Featured in a Museum

Why do I love flickr? Because things like this happen: Two of my photos were selected for presentation in a digital slideshow at the San Diego Natural History Museum. It's for their next exhibit, Water: A California Story, opening July 19, 2008. As to be expected, the photos are history related:

• Swell Crashing into OB Pier--back in December there were some gnarley waves that rolled in.
• Old Mission Dam--Mission Trails Regional Park can tell you more about the history than I can.

I mean, wow. I made it to a museum. I'm officially immortalized...unless their computer crashes.

SoCal Traffic

is crazy to be sure, but I hit a traffic jam today around 9:45am for no other reason than it smelled like toasted bagel on that patch of highway.

And oddly, I was like, yeah...let's all enjoy this for a moment.

Interactive San Diego Fire Map

View Larger Map
Isn't this map relaxing? Per a friend's request, I'm posting the map I'm checking in on every 2 hours or so for what seems to be the most up to date happenings in the region. If you zoom in and find "Evacuation Center: Qualcomm Stadium," we live just south of that so we're okay. I might start getting nervous if that southern fire reaches the community of La Mesa, but even then, there'd be a whole lot of concrete jungles to jump through, and the Santa Anas don't seem to be blowing west anymore. Nonetheless, it's a (very sad) view of the extensive destruction that's happened in what were some beautiful areas.

Bush's Visit To San Diego's Firestorm

Why is Bush coming tomorrow? We could have used his brush-clearing skills days ago...

San Diego Firestorm 2007 pt. 2

We've been taking walks down to the end of the street to watch the crowd at Qualcomm grow. This is the view from about 4pm today...almost looks like a black and white photo as a thumbnail through the smoke. The comparisons between Qualcomm and the Superdome have already started, which is annoying just because they're very different catastrophes with a very different demographic.

So far my favorite caller on the NPR station was a lady who said, "I just couldn't leave my house without doing the dishes first."

Firestorm San Diego 2007!

Thanks to all the distant friends and family who have called/emailed to check up on us. Luckily our area isn't in danger of burning, but in the event we die of smoke inhalation, we love you all...life was beautiful and nothing hurt.

Things are actually much better in our neighborhood for now than it was earlier (as seen in the photo taken yesterday), though I wish I could say the same for the areas where it's actually burning.

It's been an eerie feeling all day as the radio waves and TV stations announce evacuations of one city after another, schools shut down (including my class at SDSU tomorrow), the city shuts down, the normal air traffic overhead has changed its flight pattern, and Qualcomm Stadium lights up the end of our street with evacuees creating a traffic jam in the parking lot as opposed to the normal crowd on the surrounding highways. Needless to say it's made our third anniversary probably one of the most memorable that we'll have.

First we feel our first earthquake, then a couple of weeks ago there was a big landslide, now the fires...when's the tsunami coming?

San Diego Weather Forecast

As San Diego braces for a rare "winter-like" storm that is sure to "pack a punch"--so much so that the fire department is providing free sandbags to residents for the possible 3/4 inch of rain--I'm reminded of this video. Enjoy.

Foster Kittens

Go ahead and die when you look at these photos of the kittens we fostered and bottle-fed this past weekend. I was looking at the pets section on Craigslist on Friday (because I'm in constant denial that I'll never have a cat) when I read an ad posted by Cat Adoption Service of San Diego saying they had an urgent need for bottle feeder foster homes. I emailed an offered to help out very short-term if they were desperate enough. I figured Ryan's allergies could handle a weekend of kittens who are bound to a box anyway. Needless to say, they took us up on it--apparently feral cats are busy birthing at this time of the year. So it was cool because these kittens would have otherwise been euthanized. It got a little less cool when I had to potty them and continue feeding them every two hours through the night. I could handle the day, but every two hours during the night makes a person become quickly emotional. Hat tip to all you mothers out there.

Otherwise this ranks, by far, as the cutest experience I've ever had. They were passed along on Sunday night to another foster home that is able to raise them until they're ready for adoption. That killed me. I got attached. I totally want the little black kitten who would crawl into my palm, roll around on her back and play with my fingers. Then she'd crawl up to the crook of my neck and fall asleep there. :'( I miss them.

