Innocent Bystander

It was a dark and stormy night...

I am a wimpy dreamer.

At the first sight of anything going off the rails, I wake up. So I rarely see dreams through to their ending. I just wake up before that happens. I also rarely remember my dreams. But last night's was exceptional...

I have always had a fear of looking through the peephole of a door or out a window to find someone unexpectedly looming outside. Last night's dream keyed in on that. I was in a house that was very familiar and belonged to a family member, but it was no house that I had ever been in. It was the proverbial dark and stormy night (sorry, Snoopy). For some reason I had awakened in the dark and padded softly down the steps to the front door. On either side of the door were two high windows, both with blinds on them, but the blinds were up. As lightning flashed outside, I went to lower the blinds and then I saw him: a tall, gaunt figure of an unshaven, dark-haired man standing on the porch, his tattered coat pulled up around his neck and shoulders.

"Get off the porch!" I yelled, as I quickly dropped the blinds on the window on the right side of the door.

I heard footsteps on the porch. I peered out of the left side window before dropping the blinds. I couldn't see anything in the dark of the covered porch, but then lightning flashed and I saw the man had moved to the other side, right near the brick pillar (the textures and details of this dream--the blinds, the brick accents on the porch, the wood on the floor and steps of the house, the torrential rain falling in the background--were very vivid). As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I saw his head turn slowly to stare at me. I yelled "Get off the porch!" one more time and reached to turn on the outside light. When I flicked the switch, nothing happened. Instead the man on the porch slowly raised a light bulb to his mouth and bit down on the glass end of it. He began slowly chewing on it, all the while staring at me through the window...

And then I woke up.

I am a wimpy dreamer.

100 Walks--#s 38-43...

I have been walking more lately, albeit not as long, but more times per week. All of this fits hand in glove with my new "thing," calorie counting. I've downloaded a great app for my iPhone (MyFitnessPal) that helps me figure out a weight-loss plan, counts calories and even factors in my walks as a sort of bonus with calories burned each time I hit the "mean" streets of San Diego. And unlike certain Hollywood stars, I never have to ask my iPhone if it's raining or not, but I do ask it how much I ate today.

Every once in a while on these excursions I discover some new thing in San Diego that I never saw before. Recently I stumbled across this cute little suspension bridge at Spruce Street in what I guess is a part of Mission Hills. It runs over a canyon and has a bit of a bounce to it when you walk it, particularly when you get to the far side and it really bounces (like minor earthquake bounce). I want to walk thoughout more of Mission Hills one day, when I can figure out if I can actually get in and out of there without laying a trail of bread crumbs. It's kinda windy and mazey, but it's also one of the most beautiful parts of the city of San Diego, with incredible homes and landscaping. But I'm somewhat afraid of the following scenario happening (a play in one act):

"Siri, am I lost?"

"Yes, we appear to be lost, however it is not raining outside. Would you like to have tomato soup delivered anyway?"

"No, thank you, Siri."

The jacaranda trees are in almost-full bloom (as are the Vespas, evidently). They're beautiful and fragrant and dot the streets, especially on Bankers Hill which lies between downtown and Hillcrest. As an editorial note, there are no banks on Bankers Hill, but at some point there were a lot of bankers living there. There are some pretty ritzy houses, which just proves, I guess, that embezzlement is good for the soul...or the home as the case may be. The jacarandas only failing is that when they flowers fall off, they stain the sidewalks as they decay away.

One other interesting point of walking through the Bankers Hill section of town: It's in the Lindbergh Field flight path. Objects in sky are larger than they appear. DUCK!

I came across this stately mansion in Mission Hills, a gated one with the above plaque adorning its outside wall. At least they're honest.

One of my favorite and most frequent places to walk is Balboa Park and this last photo is from there, taken on a gorgeous spring late afternoon. This is why I live here, people. Wise up and join me. But find your own f*cking place to live. This isn't a charity ward.

The Story Behind the Banner #8...

I seem to be changing banners more frequently than I actually write on this here blog thing, but every once in a while, the mood strikes and I write 2 or 3 posts in a row and then here we are again. My life is not my own right now. I'm working on a 192-page book for my job, one that goes to press the end of May and 10-12 hour days on the computer do not lend themselves to another hour or so blogging. I don't see any end of this in sight, since once I'm done this book, I move into another, plus another after that and in between a MAJOR project that dictates I shift into uppercase every time I type MAJOR. See what I mean. It's going to be really...MAJOR.

But here's a new banner, since I think we're all pretty much suffering from Avengers-fatigue at this point (great movie, by the way, definitely the best Marvel movie ever, and that's saying a lot, since they have this movie thing down, even if they can't seem to figure out the whole creator-credit thing, which is just downright shitty, but I digress). The new banner takes us to San Francisco and the spectacular Golden Gate Bridge (not seen) where this photo of one of those "slip me a quarter and I'll show you the world" binoculars was taken.

As a kid I was fascinated by these things and almost always let down when my parents would capitulate to my wheedling and give me the damn quarter so I could peer through the dirt-encrusted lens for the measly minute of viewing time. They didn't work very well, they didn't stay on long enough, and you almost always left them with your face showing a patina of dirt from pressing up against them. (Does anyone ever clean these things?)

