’s not faking it, we’re not the Smiths, and I grew up listening to her gleeful groans and lip-smacks and giggles every day of my life. So I’d prefer expressions of thankfulness for this planet to omit that fuzzy-wuzzy psuedo-spiritual suckling-on-teats-of-milk-and-honey jargon of flower children. The phrase “mother earth” makes me vomit in my mouth a little.

That’s the literal interpretation of YOLO.

Then there’s how it’s actually used. For whatever reason, young people determined that the best solution to only living once is to be as idiotically reckless as possible. If I kept up an avid mindfulness that I only live once, I’d throw all my food in my Vitamix and eat it through a straw. I’m so prone to choking I can barely drink a glass of water. As Jack Black infamously pointed out, YOLO has turned into Carpe Diem for stupid people. I just want to know, how is throwing on a trucker hatt, getting smammered, and drooling on a young woman while she gyrates against your crotch seizing the day? I do that like every single night.

The hipsters haven’t been quite so relentless as the SWAG-ers, so I can’t say I’m particularly perturbed when someone says, “hashtag YOLO,” either deadpan or with that sly drawl of irony. Still, that happens. Yay.

The good news is that some tiny state university that I never heard of is officially banning YOLO from common use:

Other banned, overused terms: Guru, Trending, and Job Creators

Other banished, overused terms: Guru, Trending, and Job Creators…

 

I really doubt me pointing this out will stop anyone from slapping you-only-live-once on an Instagram picture, but I’m pretty sure this acronym has about died on its own. Just don’t tell that to YOLO Board.

Does Orange Juice Prevent Colds?

First off, let me just say that screwdrivers are my new favorite thing for Wednesday nights at Flick’s.

BUT orange juice is seldom on my menu. I think it sears my esophageal lining and allows germs to crawl inside me and make me unhappy. So, does OJ cause susceptibility to disease? I’m basing this unscientific study on two events:

This is the brass monkey that contributed to The Worst Cold Ever

This is the brass monkey that contributed to  onset of The Worst Cold Ever.

One night of screwdrivers and brass monkeys preceded The Worst Cold Ever, in which I was bed-ridden for 8 days and sick an additional 2 weeks. I was so half-baked by fever that I cried after watching RuPaul’s drag race, “because I’m not a millionaire.” What? Any amount of real emotional content had me making wild connections between television shows and my personal problems. I had to switch to South Park.  South Park never makes me cry.

Why did I wear an oversized fluffy zebra jacket? To match my zebra hat, of course.

Why did I wear an oversized fluffy zebra jacket? To match my zebra hat, of course.

Then this weekend at a burner party I realized I was possibly too drunk after I dropped my third plastic cup. (In my defense, I was wearing a giant fuzzy zebra jacket which made it surprisingly difficult to hold onto things.) I switched to plain OJ.  Sure, I may have gotten sick off the swig of anise-chipotle-gasoline-flavored homemade vodka I took from a community flask. But it was probably a borderline-illegal proof so I don’t think bacteria could survive inside it. Nevertheless, I woke up with a sore throat that quickly progressed into a 3-day cold.

I’ve been living off gatorades and cheese-foods since Monday. Cheese comforts me. Katelyn, I said, I want something like chicken fingers or macaroni n’ cheese. Something little kids eat. “This?” She pulled out a microwave dinner that contained 1) Chicken strips, 2) Mac’n’cheese, 3) A chocolate muffin thing.  Oh Banquet how I adore thee.

sdsurvivalguide-banquet-chicken-fingers

P.S. Does anyone else out there put ketchup on mac’n’cheese?

But at Flick’s my friends frequently order the screwdrivers and don’t contract the plague. I was sick of my shelfiest-shelf whiskey and cokes, and the vodka crans give me rot-gut. I know they’re using the same shoe-polish to alcoholize my OJ, but whatever orange sugar-water they top off the plastic cup with seems to prevent hangovers. I mean, yes, my insides are a disorganized sad place. But my headache went away before noon. Victory!

Results: inconclusive. Need to collect more data…

Help Me Party Harder

Sign this petition to allow a 4AM last call.

sign-petition

Only 980 signatures needed at the time of this writing.  Thanks!

Reasons to sign:

Robert Dippell SAN FRANCISCO, CA
Bars closing later will allow people to leave at a staggered pace rather than all pour out at 2am on the dot. This is safer for bar patrons and less obnoxious for local residents.

Barry Synoground SAN FRANCISCO, CA
I want San Francisco and California to be international destinations with thriving late night culture.

Max Lion VACAVILLE, CA
I am a promoter for night life events, I really think that having a 4 am last call would put us on par with the rest of the world, attracting not only more local business, but more international interests in moving night life business into California.

John Peter SAN FRANCISCO, CA
2:00 closing is embarrassing for world-class cities like LA and SF. It reduces the amount of night-life fun people can have, and wastes a ton of potential business revenue.

