Our Noticeable Lack of Toys

So things are going pretty well in the new home and new neighborhood. After a major production, our DIRECTV is up and running. We've established a produce exchange rate with our next-door neighbor. (Oranges and lemons for tomatoes and cucumbers) And every Wednesday night I take great pleasure in the routine of taking the garbage out to the curb. Yes, I think you could say we are the very picture of Southern California Suburbia. 

Well…that is except for our noticeable lack of toys.

Toys. California toys. RVs, speedboats, fishing boats, dune buggies, motorcycles, quads, motor homes, wave runners, etcetera. You see you're not a true SoCal homeowner until you borrow against your home equity and purchase yourself a driveway full of man-toys. And no collection of man-toys is complete without some ridiculously big gas guzzling truck or SUV to tug everything around with. But alas, our driveway is only home to a pair of modest 4 door sedans and the morning paper. No wonder the homes out here are so big--everyone needs more garage space. The bigger the garage, the bigger the house has to be to keep an eye pleasing garage-home ratio. An eight-car garage attached to a 1200 square foot house would look pretty silly. Or would it? 

Besides assembling a larger recreational arsenal in your driveway than your neighbor, what are the man-toys for, you ask? Ahh…the beauty of living in San Diego is that you vacation in the Desert or on the River. Now, I've only been here a year, but I'm pretty sure the beauty of living in San Diego is living in San Diego. Class, let's review what we've learned about San Diego. Almost perfect climate. Tremendous beaches. Year round opportunities to take part in any outdoor activity deemed worthy by mankind. Yeah, the first thing I need to do is lay down 100 grand for a 2006 Cougar motor home to escape this hellhole. But, for others, the Desert and the River call, and the Southern Californian answers towing along 25 tons of steel, plastic, and gasoline.

Before take our vacation from San Diego, let's take the dime tour of these two destinations.

The Desert. Basically anything between the California coast and Las Vegas. It's lethally hot during the day and unbearably cold at night. Hmmm. From what I understand, one drives out, parks next to a dune, and sets up camp for a weekend, not unlike Uncle Rico in Napoleon Dynamite. I believe you're supposed to commune with nature in a very spiritual way by running your noisy quad through an otherwise peaceful setting. At night you build a fire and marvel at the beauty of your surroundings. Then, you climb into your climate controlled land capsule and fall asleep.

The River. The Colorado to be specific. If one drives out through the California desert, this traveler is rewarded with an oasis like none other--THE RIVER. And once at The River, one is greeted with a layer of heat and humidity so thick apparently the only comfortable place to sit is floating inside an inner tube buoyed by a mesh sack of beer cans. I've asked a number of people what the attraction of going to THE RIVER is. They have response has always included the fact that lax law enforcement allows you to drink everywhere. I'm not making this up. Grown adults driving five hours for a shot at public intoxications. Maybe, if you're lucky, you can hit up a few college house parties on the way back.

Everybody needs to take a vacation now and then--to get away from his or her average everyday life. For San Diegans that means leaving nirvana and returning back to earth…a lot of sandy, dry, arid earth. It's true: you always want what you don't have. I remember meeting the owner of this photo gallery in Kauai. Their anticipated vacation that year was to New England to watch the leaves change. Wow. For a kid from the Foliage Belt I can't think of anything more mundane than trees gradually losing chlorophyll. But perhaps the gallery owners will visit a gallery in Vermont and buy a picture of all the deep reds and oranges of a New England autumn and for them that will just as special as the photo of Tunnels Beach we bought from their gallery. 

I guess the Kauai photographer and my neighbor with the RoadMaster just want to experience something new and different, and who can't understand that? I suppose I could try something new and different like having an open mind, but that just wouldn't be me. But seriously, something besides my right foot was driving us out west and who’s to say it isn't that same desire to see something new? I don't see myself traveling to the desert anytime soon, but maybe I'll go easier on the man-toy owners and their recreational time. Like the good book says, "Thou shall not disparage thy neighbor's wave runner."

Home, Sweat Home

Like many a young couple before us, Jenni and I are in the process of redecorating and personalizing our first home. We shared a townhouse in New Jersey, but that was "my" place that Jenni moved into. Our new 3 bedroom, 2.5 bathroom is "our" first place. We bought an older home (built in 1981) because we wanted a larger lot and making our own improvements didn't scare us.

Foolish humans.

