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4-20 in Ocean Beach
Tuesday, April 20 1999
I had the new guy Jonathan playing around with the file system object in ASP. I semi-jokingly assigned him the task of making a discussion board system, and sure enough, after an initial period of intimidation, he did it. It wasn't a finished product by any stretch of imagination, but it worked. Building such a thing must have been an incredible boost to his confidence in this new work environment; I know that completing such a project on my second day at work would have gotten me up to speed much more rapidly than I actually did get up to speed. Seeing his success actually pumped me up as well; I felt like a good teacher. But of course, Jonathan's being a smart guy is probably the most important factor in this equation.
Other things at work leave me depressed and discouraged. This whole as-yet-unapproved "night project" of Marty's is being trumpeted as our site's only salvation, and there's a palpable expectation that all of us engineers participate, that we all begin participating even before any money is promised. I personally don't think this encroachment on my personal life is worth even the generous money figure being bandied about, even if we actually get it (and I trust none of the managers in my workplace). But it's almost as though there is no way out for me. The expectation that I participate is thick in the air. Indeed, this project would hinge on me, on my whole way of doing things. But I can't participate. I need to have my life. I'm certain I will go insane if I spend 14 hour days at work, if the summer comes and I'm shut up in that dreary office building cranking out fuzz-minded code.
Then there's the issue of how Kim will take this. She's an extremely jealous person, jealous of me, jealous of my time. I'm certain that if I actually do join "the night project," she will think I've started pursuing some sort of secret affair with someone else, and I will be powerless to prove her wrong. Nothing I will be able to say or do will make her think otherwise. Playing out this scenario in my head leaves me feeling weak. Of course, I also feel like I shouldn't even be in a relationship where I'm made to feel this way. And I feel like I shouldn't have a job where I'm made to feel this way. Yet I like my job. And I actually love my girlfriend. But their demands on me are growing mutually exclusive. It's demoralizing. And there's no one I can talk to about it; everyone has their own selfish agendas. Fuck.
In the evening Kim was exhausted when she came home from the last of what had been several dance classes she'd taught. Despite her affinity for the wacky weed, she had no special desire to go out to celebrate this most-important of marijuana holidays, April 20th (4-20). I've never been much of a pot smoker, but I like the idea of a pot smokers' holiday and have been an enthusiastic celebrant of 4-20 since learning of it in 1996 from my old girlfriend Elizabeth Stark. I wanted to get out tonight since I had an idea that 4-20 in Ocean Beach would be micro-Mardi Gras of sorts. So I cajoled and persuaded Kim until she agreed to go with me down to Winston's, a shady bar near the corner of Newport and Bacon in downtown Ocean Beach. Steph and EJ had told us good things about the band playing there tonight.
But the scene was lame when we arrived. A few fairly uninteresting hippies were milling around out in front while a lame pseudo-reggæ band was playing on stage. We tried to go in, but the bouncer didn't like Kim's expired ID, the only one she has in the world. We were delighted to be rejected in this way; now we didn't have to make up any excuses as to why we weren't going in.
Tonight Winston's was being hard-nosed anally-retentive in other respects as well, having thrown out a number of our friends for various infractions including smoking pot on stage. We ended up going to Java Joes with one of Kim's friends who works there, a dark guy cool-dude named Russell. He fixed us our drinks for free and we hung out and looked at some sort of junk-art se, the stage decoration for a band that had just played. A number of teevee monitors displayed noise while another showed a horror movie from the seventies. None of that was particularly interesting to me; I was much more interested in the architecture, something I'd never noticed in all the times I'd been to Java Joe's before. It turns out that the coffee shop is housed in an old wooden neo-Romanesque church, with beautiful high ceilings and impressive woodwork.
We only stayed a little while then just went home. 4-20, you see, was lame in Ocean Beach.
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