My First Earthquake

A little more than a week ago I woke up in the very early morning to the bed shaking...not quite shaking but shivering. In my sleepiness I wondered why Ryan was not only shivering, but shivering so slowly. Being the compassionate one, I pushed him to wake him up and asked if he was shivering because I believe this was also in the midst of our California heatwave--boo hoo, I know. Point is, shivering would have been ridiculous. I wouldn't have allowed it. No shivering in the heat. Not unless you've been sweating in the heatwave and then walked into an overly air-conditioned store or restaurant OR have a thyroid problem.

Anyway Ryan had NOT been shivering and while I felt the bed slowly shiver a few more times, he did not. I even swore there was a slight rumbling sound at which point I thought, oh my god...an earthquake...an earthquake? crap. AN EARTHQUAKE...HOORAY! AN EARTHQUAKE!

I hopped out of bed that morning and went straight to the internet to read all the reports and accounts about the earthquake. I thought all the neighbors would be standing at the end of their sidewalks ready to talk about where they were and what they did when the earthquake hit. I was ready to chat it up with everyone but nothing. Nothing was reported. No one was hanging out outside. Just nothing. So then I was like, maybe it wasn't an earthquake...yeah...I guess car alarms would have gone off.

So later, I won't say where Ryan was sitting when he yells DID YOU FEEL THAT? I didn't feel it, but thought that if there was one place to feel an earthquake, it was probably Ryan's "chair," which happens to be very firmly attached to the ground. I didn't take it too seriously (because there would be reason for rumbling to happen in that chair. har), but still kept checking in on any reports. Nothing.

I wish I could remember specifically what date that was, but finally, FINALLY, I found some validation with a series of reports that have been posted about a series of earthquakes that have been happening around here. So I'm not crazy. And duh, this is old hat for SoCal residents. Kind of like this past Christmas when we were on a plane back to Cincinnati and while we were descending into Minnesota for our layover all the San Diegans were like, Ohhhh! Is that snow?! Wow! Snow! I just want to play in it! And I was like psshh. Idiots. And rolling my eyes at them.

Update: So my intention was NOT to post this on the same day as the Indonesian earthquakes. Total coincidence--no disrespect meant.

Milking the Summer for All It's Worth

It's almost been a month since the trip to the Caribbean, but it's still fresh in my mind. Since then I've caught the beach bug and have been to the San Diego beaches every day this week (except one). The craziest part of that is that I hadn't been in the Pacific since we moved here until now...after body surfing, snorkeling, and boogie boarding this week (Thanks Lauri!) I'm addicted.

Check out the vacation photos here!

Om My God

The latest ideas in the job search have involved the fitness world:

• I'd get the daily exercise in that I'm always meaning to do AND I'd get paid for it
• Talking is limited
• I'd get to wear comfortable clothes

So, I've been researching places around town where I can get my yoga teacher training certification and decided to check out this one place with a training session at the end of this month. The yoga I'm used to usually involves soothing music and poses at varying speeds/flows, depending on the type of yoga you're doing and an instructor that speaks very little. We'll call this Ohio yoga.

I believe in the mind/body thing with yoga, you know? But this place I went to yesterday? We literally chanted "om."

And then we had to roar like lions.

And I'm not kidding.

It wasn't the instruction that scared me so much as the other students. I mean, it's downright shocking how loud fellow yogis will roar or om or exhale. The instructor never stopped talking (albeit soothingly) about our auras, colors, third eyes, and higher gods. I'm all for quiet visualization, but when you ask for a response from the yogis, it's a scary look into how seriously people take this. I was waiting for someone to start passing out kool-aid, dousing themselves with gasoline, and setting the place on fire. That's just the "mind" part of this class. I won't even go into the Good Will Hunting moment.

Now for the physical part: all the rage in California is yoga in rooms heated to 120 degrees F just as this one was. I don't know about you, but the first thing I think when I walk into a sauna is, why isn't anyone exercising? Here, naked guy, take this parka. My only explanation for this is that native southern Californians have different blood than everyone else. 70 degrees is chilly to them. Or it's just a very bulimic way of sweating off the pounds. All I know is that I had to lie down three times because I started to faint. Lucky for me on the third time down, we started the floor exercise portion of the 1.5 hour class. You know how saunas have that sign posted where you're not supposed to be in it for longer than 15 minutes? That's just another thought to consider.