Jenni and I are pretty handy, but the scope of this project exponentially exceeds anything we've ever undertaken. We haven't moved in yet, but we've spent two months, painting, flooring, tiling, sweating, crying, and then painting again. When people ask me how I am, I can only respond, "must work on house." After a long laborous weekend of work, Jenni was looking forward to the relative ease of the workweek. If we're not working on the house, we're thinking about working on the house. On Sunday, as Phil Mickelson was wrapping one of his two drivers around his neck, I was completely unaware of the historical choke because I mired in haystack colored grout. We go to bed tired and wake up exhausted. We find paint spots on random parts of our body. When I walk into my local hardware store, everyone shouts, "NORM!"

What did we get ourselves into? Seeing as though the previous owner was of the Centrum Silver set, our goal was to "rid the home of old lady." Basically, the home looked like an extra set for the Golden Girls. There was pink everywhere: pink carpet, pink curtains, pinkish tile, pink elements in this fireplace/hearth that needed to be put out of it's misery. And then there were these pink pool bumpers above the windows. What are these things? 

Of course, with every proposed change, we had Jenni's parents second-guessing the cost-benefit factor. My in-laws have become the Statler and Waldorf of our home improvement. For example, since our home was built in the early 1980's it came complete with an acoustical "popcorn" ceiling. We planned to have this scraped of for basically a dollar a square foot. When we announced this, you would have assumed Jenni's folks had survived the Depression, the way they balked at this expense.

"Why would you do that? It's a perfectly good popcorn ceiling."

This became kind of their standard catch phrase, just replace the words "popcorn ceiling" with "pink curtains," "sponge painted fireplace," "mauve carpet." Etc. Penny pinching aside, Jenni's parents have been really helpful on the job site. Jenni's Dad, Dave, is the eternal optimist as well as master validator. Throughout the work process, we're staying in our apartment whose lease is up next month. Dave keeps affirming our actions letting us know that it's good we've had this time to make changes before we have to move. At same time, I know if we had timed our move to the day our lease ended and escrow closed, he tell me riding in the moving truck, "It's good you're not going to be paying rent and a mortgage at the same time." If my father-in-law were a superhero, he would be Silver Lining Man.

I will not miss renting. Having owned a home and then rented again feels like a demotion. Research says owning is better for your self-esteem and I believe it. I know that before I was a homeowner I was stuck in the renter's mentality. Fearing the wrath of security deposit loss, I would sheepishly hang pictures with the smallest finishing nails I could. Then when I bought my first place, I had to be opened to the idea that I could change my surroundings. Sounds simple, but understanding that I could paint the walls something besides Navaho White was a cathartic moment in my life. 

To me, that's what it's all about--making your home, your home. At the end the day, you're the one who has to live in your surroundings; why don’t make things the way you want them? Anyone who's finished a project that they've never tackled before knows exactly what I'm talking about. Beer never tastes better than when you're looking over the fruits of a day's labor. Sipping thoughtfully in front of our newly tiled fireplace surrounded by our first hardwood installation--I could sit there forever. 

Either that or I'm too tired to move.

Forget Gas, Coffee is $25 per Gallon!

I fought it for a long time, but Starbucks finally got me. I still try to support local coffeehouses, but I probably hit up Starbucks 3 to 4 times a week. Now I'm not spending $5 a drink, most of the time I'm there for good ol' drip coffee with room for cream. I'm not addicted to their brew; the best thing I can say about Starbucks coffee is that it's consistent. After only 10 or so years on our nation's consciousness, Starbucks has managed to obtain the same marketing advantage that McDonalds holds on us: the ability to produce the same food/drink no matter where you buy it. Fast Food Nation aside, there's something reassuring about knowing you get the same french fries anywhere in this country. Much the same way, it's good to know you can get the same cup of coffee in Omaha, Nebraska as you can on the main concourse of the Maui International Airport. Wherever you go, you can rely on a safe decent cup of coffee. Anyone who's suffered from a burnt cup of coffee that sat on the burner too long knows there's nothing worse than taking the first sip of your morning wake up just to find it tastes like liquefied burnt toast. There is a line in the sand of coffee beach separating the drinkable from the swill. Starbucks is never swill. And that's why they have me; their quality control has prevented me from ever getting a bad cup of coffee from the Emerald Empire.

And quite an empire it is. According to their website's store locator, there are 19 stores within a 5-mile radius of my house and 6 stores within a 2-mile radius. Strong not only in Oceanside, CA, there are 284 stores in New York City, 128 stores in Seoul, South Korea, and 33 stores in Kuwait. Kuwait? Right now it's 104 degrees in Kuwait--not exactly coffee drinking weather. (As an aside, I just used weather.com to check the climate in Kuwait; I'm expecting my wiretap sometime this afternoon.) Back to Kuwait because I know what you're thinking--Starbucks has quite the lineup of iced beverages that might be appropriate in the Middle East. Great, Saudi Arabia is home to the largest ocean desalination water plant in the world; I'm sure when they built this monster the architect was thinking, "Finally, we can make some decent ice. If I have to drink one more Tazo Green Iced Tea Chiller at room temperature, I don't know what I'm going to do."