Can you swim in a pool of beer?

Guys in a pool of beer. 2/3rds of an awesome situation

Read the original article on Lords of the Drinks, a sloppy blog with amusing pictures.

Somehow in my aimless stumbling around the internet I found this breakdown of the cost of filling a swimming pool with alcoholic beverages. I don’t speak euros, so  I decided to bust out my calculator. Preliminary research indicates that it is safe to swim in a pool of beer, but I can’t vouch for some of the higher proof liquors out there. I think swimming in a cocktail would just depress me. I’d think of the waste of it all. The sides would spill over and mix in the mud, and well who cares by then I’d be drunk.  Woo party!

Lets say your swimming pool contains 8392.56 gallons, because I grew up derping around in one that size. (Volume = width x height x average depth). Also I didn’t calculate sales tax because I just did my taxes and now I hate taxes.

White Russian

I’m lazy and a drunk, so I make mine 2 to 2 to 1 (vodka, Kahlua, cream).

I don’t know anything about vodka except it makes you drunker and SKYY tastes like nail-polish remover, but this lady calculated the price per galon for Absolut to be $58.26.  Fun fact, vodka is cheaper than Roundup but more expensive than Red Bull.

Assuming you’re buying your Kahlua in liter increments (I know I do) the total cost is…$612,817.04 (at $73 per gallon)

WAIT NO WAY. 3 figures to fill a swimming pool? Don’t believe me? Do your own math.  The internet says the average swimming pool is about 16k gallons. Multiply that by a $70/gallon cocktail and you’re well over my estimate.

Wookey Jack (Firestone Black Rye IPA)

After that sticker-shock, I thought I’d go for a beer. But not just any beer, because in San Diego we only drink the best brews. Wookey can be found for $6.99 a bottle, so it’s half as expensive as your caucasian, dude. But good luck finding 8 thousand gallons of this beer. I just bought the last one at KnB’s.

Total cost: $341,317.79 (at $40.67 per gallon)

Tecate

Ok, I lied, sometimes we feel poor and we drink piss water. Can I find a drink that doesn’t cost more than my student loans? Since it’ll take 542 kegs to fill the pool your total cost is… $75,874.58 (at an affordable $9.03 per galon)

Makes me feel like I didn’t waste so much money on my education. A fine arts degree at UCSD for less than it costs to fill a pool with cheap cerveza…

Whistlepig

And now we’ll finish with the whiskey that’s been on my mind. Whistlepig tastes like freshly toasted pumpernickel and success.

Total cost, 3 MILLION DOLLARS. Or, more accurately, $3,209,726.18 (at $382.45 per galon)

Good thing filling my stomach is considerably less expensive.

You can check my math if you like. It's messy and I didn't use units because I'm not in school anymore and you can't tell me what to do with my life.

You can check my math if you like. It’s messy and I didn’t write all the units because I’m not in school anymore and you can’t tell me what to do with my life.

Map of Hillcrest – San Diego’s “Den of Sin”

My friend hunched over someone’s iPhone. “Drag Queen Fight Dinner Theater,” he said, and laughed. I thought maybe they were watching another La Fuente brawl video. I haven’t been to La Fuente since I ordered an enchilada and got a sauce-drizzled lukewarm tortilla wrapped around dry, unmelted, shredded cheese. I was not drunk, so this was not tasty. But when I was there awhile back I watched one queen push another hard enough to fall — which isn’t saying much as they were both wearing heels taller than mine.

He started naming other places. “Babycakes. Church of the Holy Tank Top.” They were looking at a map of Hillcrest. “Let me see,” I edged in, close.

This map was hard to find the next day until I typed "Hillcrest map gay" into the Google

This map was hard to find the next day until I typed “Hillcrest map gay” into the Google. Click for full res. Or view original source here, on Facebook.

“Gossip Gril is Vagina Stronghold?” I said, unimpressed. “More like where I go to remember I hate lesbians and cigarettes.” My friend replied, “That’s where I go to remember I love lesbians and cigarettes.” I laughed.

Cursory stalking suggests Raanan Rosenfeld is indeed a gay man, which might explain this marker on the map he created. I’ve noticed that the kinds of gay men I meet at bars (read: soused) get this mentality of women as walking breasts and vaginas. This is not unlike the inebriated straight men I meet. Though while both groups are thinking, “Yay boobs; omigod I love boobs,” the former either say or imply eww in the direction of my genitals. Once, at Flick’s, a man cooed at me. “Oooooh,” he palmed my crotch, “What chu got down there, honey?” I made this face:

Hi, do I know you, crotch-grabber?

Hi, do I know you, crotch-grabber?

