Archive for the 'San Diego' Category

driftreality

The Phoenix and the Lion

Towards the end of my time in London in 2006, I got a small group of friends and acquaintances together and produced a short film based on a reverie I had about five years ago when I was living in San Diego.

I got a call in the middle of the night from a friend who had been pulled over by the police. The person that had been driving the car had pulled it over at the first site of sirens, and then dashed into the woods nearby, leaving my friend behind. The police officer refused to let my friend leave because she was intoxicated but allowed her to call me to pick her up.

Annoyed that I had been awakened, I got into my car and began driving over. While on the empty San Diego highways, this strange story began to play out in my head completely unprovoked.

Five years later I decided I wanted to produce the story in video so I wrote up a short screenplay and asked some people I knew to help me. I don’t think anyone clearly understood what the story was about although they all had the good grace not to poke fun at me for wanting to produce an incomprehensible short.

At any rate, the video is split into three parts. In Part 1 of the Phoenix and the Lion, a man is eating pills while poring over a photograph of someone he once knew. He lays down in his bed. Before he falls asleep, he makes a phone call.

In another part of town, a dark-haired woman awakens from a bad dream she was having. She moves over to the sink and begins mulling over something while she inspects her reflection in the mirror.

driftreality

Chicago Ghosts

Back when I was living in San Diego I used to play basketball in Balboa Park about two or three times per week, mostly on the lesser court. Just for your edification, most gyms that contain two basketball courts will spontaneously sort into a greater and lesser courts. The greater court will normally contain the real ballers - the guys who come down every day, can dunk, and get into actual fights over ridiculously petty calls in a game.

Actually, playing basketball on the greater court pretty much objectively sucks but everyone wants to play there, but I digress - once upon a time, several friends of mine were playing on the lesser court and while the ballers on the greater court were dunking on one another and punching each other in the face, we somehow found ourselves playing against a team of girls.

Now mind you - I don’t recall who won that game and that means there is at least a 40% chance that the girls beat us and my selective memory is really going to work right now so I really am not trying to make light of the fact that we were playing against a team of girls.

One of those girls happened to be named Rachel and we would periodically run into one another at the gym and chat. We both shared a passion for writing and I showed her some of the writing I had done through Drift Reality and at one point even posted one of her stories to Drift Reality.

Fast-forward about four or five years and she is publishing a book through Schiffer Publishing called Chicago Ghosts (ISBN: 9780764327421) due out in October of this year. I just ordered a copy from the Schiffer Books Web site and have to say I’m really happy for Rachel that she turned her passion into a reality.

chicago_ghosts.jpg

driftreality

Seoul House

Driving through Kensington, I was pleasantly surprised to see a relatively non-descript little restaurant with the moniker, “Seoul House.”

Outside of Claremont, the only Korean restaurant I’ve tried is Tofu House, located on University Avenue in Hillcrest, and I was a bit disappointed by the bland Jigge and the Westernized décor of the place. Therefore, I was happy to see that A. Seoul House is owned and run by a first-generation Korean family and that B. They don’t pull any punches with the spice quotient in their food.

I went there with Sooyun, my eternal Korean restaurant companion because coming from a Korean family, she has a true appreciation for food that literally makes you sweat while you’re eating.

I tried the Yuk Gae Jang and the Kun Mandu and was delighted by the quality of both. The service was extremely pleasant and friendly and the interior has a comfortable, intimate feeling.

Seoul House is located in Karlsington at 4670 Alabama Street.

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Darband

This past month has involved a lot of eating out. First and foremost, I’ve got to mention this Iranian place on 5th Avenue, on the outskirts of the downtown area - Darband.

Darband is located at 1556 Fifth Avenue. I was a bit skeptical at first because it advertises itself as an “Iranian Deli,” which is a bizarre concept to me, but as soon as I smelled the fragrant aroma of sumac and saffron I knew that the place was authentic. So far, I’ve tried the Zereshk Polo, Jujeh Kebob, and the Kebob Kubideh and they approach my Mother’s dishes which is the same thing as saying that they are close to perfect. Every day, they offer a different special from a selection that includes well known Iranian dishes such as Lubia Polo and Ghorme Sabseh. Unlike Bandar and Sadaf, the restaurant is more about the food than the ambience and any true aficionado of Persian food will quickly see the place for the hidden gem that it is.

driftreality

Money and Happiness

Later that same day, Kelly came over again and she regaled us with tales of her adventures at Monzu, a foo-foo restaurant in La Jolla where she worked as a hostess.

