43 hours in San Diego

Hm, I did something crazy this weekend: I flew from New York to Dallas to San Diego on Saturday and flew back to New York last night via Los Angeles. Basically spent an evening, a full day, and a morning there (or 43 hours) and even now it seems as if was just a dream.

A Russian cab driver took me from the SD airport to an Ocean Beach address, all the while complaining about his fuckin' wife who fuckin' forced to fuckin' settle in fuckin' San Diego when he could have fuckin' made so much fuckin' money driving cabs in fuckin' New York instead. Perhaps I shouldn't have told him I'd just arrived from the Big Apple? But as he drove over the OB hills I could not fail to feel awed as the full panorama of the beaches below, the shoreline, the military ships and boats opened up before my eyes under a glorious evening sun.

I'd decided to make the trip to join others in celebrating reporter Rex Wockner's recent 50th birthday. Thing is, I never said I was coming (and managed to keep the surprise under wraps by coordinating the visit with Rex's hubby, Keith, who I had the great pleasure to finally meet).

Rex, to say the least, was a bit shocked I'd made it to the fab event. I am sorry, though, that for some reason I never got to eat cake, which, by all accounts was delicious.

Here I am with some of the groovy Californian people'z who also partook.

Now, I hadn't been in San Diego in a couple of years and I was struck by how much I remembered of the city's layout. So, while I was only able to see a limited number of things this weekend, it felt good to feel so familiar with it. It's just such an amazingly beautiful place.

At one point on Sunday Keith, Rex and I made it to the OB seaside piers to watch the sunset (Rex laughed at the fact I called a "shore") and there was some sort of celestial alignment, the sun in front of us over the ocean and a harvest moon rising directly behind us. You could have traced an invisible space line from sun to moon grazing the ocean's horizon and shooting straight through you if you were in one of those chakra-static California states of mind. I mean I wasn't Californian and that's how it felt! Keith took some photos so I'll post a couple if he sends them.

For some reason I also took almost no pictures this weekend (a rare thing for those who know me) which I now regret so I've chosen to use an old picture of Rex above as a lead image. Lucky thing, then, that groovy man Fergal did have a camera and caught some people'z in the act, at least at the birthday party (he has posted some of the photos over on his blog).

As a matter of fact the birthday party quickly became at the most blogged birthday event in recent San Diego history. You can check Rex's thoughts on the party his blog as well as check Keith's take on it.

Highlights of my visit also included seeing miracle dog Benji again, relating to psycho dog Piper and bonding with pug dog Nero who joined me in bed for a snore symphony the couple of nights I spent there. And, of course, to see the Bob and the Jess again (apologies to the Jess who I inadvertedly kept waiting for me at the airport while I took the cab to the party).

For now it's back to the daily grind in the Big fuckin' Apple (as the cab driver would have said).

BTW: If on a long trip, please do not pick up Scott Smith's 509 page paperback "The Ruins" to read during the trip. It's unbearably taut, increasingly horrific, and unrelentingly stressful and you won't be able to put it down 'til you finish - which might keep you from things you might want to do while traveling.

UPDATE: Yay, Keith just sent this great pic of the birthday boy and I on the OB piers this Sunday, just before the harvest moon made its appearance. Thanks K! Love it!
Update #2: More pics courtesy of Rex and Keith!
Us getting there (above)...
The Rexman and the Cajun hubby, taken by yours truly...