Unless I can find an Ohio speed of yoga out here, I guess idea #5938 for a job is out. Wet, hot, lion yoga might work for some people, but it's not for me.

Idea #5939: I might try pilates next. Less spiritual. I think.

San Diego/California

December Nights in Balboa Park
David Sedaris Live and the Crappy Place That Hosted Him
Phil the Sore
Media Monday! Allerca Cats updated
Foie La La
The Result
Norwegian Veteran
Confession
Bombs and Boobs
Poll on Cars
SoOo Cal
We're Moving!

December Nights in Balboa Park

Best holiday event ever? It just might be. December Nights in San Diego's Balboa Park is the perfect combination of the kitschy and the classic versions of the holiday season, making it a festival worthwhile for any taste.

Sure, San Diego has a lot going for it, but even if you stripped away the weather, the beaches, and the mountains, Balboa Park would remain one of the best cultural centers out there. This isn't some grassy knoll with a couple of flowers. This is where most of San Diego's museums, performing arts, artisans, gardens, restaurants, recreation, international culture center, and all the local clubs that go with it reside. Cities whose cultural scenes suffer take note: San Diego's museums are no Smithsonians, however they are alive and well. Free Tuesdays (museums rotate their participation in a month), have enabled me to see that most museums are largely locally focused instead of pulling in visitors with something "world-class" like...Van Gogh's ear. Point is, this is a place worth looking to when questioning what's wrong with a city's culture society (Cincinnati).

With the exception of the zoo (okay the zoo is world-class strong), everything in the park opens free of charge for these two nights with holiday performers sprinkled throughout the museums, theaters, and outdoor stages. The artisans at the Spanish Art Village break out their full collections and the International Cottages feature cuisines from their corresponding countries. If I make one recommendation about the whole event, it's to forego the Holiday Taste of San Diego also at December Nights and stick to the food options at the International Cottages. Unsurprisingly the food is more varied, there are more booths, and there's better atmosphere since the cottages are so close to Organ Pavillion where Holiday performances are in constant rotation.

The kitsch comes mostly with the carnival and some Christmas decorations. But before you start thinking that this festival is strictly Christian, there are some, uh, blue lights and the Atheist Coalition present.

The cultural and holiday combo is a good one. If that's not convincing enough, a quarter of a million other visitors agree.

David Sedaris Live and the Crappy Place that Hosted Him

So much for mobile blogging. I logged in expecting to see the picture I took on Friday of David Sedaris at Copley Symphony Hall and have since tried three times, but nope. No love. All the more disappointing because just as I was making the final adjustments on the big camera for the perfect close-up picture, they scolded me. Point being, my only photo of the evening, with which I could spite Copley Symphony Hall, is on my cell phone.

It doesn't matter much for you because the cell picture would have been a speck of David Sedaris on stage with a burst of orange behind him versus the nice book signing photo I was setting up (where I could have pointed out that his nostrils were bigger and hair grayer than I thought). The ban on photography especially chapped me because the entire event was sponsored by UCSD's Art Pwr. Some "art power" if you can't even take a picture! David Sedaris wasn't going to fade if I took a picture! Neither was the theater! I never even use a flash! I wasn't in the way or holding up a line! And nevermind the free, *good* publicity I was going to give you. Ergh. Bastards. I see time devoted to a fake press badge in my future.

It wasn't the best way to start the event--because you have to understand that as I was taking the picture, an usher walked up, said there was no photography but that he'd let it go, and right as I was about to snap, another eagle-eyed usher (the irony was her eyes were wonky) practically swung down out of nowhere on a rope and landed in front of me, and went nuts. Permission granted, permission taken away. Arguments worth nobody's time.