“I just can’t be bothered with being nice to these old men that ask for my phone number anymore,” she said. “I don’t know what it is about these old men that makes them think that I would be interested in them. And they always give me their business cards, what is it with the business cards?”

The way that Kelly spoke made me feel that there was absolutely no interval between the point at which a thought entered her mind and the point at which she would externalize said thought. It was a perpetually flowing waterfall of dialogue that at times seemed to defy gravity by flowing in preposterously disconnected directions. At one point she would be talking about old men trying to seduce her at work, one second later, she would be talking about her friend at home who only dated black guys, and one second later, she would have returned to her original train of thought. At the same time, whenever someone responded, she listened intently at what they were saying.

I personally found it to be extremely entertaining - talking with her was like stumbling upon a tree bearing an endless variety of fruits and having the luxury to pick whatever you felt like at that point in time.

Kelly’s endless line of dialogue turned towards one of her friends who had started an internet-based business back in Virginia and become rather successful, Karl’s ever-present entrepreneurial spirit prompted him to reply to me, “I still don’t know why we couldn’t do the same thing with Roaring Fish.”

Karl was, of course, referring to a company that we had attempted to start, creating web pages for small businesses. There were two main stumbling blocks to our companies progress: one being the fact that neither of us were any good at web-design, the other being that neither of us had ever had any experience with finding clients. Our company’s first and only client had been one a family friend who wanted us to create a website showcasing her artwork. That had more or less, been the pinnacle of our companies’ success. Shortly thereafter, Roaring Fish had taken a turn for the worse as we failed to land any more clients. At one point, Karl had walked into a used-lamp store and asked if the proprietor wanted us to create a website for her, to which she had responded in the negative, and shortly after this incident, our company folded and dissolved into the endless void of the internet.

To this day, Karl had maintained that if we had been more aggressive in our pursuit of clients, we would have eventually found success, which is what prompted him to respond in the manner that he did when Kelly had brought up the example of her friend who had successfully started his own business.

“Roaring Fish didn’t fail because we weren’t aggressive pursuing clients,” I said.

“It failed because about a million people thought of the same idea years before we did.”

“We need to find a niche, something that no one has though of before,” Karl said. “Like, like,” Karl muttered. “Like down in Pacific Beach,” he continued. “Remember when James had said that he wondered why there wasn’t any ice cream carts down on the beach?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“Well, maybe it’s just because no one has thought about doing that yet,” he responded and I could tell that he was beginning to get excited.

“Maybe it’s because the zoning regulations in Mission Beach don’t allow ice cream trucks,” I responded.

“Then we figure out what the zoning rules are, and we figure out a way around them. That is how you have to do business, you have to be able to do things that other people wouldn’t think of,” Karl said.

Karl was starting to get an inspired look in his eye and there was something about it that bothered me and I couldn’t figure out what it was.

“You have to find something like that, which no one has done before, sacrifice a few years getting it together and making your money, and then once it is set up, you get out and just enjoy the fruits of your labor.”

“Karl,” I responded, trying to get his attention.

“And then, you can do whatever you want,” he concluded with more than a little self-satisfaction present in his voice.

“I disagree completely,” I responded, which happened to be one of my favorite ways to begin a rebuttal. “I think you do something you are interested in and everything else follows.”

“Wouldn’t you rather have the freedom to do whatever you are interested in without worrying about money,” Karl responded. “You work hard for about three years, and then you are free to do whatever you want.”

“Three years?” I said, repeating his estimate. “Three years to set up a profitable business that will support you for the rest of your life?”

“Okay, maybe five or six years,” he responded.

“If you tell anyone who has started their own business and been successful, that it only takes five years, I think they would laugh in your face. Besides,” I continued. “Let’s say that it does only take five years, that is still five years of your life that you are essentially throwing away, and for what?”

“For the freedom to do whatever you want for the rest of your life,” he answered.

“I think you find something you love, and you do that, and everything will come to you in due time.”

From out of the corner of my eye, I could see Kelly nodding in agreement.