I think he assumed I was straight, so in his mind I deserved a bit of light harassing for coming into his boy bar. I’ve noticed gay men like to test people who enter LGBT spaces. I’ve watched many a straight man be forced to play gay chicken. It’s amusing when it’s not me. Misdirected passive-aggressiveness aside, I love these dens of sin.

Rosenfeld totally missed #1 on Fifth, and I think “Mama Testa. Perverted Tacos.” is a bit of an intellectual shortcut. Still I have to agree with “Shitshow Strip.” So please check out his graphic designer page and be nice and stuff. I am well familiar with that strip of street and its jumbled boozy bodies – and the shouts of, “woo, party!”

My dog died this week, so I looked forward to “Ruining” my “Thursday Morning.” Not to say that I drink to grieve… Monday night Katelyn asked if I’d like to drink and I sullenly replied, “No. I don’t drink to deal with my problems. I drink to give myself problems.”

But by Wednesday I knew it was time for a Gay Gambit. First, go to Gossip Grill and stew in the haze of cigarettes on a cramped ribbon of patio. The trick is to order your drink first, then pass the token to a friend. If you order both drinks at the start, you’ll end up with two tall beers and two bright tokens. Then you’re trapped in a sapphic sardine tin for two drinks instead of just one.

Then graduate to Flick’s, where wells are $2 each. They’re plastic cocktails, so double-fist. I tip on every drink, and by the end of the night when I’m expecting a flimsy screwdriver the bartender hands me a real glass, complete with cherry. I end up over-drinking. Sometimes it hurts your liver to be a regular.

Finally, the gambit ends at Rich’s. It’s the only Rich’s night without cover. I walk the club, determined to prove I am still in control, still able to march without stumbling. Everyone around me is dancing-off the cheap booze they drank for Welfare Wednesday. I think I drank too much, because I woke up in bed at 6am still wearing my jacket and purse…

When it Sprinkles it Pours

For my inaugural post, I might as well get this one out of the way: weather.

SD locals feel the same way about the weather as I do about your (you know who you are) ex-girlfriend — I wish she didn’t exist.

The truth is, we all know at some level that weather is the main reason why we can’t ever leave San Diego. We know that other cities have snow and sleet and intense humidity and deep down, realize that if we ever lived anywhere else we’d ask our parents for more money so we could move back. Or, for the SD natives out there, move in…

Apparently it's spring because this hummingbird is building a nest on my back patio.

Apparently it’s spring because this hummingbird is building a nest on my back patio.

There are other reasons not to leave (beer), but the weather here sits on your back and gnaws on your neck and every day the endlessly cheerful sun bakes you into submission.

Hypo-manic with fear, we discuss rain and sun and fog in a tone that is easy to confuse with eagerness.  Oh, we’re not pleasant or easily amused; we’re terrified.

And then it rains. San Diegans go ballistic not just because they seldom see the rain, but because it is betrayal. The rain fills the tiny cracks (or gaping crevices) in our streets and our illusion of perfection. We make it exciting; on our news stations we write STORMWATCH in Impact (or the fattest helvetica you’ve ever seen) and we reassure each other that the weather is, in fact, a novelty. Everything will go back to normal soon.

"MicroClimate Weather" - Does anyone actually say that?

“MicroClimate Weather” – What? Does anyone actually say that? (Click pic to view video from SoCal Skywatch. The juxtaposition of flawless skies and moody storm language makes me giggle.)

We purge knowledge of relatively predictable weather patterns from our carefully edited memories. San Diegans chitter and fawn over the first rain after Christmas annually when, in fact, every year it is sunny on Christmas and every year it rains on my birthday just two days later and no one wants to hang out and I watch my dreams wash down the gutter along with my youth…

I need only drop my handbag in the seasonal puddle that ebbs from the floor in my leaky convertible to know how deep in denial I am about the weather. Actually, now it’s more of a pond because recently thieves slashed my soft top.  I haven’t finished fixing it but I kinda stitched it up; I am pretty proud of myself.  Not sure how to make it waterproof just yet.  I’m thinking a patch that looks like a band-aid to really give that pathetic-yet-cute feel.

I don't always order Dos Equis....but when I do I get charged 6 freaking dollars

Sometimes I draw comic-y stuff.

When it mists lightly sprinkles “rains,” few San Diegans venture into the bars and their ill-equipped smoking patios. I seriously love First on Fifth for being liveable when it’s wet out.  Though I will never order a Dos Equis there again.

So, for this reason among many, I’m collecting together a nightlife guide that makes it worth it to lace on your boots and brave the broken flooded streets for the next couple of months. But it’s still totally sunny right now.  Booyah. Eat that winter.

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Let me know if you’re interested and I’ll send you the Survival Guide ASAP. Or like, just write you an informal message with awesome weekend ideas since I don’t have a swanky newsletter or anything. Tourists, go party Downtown or something; this isn’t for you.

Next week’s post won’t be so topical!