I'll stop because I thought the majority of this post would be devoted to David Sedaris and his awesome reading. Whenever I read him, there's a certain circularity to his stories that seem incomplete. I don't have a specific example at the moment, but I've had the distinct feeling several time of "that was really funny but how does it all connect?" I guess because the funny is often a tangent from where the story starts. BUT whenever I hear him on This American Life or in person, the same story does feel complete. Maybe he's more of a comedian than a writer because his stories are written to be read aloud. I had read "The Understudy" in the New Yorker a couple of months ago and thought it was okay, but when he read it in person? Hilarious. Why is that?

For the Halloween spirit he also read a piece from his time spent at a morgue. This was hysterical. Somewhat reminiscent of Mary Roach's Stiff for me, yet the jokes about morgue life were still pretty fresh.

And the guy is just as funny off-the-cuff. He talked about a recent trip to Tokyo and his newfound obsession with the place and how he can't wait to go back. Particularly great, to him, were the signs because every last one of them was "cute." He said there was this one sign that warned "Cigarettes are held at a child's eye level" and that it had the cutest picture of a cigarette stuck in a little girl's eye.

I had never paid for a reading before, but David Sedaris is worth it. Go see him.

Foie La La

Pardon the absence. I'm trying to figure out how to balance the employed life with the blog life. Enter: the liver. Somehow a temporary employment pool has led me to a liver transplant center in San Diego which has been fascinating and exhausting all at once. I like to term my temporary position there as Junior Nurse since I've been meeting patients at their appointments, attending pathology meetings, selection committee meetings (where they choose who does and doesn't get a new liver), filled out lab orders and refill requests, and monitored Creatinine levels. Seemingly everything but taking an organ out and putting a new one in. And all I said to the HR person was, sure, I have a personal interest in the medical field. I thought I'd be answering phones.

I'm hoping that my next assignment will be with the Scripps Oceanography Institute and that I'll, I don't know, have to put on a wet suit and take a helicopter out to a remote part of the ocean to collect some data on an experiment they have going on out there. Or that the student activities office will need me to call Radiohead up and schedule them for a date on campus, show them around San Diego, and expense a dinner with them.

Who knows? Maybe the temporary employment career is the way to go.

The Result

Scion xB

• 30/33 mpg
• consumes less energy than a Toyota Prius to manufacture
• enough room to comfortably juggle in the passenger seat
• fits in compact parking spaces (not that people pay attention to the "compact" part of that anyway)
  

Norwegian Veterans

Yesterday the spouse and I were on a foot mission to stock up on bagels when a man approached us. Now, considering this 60-something was dressed to the nines (we're talking just short of wearing a tux), with comb trenches still fresh in his white hair, and skin that I'd kill for, I was surprised when he held out a styrofoam cup and asked us for money. For a Norwegian veteran. Thank god Ryan was with me because I was genuinely confused and speechless. He seemed like he was collecting for himself in which case it looked like he should be the one giving money to us (I mean, the guy practically had one of those fancy hankies coming out of his blazer's breast pocket).

So the appearance was one thing. The second, perhaps minor, thing is he had zero trace of an accent which is fine if he's collecting for a cause, but that brings me to my third point: if he was collecting for a cause, not only did he present it all wrong, but he had no sign or stand or pamphlet or just something more official. Not a styrofoam cup. An un-labeled styrofoam cup at that! Even handwriting on the styrofoam cup would have been better. My standard behavior for people approaching me for a cause is to ask for information such as a Web site about their organization so that I can inform myself on my time and avoid blind donations. But the thing is, if this guy was collecting for himself, I would have felt bad and potentially offended him by asking if he was collecting for an organization. So I remained silent the whole time.

Confession

Looking for jobs blows. It's downright depressing. I started off gung ho in the search process two months ago, happy to finally be in a situation where employment was an option, but in a matter of weeks I found myself sometimes bedridden. Dreading the number of cover letters I'd have to revise for whatever random jobs of the given day. Sick of my own story.

Whereas the English major presented itself as a flexible degree because it taught "critical thinking," the job search has left me wishing I had specialized in something specific like dentistry. Dentistry = teeth. English = words. Words are in everything; every specialization. Teeth are only in your mouth and are supposed to behave a certain way. When they don't, you fix it and it's pretty black and white. Words have no specific behavior. They bend, jump, drag, and constantly change their meaning. These behaviors affect every moment/interaction of our lives. I've seen firsthand how different languages and their syntax, pronouns, and word choice, inform the behaviors of various cultures, but where does that get me in the job world? Where is the space in my resume for this?