“I think it’s safe to assume,” I continued, making eye contact with both Kelly and Karl. “That all of us are going to be financially secure by the time we’re about forty. It’s just a matter of what we do in those intervening years that determines whether or not we are happy. Personally, I don’t care how much money I have when I’m forty, if I had spent the past fifteen years selling ice-cream to get there. Ultimately, I’d rather be at age forty, making a decent living, with fifteen years of memories, doing the things I loved, than be a forty-year-old millionaire with fifteen years of memories of ice-cream.”

I looked out of the corner of my eye again and could see Kelly smiling. Karl thought for a moment before saying, “I don’t know, I guess I just think differently.”

Later that same evening, the three of us went to a local dive bar and had drinks. Images of meeting a cute girl without much of a personality and for once in my life, not asking her for her phone number. Talking with Kelly about our respective sexual pasts, her face close to mine, staring into her eyes, and then returning home and seeing her and Karl disappear into his room. Through a door left slightly ajar, I caught a glimpse of them sitting on his bed. She was lying on her stomach as he massaged her shoulders.

driftreality

Hodad’s

 On a friend’s advice, I drove out to Ocean Beach to check out Hodad’s (5010 Newport Ave. 619-224-4623). The initial plan was to pick up a burger and a movie before returning home. It was about 8:40 PM when I called over and told them I wanted to make an order for pick-up.

“Sure,” he said. “But we’re going to close at 9:00, so get here before then.”

I promptly hopped in my car and jetted out to Ocean Beach. I arrived at Hodad’s at around 8:50 PM. “Got an order for Jiyan,” I asked at the front counter where a guy with long hair and tattoos was standing.

“Yeah, sure do,” he said as he handed me a greasy brown bag.

I paid the man and started to head out, before thinking to myself, “Jiyan, this hamburger is going to be soggy by the time you get home.” Looking around and seeing quite a few patrons still seated in the restaurant, I decided to sit down and eat there.

The burger was nothing special. It was somewhere between Carl Jr.’s $6.00 burger and a Hamburger Mary’s burger. The bread was already soggy by the time I started eating, and had the same texture as mucus. After eating the burger and working on the fries, I headed to the back, where I asked a bald-headed guy with tattoos for a cup of water.

He got me a cup of water before saying, “Not to be a d@#k or anything, but when you say you want an order for pick-up, that means for God damn pick-up!”

I stared at him flabbergasted for a few moments before responding, “Well, what about all the other people in here? If you looked like you were closing, I wouldn’t have eaten my burger here.”

“Yeah, well we close at 9:00,” he said. “That means you can’t stay here after 9:00.”

“You should have said something from the beginning,” I responded as I took my water and headed back to my table.

So bottom line on Hodad’s: average burger, awful service. If you want a burger, go to Hamburger Mary’s. If you don’t want to go to Hamburger Mary’s, save yourself some time and some money and go to In-N-Out Burger.

driftreality

Update - 10/12/02

I had a pretty twisted dream last night in which I was part of a coalition of superheroes, and I got to be Superman. We were running away from our enemies and somehow arrived on a balcony. The leader of the group, a Charles Xavier-esque type, began to get worried because there was nowhere else to run. The drop from the balcony to the swamp that lay beneath was a good 70 or 80 feet.

“Well, guess this is the end of the line,” he said.

I leaned over and said, “Well, I don’t normally like to tell people this, but I can fly. It’s not that I’m trying to lie to anyone, it’s just that if I let too many people know, they will start asking me for favors all the time.”

He seemed pleasantly surprised by this and I spent the next ten or so minutes, flying all the other superheroes onto what appeared to be a small gazebo floating in the water. Some of the superheroes, like He-Man for instance, were complaining that the gazebo was too small for all of them.

Ultimately, I got all of them to safety, or so I thought as I abruptly recalled that I would need an electric plug to start the floating gazebo, so that it would motor us to safety. Unfortunately, we didn’t have a plug and of course it was me who had to fly far away to find it (not my idea of fun).

Flying back by myself, I felt an absolute thrill at the feel of the breezed running through my hair, and at the picturesque beauty of the swamp. It was late afternoon and the sun was beginning to set, causing a crimson haze to fall over the scenery.

I returned to the gazebo to find everyone missing. Plugging the gazebo in, I realized that it was not long enough to begin with, as the gazebo could only travel about twenty feet before it extended the plug’s capabilities.

Last night, James, Karl and I went back to our “old faithful”: Bar Dynamite, where I was pleasantly surprised to find that it wasn’t packed, as one would normally expect on a Friday night.