These days I'm most fascinated by the way they look than the way they see. I think they're incredibly elegant pieces of machinery, heavy, awkward-looking, but elegant nonetheless. They almost seem like they should allow us to look into the past, capturing image after image in their viewing range for us to look back on, like some crazy time-lapse movie from long ago. Alas, that's not the case. It's just a pair of binoculars, and a quarter doesn't buy a lot these days.

But wouldn't it be nice if that "Turn to Clear Vision" button worked on so many other levels?

Now is the season of our political discontent...

As spring turns into summer here in San Diego, we are embroiled in a primary election, which will occur on June 5. San Diego has four totally uninspiring candidates for mayor this time around; three Republicans (oh, scratch that...one became "independent") and one Democrat. Obviously the one Democrat is going to move ahead to the general election in November.

The Lone Demo is Bob Fillner, a US congressman, and quite frankly, one of the ugliest politicians I've ever seen. Oh, I know...politics shouldn't be about looks, and when you look back in history, some of those guys look they stepped out of a Monogram horror movie from the 1940s, co-starring Rondo Hatton. But beyond his looks, Fillner strikes me as a pretty much do-nothing congressman, and I have every bit of faith that he will be just as dull and boring in the role of mayor here in San Diego.

The two Republicans are District Attorney Bonnie Dumanis and City Council member Carl DeMaio. Dumanis moved from Brockton, MA decades ago but still has the Bahston accent; every time she speaks she sounds like a barmaid from Southie, and there's no way I can sit through at least four years of that crap. In addition, she is colossally stupid enough to run a self-congratulatory campaign ad on TV which talks about a case that is pending in court, and her campaign mangager is arrogant enough to say they won't pull or change the ad, even though the presiding judge has said it could have a possible bearing on the case. In other words, the ad will be changed or dropped in the next few days, and the campaign manager will be the sacrificial lamb.

DeMaio, who pronounces his name De-MY-o, instead of De-MAY-o (I'm guessing so no rival politico can run ads proclaiming "HOLD DE MAYO!"),  is running on the platform of pension reform which is sorely needed in San Diego. But I can't see this chipmunk-cheeked councilman on TV without thinking of him as "Creepy Carl DeMaio," because that's what he is to me: a self-aggrandizing creep. Leading up to the election, he's been on more morning TV news shows than I can shake a stick at (if that's your idea of a good time) and it seems like he's been running for mayor FOREVER. He's also running major ads denouncing his opponent Nathan Fletcher and the ads are big-time negative ones, the kind you see on a national level. Four years of DeMayo and I'll move to Tijuana and start ducking a lot.

Finally, there's veteran Nathan Fletcher, a California state assemblyman who's main claim to fame is authoring Chelsea's Law, which is named after a local murder victim who was just 17 years old. I can't figure Fletcher out. He recently turned independent, which makes me question his alleigance to anything. I hate partisan politics. I think it's the bane of the political system in America. But switching party affiliation--or dropping it altogether--this close to an election is a major red flag for me.

So in the end, what do we have? Four extrememly unappealing candidates (is this the best San Diego can muster?) looking for a shot at righting a city that has been sinking for years. And a ton of phone calls. The other night, my phone rang 8 times between 6:00 and 9:00 pm, all of them robo-calls for local elections. Want to get my vote? STOP CALLING ME! And stop killing trees and filling my mailbox with glossy cardstock one-sheets that proclaim your worthiness. You're not worthy. None of you are.

100 Walks: #s 31-37...

I'm still walkin'. Since I last regaled you (or galed you, depending on how often you visit here), I had walked 30 times since January 1. Now I've added seven more to my collection. For the month of April, I've walked 51.3 miles, and with a day or two left in the month, I may not be quite done (but I'm guessing I am).

As usual, I took some photos. Why here are some now...

This is down along the Embarcadero, just north of Seaport Village and slightly south of the aircraft carrier Midway, which is docked there. If you look closely at the left side of the photo, you'll see a giant couple embracing. It's a statue called "Unconditional Surrender," based on the iconic World War II photo by Alfred Eisenstaedt of the sailor kissing a nurse in Times Square. It was on loan to the Port of San Diego, but now plans are afoot (and they're pretty big feet...the statue is 25 feet tall) to have a permanent bronze statue grace the harbor. You can donate to the fund set up to buy the statue here. You know, if you want to.

A little farther up the Embarcadero is the cruise ship terminal and this big boat was there one day when I was walking by. It seemed to stretch on forever. Since I just read the long article in the latest Vanity Fair about the Italian cruise ship wreck (the Costa Concordia), I'm in no hurry to see what the inside of one of these ships look like.

I love this set of cute little houses on Robinson Avenue in Hillcrest. They're colorful and fun.  Evidently a blue door on a house brings good luck. I bet you didn't know that, did you? Okay. You did. I'll stop trying to teach you shit, then.

I am constantly amazed at the flora and fauna in southern California, even though I've lived here over 13 (lucky) years now. This is a Bird of Paradise. It's a flora, not a fauna. In fact, it's not even a bird, it's a flower. They're very colorful and kinda "chatty" looking, like they're talking when people aren't around. I image if they do really talk, they're kinda vain and speak only of their own innate beauty, thus meaning they're totally right for California, kinda like the Valley Girls of flowers. Totally.