My newest low is a wrapped beach towel around the torso in place of shorts and underwear. Why dress, right? It's only to the mailbox, but...

I think this is all in response to a friend recently asking what the job search was like. It may be exciting at first, but it quickly becomes dull and utterly uninspiring. All I can be is myself and pretty much no one is interested in that because they want me to suck their ass and conform to what they want me to be.

These have been hard weeks.

However,

I love San Diego and yesterday was a good day for the seratonin levels. On a whim I decided to contact Habitat for Humanity and go help them out on a project all day, which was awesome. I used to do Habitat every Saturday in high school and liked it (especially since I was doing it with friends) so I thought I'd give that a shot since my attempt at volunteering at the animal shelter didn't work out. I had forgotten that it was a Christian affiliated organization until the truck pulled up with a quote strewn across the side of it saying something like, "God's love in action," or "Working by the love of God," or "For the love of God." And then, of course, we began the day with a prayer. I was like, snort and roll of the eyes but whatever. I also had forgotten that I went through those motions for 12 years, morning, noon, and afternoon. They had us praying all the freaking time so it was an odd flashback. The Christian part of Habitat was relatively minimal though...thank god.

I was semi-flattered that the leader guy picked me to operate what was essentially this gigantic industrial chainsaw on wheels for digging trenches. It was sort of ridiculous at the same time that he picked me only because I was literally pushing on the handles like I was a fucking Olympic gymnast on the parallel bars to try and get the thing to turn...alas, I managed. But between that and the pickaxe, I look/feel like a tetanus victim. So if I'm sitting here saying, "digging trenches was awesome!" you might be able to better imagine the quality of my normal days of looking for a job.

But it was a jumpstart. It was a motivator. It made the day go by faster, I learned something, and spent the day with people that were pretty nice. It made me get up today and at least get in the car and out of the apt. So today I finally went through Little Italy and stopped down at Chicano Park and topped it off with a trip to the grocery store where Little Italy inspired me to buy some salami. A fuckload of it too, which was sort of unintentional. In Germany I could justify it by "not knowing the metric system" but the truth is I've always been afraid of the deli counter because I have no fucking clue what a quarter of a lb. vs. a half lb. looks like. Kind of like when people give you directions and say "in 300 ft. you'll go right." I act like I know what they're talking about, but I'm really standing there like, " ? "

Basically I guess it was important to have two fuck all days where I spent little time on the computer, thinking about jobs.

Bombs and Boobs

Weird day (and it's only 1:32 p.m.):

• This explains what had happened when I drove past a fleet of fire trucks, police cars, and a mob of people fleeing the office building five minutes away from where we live. I didn't hear anything, though.
• Walking to the beach, an oncoming man says to his kid, "Put your oar down, son, before you hit this lady's boobs." And you, sir, can wipe your slimey grin off your face before my knee meets your nuts.

SoOo Cal

It's amazing what a car and a little sun can do to delay the blogging. Plus there was that move in there, but it's official: I'm living in this beautiful place called San Diego.

My lotion sessions have, therefore, taken on a whole new meaning. I've switched to a daily lotion with SPF 15 included, but I read this article today and am feeling anxious about looking at the back of the bottle.

Experts say the best protection against UVA is a sunscreen that includes zinc oxide, titanium dioxide or avobenzone. Consumers should also look for those that are water-resistant and have an SPF of 30 or better, indicating strong protection against UVB rays, and apply liberally and often.

What I hate about articles like these, not to mention the American Cancer Society (currently featuring a photo of a sunscreen fan on the homepage) and Skin Cancer Foundation's web sites, is that they don't tell you specifically which brand of sunscreen fufills this criteria. The idea of educating the public is undermined when they fail to follow through on the research and offer "solutions." It's flattering that they think the public is so motivated as to stand in the sunscreen aisle for an hour, reading labels, but unrealistic.

I'll update after my sojourn to the store.