We danced with some cute girls for a while, had some drinks, and I met a Belgium guy named “Jill,” who was celebrating his 25th birthday. I started introducing him to random girls, and there was even one girl’s name that was “Jill,” so I said, “Jill, this is Jill. It is his 25th birthday.”

We finished off the night by going into the taco shop next door and afterwards, headed home.

driftreality

Thrusters

 I want to discuss a little club in Pacific Beach called Thrusters. When I first arrived in San Diego, I remember the trepidation that I felt upon hearing my friend say the name “Thrusters,” when describing where I would be meeting him in Pacific Beach. Living in Hillcrest, my mind immediately began to conjure frightening images of men wearing cowboy outfits and dancing to the Village People. I was pleasantly surprised when I walked into Thrusters and found it to be every guy’s dream: A dive bar with hot chicks and cheap booze. Anyone who has ever been to Pacific Beach knows it to contain an assortment of bars/clubs that are packed to the brim with meatheads, surfers, and blonde bimbos with tattoos on their lower back (for some reason, every girl in Pacific Beach has this - I’ve begun to think that it may be an initiation rite before you sign your apartment contract in PB or something). Thrusters manages to defy the PB logic and is a venue where you can relax and enjoy a drink in a sedate atmosphere.

I had nothing but good things to say about Thrusters - that is, until both Karl and me got kicked out on different occasions. The first time happened back in February or March. Karl and I were calmly enjoying a drink when a couple of cute girls walked into the bar. I began talking with one of the girls when all of a sudden, her friend pulled her away and rudely told me, “She has a boyfriend.” We were standing nearby and I kept glancing at the girl who I had initially been talking with, because, well - because she was cute I guess.

The two girls were soon joined by a guy, presumably the “boyfriend” of the first girl. Out of nowhere, the guy approached me and told me to stop “Oggling his friends.” I calmly told him that I wasn’t “oggling” anybody and if there was a problem, I would rather discuss it outside. He said, “Okay,” so I walked outside the bar. Once outside, I realized that he had chicKarled out because I was standing there by myself. So I headed back inside and approached the guy, asking, “Hey! I thought you were going to go outside.” Before I knew it, the manager of the bar - a short stout fellow - had picked me up and carried me outside. End of story.

The second time occurred last weekend when Karl and I were back at Thrusters, once again calmly enjoying a drink. I headed to the bathroom and when I came back, I saw the manager - the same guy who had carried me out - taking my stool away. I then saw Karl yell something in his face, and then watched as the guy marched Karl out of the bar. I approached the manager and asked him what was going on, to which he responded, “Your friend just called me a douche-bag.”

I went outside and asked Karl why he had called the manager of Thrusters a douche-bag and found out that the manager had been taking my stool away to clear space in the bar, as it was starting to get crowded. He ignored Karl when Karl had told him that I was sitting there, and Karl had called him a douche bag. End of story.

Basically, even though I’ve not had the best luck with the place, I still think that Thrusters is pretty cool.
 
 

driftreality

Mixtical Elixir

In a dim cavern eyes alit,
Upon a faded psychedelic hieroglyphic,
Etching in constant motion,
Spinning smoothly out of control.

Look closer and burnished tulips,
Adorned with soft earth and the faint smell
Of autumn pine needles falling on dried flower petals.

Look closer and ivory Cheshire grins,
Bespeckled with smatterings
Of amber dewdrops embedded in brown sunshine.

Look closer and stoic bark spines,
Immersed in slickly smooth,
Ice pond surfaces melting into glass swans,
With twisting necks like intertwined linear wrecks.

driftreality

Bronx Pizza

Okay, I’ve put this off long enough, but I’ve simply got to tell you about Bronx Pizza (111 Washington St.). If memory serves me correctly, Bronx Pizza was started by two guys who moved here from New York and realized that no one out here had the first clue as to how to make a pizza. Actually, apart from the guys at Bronx Pizza, not much has changed about this situation - the people out here still don’t know how to make a decent pie. I remember when we first moved to San Diego, Karl (who is from Jersey) did a double take as we passed the place and told me, “We’ve got to get pizza there.” He had some strange telepathic connection with the place from the outset and we soon realized that Bronx Pizza was an amazing find. Karl loved the place so much that I gave him the nickname, “Pizza.” The pizza there is just out of this world. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been eating at more upscale restaurants, paying a ridiculous sum of money to eat crap that pales in comparison to Bronx Pizza. Go there.

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