2001-12-03 - 6:31 p.m.

The California Chronicles Begin -- San Diego, casinos, and BarkingMan

Welcome back, sports fans.

Did you miss me? I know I did.

This is the first in my California Chronicles Series, wherein I'll be describing my lovely, lovely trip to California, the not so lovely weather I encountered there, and all sorts of other dreck.

Cause I just knew you wouldn't be able to live another day without hearing *all* about it.

For easy navigation, here are all the chronicles:

• The California Chronicles Begin -- San Diego, casinos, and BarkingMan
• The California Chronicles -- Day Two in San Diego and Implements of Torture
• The California Chronicles -- Two Theme Parks in Two Days
• The California Chronicles -- Oh What a Night
• The California Chronicles -- Coastal Highway, Winchester House, Alcatraz
• The California Chronicles Ends -- A Rainy, Rainy Day in the City By the Bay

Alright, let's get this party started.

Saturday we flew out to San Diego. It was my first time flying since Recent Events, and it was kind of weird for me, going through all the extra security. eRoommate flies all the time, so he definitely knew the drill. Like I bet you didn't know that sometimes the fastest way to Concourse B at DIA is to take the foot bridge to Concourse A, then ride the train from there. These are the things you need to know.

Anyway, boring flight, then into San Diego. We rented a convertible. eRoommate is in some kind of super-cool club with the rental car place because he travels so much (he's in some kind of super-cool club with pretty much everything these days. More on that later.) So they just looked at his "I'm in the club" card, and waved us towards the parking lot, saying "take any convertible out there".

There were three Pontiac Firebirds and one Camaro. eRoommate wanted the Camaro, but I refused. There was *no* way I was going to drive around California in the epitome of all penis cars. They could release a car that had no emissions, four-wheel drive, room for an elephant, 3,000 miles to the gallon, and costing five bucks. If it was called a Camaro, I wouldn't buy it.

Of course, it turns out that the Firebird was pretty much the same. The thing about a penis car is that it's all about looks. They're cheap, and showy, and have enough power for you to squeal the tires impressively, but really, they're all just compensation for a small penis (hence the name). My assessment of the Firebird is as follows: looks like really nice, power to spare, no fucking control. Seriously, the thing drives like a cow. We took to calling it the pregnant yak by the end of the trip, because that's how it moved. Terrible car. Never buy one.

But I digress.

We drove into town a ways, bought some maps, ate lunch at a Denny's clone. eRoommate called around to some Marriotts in town and got us reservations for the night (again he's got this super-cool club thing where they give him discounted rates, and then he can upgrade to the Concierge Level for nothing. He's really gotten used to travelling in style, and I can see why. Very Nice).

Then we drove up into the hills East of San Diego to an indian casino (Viejas, I think it was called) for the 30th birthday party of eRommate's brother in law. On the way there we passed a sign that said "Elevation 1000". We both mentally added another zero, thinking 10,000, then realized our mistake. eRoommate said "why bother with a sign".

I almost forgot to mention that we did this drive in a strange city, driving the Pregnant Yak, at night, through a torrential downpour. The people on the radio were screaming about building arks, and let me tell you, people in Southern California really need some lessons on driving in the rain. Actually, they need some lessons on driving in general, or at least being remotely courteous while driving. eRoommate did most of the driving on this trip, and I am damned glad of that.

The party was fairly fun, but filled with people I didn't know at all. I talked to several of them. Most were not just superficial, but superfluous. The birthday boy (let's just call him MD) turned out to be a really, really nice guy. His friends? Not so much.

So after dinner and some random gambling (in which I did not take part, but *did* watch eRoommate blow $100 in 20 minutes at blackjack), we went into the lounge to see the band. They were called Dr. Feelgood and the Interns of Love. Mostly a 70's funk cover band. Not supremely talented, but very tight and lots of fun. The dance floor filled up pretty quick.

I'm going to be sounding pretty critical here in a minute, so if you're from San Diego, frequent indian casino dance floors, or have absolutely no rhythm, I'll apologize now.

That dance floor was filled with freaks. I mean *freaks*. The best of all was probably BarkingMan, but I have to describe the 7-foot Goober first. The 7-foot Goober was a huge guy, dressed in yuppie-ish clothes. He was a relatively handsome guy, and he was there with a complete babe. When you saw them standing around talking you might think to yourself "what a handsome couple".

Then he started dancing.

Really, I'm at a loss for how to describe it. It wasn't just that he had no rhythm, it was that he had negative rhythm. People around him danced worse just because of his presence. I have *never* in my life seen a worse dancer. I mean, never.

Okay, on to BarkingMan. BarkingMan was an elderly gentleman, maybe 60-ish, balding, pot-belly, wearing a western shirt. He was there with a woman of similar age, who was wearing a very tight black dress, and very high heels. Again, at first, they seemed fairly innocuous. I thought to myself, "It's great that they're out and about and having a good time".

Then he started barking.

At first, I couldn't identify the sound, or it's source. It sounded like someone had let a yorkie onto the dance floor. Every few seconds there was a high pitched barking noise. Finally, I realized what was up. He was (I guess) making little sounds of appreciation. I think it was supposed to be an ole, ole kind of thing, because every so often he'd make a little sound like rolling an R.

Really, it just sounded like barking.

I'm realizing that I'm doing a piss-poor job of describing this, but it was probably one of the funniest things I've seen in a long time.

I'm also realizing that this is a pretty long entry for my standards, and we have several more to go. Settle in kids, it's going to be a long ride.