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salvaged margaritas
Saturday, March 27 1999
I went with Kim when she went to pick up Sophie from a local dog haircut place (Schnauzers are usually clipped on a regular basis and Sophie is no exception). In front of the dog haircut place was fake plastic fire hydrant.
After that, we didn't have any specific destination in mind. I was kind of hungover and liked being a passenger and watching the scenery whiz by as Kim did the driving. We ended up in Old Town, at the mouth of Mission Valley. It was a beautiful day for hiking, so we walked Sophie up out of the valley through a cactus-eucalyptus woodland to the Junipero Serra, a fabrication of a Franciscan monastery seated on ruins from which all southern Californian European civilization supposedly sprouted. The monastery has a commanding view of both the valley and narrow Pacific coastal plain beyond. Unfortunately, the bulk of this view is occupied by the 5 and the 8 freeways and the tangle of concrete which connects the two. The monastery, being a museum, is in an excellent state of repair. But we found it unnecessary to go inside.
We doubled back down into Mission Valley and continued on foot into the heart of Old Town. We passed through a hectic, crowded and overly-quaint outdoor market into the central green, where a small orchestra of aging white musicians were performing. Up and down the streets small 19th-century militia units were marching, bayonets fixed. Kim and I had a lunch of margaritas, chips, rice, beans and guacamole on the stately adobe front porch of an award-winning Mexican restaurant known as Casa de Bandini. The food might have been humble, but it was presented with unusual elegance by the circa-1900-Mexican-costume-clad waitresses. When we'd finished our margaritas, I noticed that a pair of fellow porch diners had abandoned their margaritas over half-full. Emboldened by drink, I salvaged these for Kim and myself, just as I would have done in the days of Big Fun. Somewhat unexpectedly, Kim was delighted by my resourcefulness.
In the evening, Kim went off to work and, as usual for a Saturday night, I took a bath. I was so lethargic afterwards that I crawled into bed for what ended up being a several-hour nap. Sophie slept with me; her day had been as exhausting as mine.
When I awoke, I decided to head off to a small party being thrown by the Director of Web Development. He's been under a lot of unfair pressure of late and I felt it my duty to go demonstrate my support. Beyond that, he'd taken the time to hand-draw me a map of how to get to his place. Not having a car, I was forced to ride my bicycle. But the ride was absolutely wonderful, even in the darkness. The last leg went for several miles down a pedestrian path along the beach, starting from the roller coaster in Mission Beach and continuing all the way to Feldspar Avenue in Pacific Beach. On my left was the ocean and on my right were the close-packed high-rent beach-front apartments, many of which were hosting parties. The smell of the ocean mixed with the smell of beer in a way that suggested excitement and discovery.
Unfortunately, the party at the Director of Web Development's place was lame. There was plenty of alcohol, but that didn't make up for the fact that everyone was intent on playing cards for non-trivial monetary stakes. The only discourse was card talk; work talk would have been infinitely better. But I made the best of the situation, gradually getting drunk and talking with Jay (another non-card-playing person) about work. I had Kim come over when she got off work, and when she arrived we all went dancing at Plan B, a nearby night spot. It wasn't a great night club, but it was surprisingly non-Schtevish considering its Pacific Beach setting. Kim and I drank a lot of beer and some big black guy asked her to dance (she accepted of course). Overall I had an enjoyable evening.
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