Quite frankly, it's the iced portion of the Starbucks menu that kind of concerns me. I'm a bit of a traditionalist, and I would hope that coffee house serve COFFEE! One negative result of all the customized foofy coffee drinks inside the 'Bucks is that it takes too damn long to get a cup of coffee. Obviously as orders have gotten longer and more complex, Starbucks has logically responded by increasing staffing and specializing labor. The problem is now it takes the same length of time to get an iced tea as it does an Iced White Chocolate Mocha. I love the question you're greeted with you enter a busy Starbucks, "What kind of drink can I get started for you?" Started for me!? This language suggests that there will clearly be a lengthy production period as you "start" the drink for me before it can be finished by someone else. Listen, Green Apron, we're not talking about lobster risotto or chocolate soufflé, let's speed up the process. And Starbucks, can we please calm down with all the different flavored frosty coffee frappes? Lest we forget…coffee is a flavor.

By providing new style coffee fusion beverages, I know one could argue that Starbucks is merely giving the customer what he wants. Apparently, based on the Starbucks menu what the customer wants is to go to Baskin Robbins or Jamba Juice. With the introduction of the Banana coconut frappuccino and more fruit cream drinks on the horizon, there are no boundaries to where Starbucks might roam. Banana coconut frappuccino? What the hell is this? An employee assured me that all frappuccinos are coffee based, but once you add layers of banana and coconut, it starts to sound more like a suntan lotion than a coffee house beverage. By the way this same employee confessed she didn't really even like coffee. AAARGH! 

Well Starbucks congratulations on all your success and especially on keeping me as a faithful customer. I ask that you not forget about us bottom feeders, those who just want a shot of caffeine and not some boutique-y, javaized mountain of Readi-whip. I do have to admit I'm eagerly awaiting the arrival of your theme park, which I predict will open in 2024. Or perhaps with the success of Akeelah and the Bee, you'll continue to delve into the film industry. How about a remake a Charlie and the Chocolate Factory except this time Willy Wonka is the owner of the magical Starbucks factory. Instead, of children receiving golden tickets, the guests of honor will be five adult coffee addicts. Bill Gates would be a lock for Slugworth, the evil corporate competition trying to take over Seattle. And how symbolic it will be when poor Augustus Gloop gets sucked into the espresso river and gets trapped in the corporate machinery.

Hey…I'd be perfect for that part.

It's the Weather, Stupid!

The weather in San Diego is nice.

Duh.

No, really, you have to live here to understand how nice the weather is. Let me restate that--you have to live here after living somewhere else to understand how nice the weather is. 

Allow me to try and explain in a way my Northeast friends will understand.

A veteran of 35 Northeast winters, I feel I'm somewhat of a winter expert. No, I've never lived in North Dakota or Minnesota, but I have my own unified theory of winter into spring. It's a bit Buddhist in nature and made up of these noble truths:

1. Winter = suffering. I cannot make this any simpler.

2. Any deviation from this belief is caused by ignorance.

Skiers, snowboarders, ice fishermen--I'm talking to you here.

3. There exists a nirvana, an end to all suffering, and its name is 

Spring. 

Okay, class, those of you who have to deal with snow, ice, real winter-- what are the signs that spring has arrived? Yes, you? Baby birds? Good. Little League baseball games? Yes, also good. Flowers blooming? Cliché, but we'll take it. Anyone else? Not bad, but no one came up iced coffee.

To me, the first iced coffee of the year is THE SIGN that spring has arrived.

Those of you don't live in Southern California, picture the most beautiful spring day you can imagine: vibrant blues sky, sweet breeze in the air, the coolness on your short sleeves. As you're reveling in the day, you're also celebrating the fact that winter at long last is over--you have survived. Remember winter is suffering at now your suffering is over. 

In my experience this day would usually occur in May. Oh, sure spring starts in April, but April can be such a little cock tease. When the calendar turns to April you think you’re getting spring, but instead you get two weeks of cold rain. Where the frick is that lamb the month is supposed to go out on? And sure daylight savings time is nice, but ONLY IF THERE'S DAYLIGHT--I.E SUN! They didn't call it Overcast Savings Time for a reason. As you muddle through January, February, and March, you think the fourth calendar month will be your savior. After the year it snowed on April Fool's Day, I never counted on April again. In fact I coined a new term for this weather pattern-- "Sprinter," which is sadly when winter horribly bleeds into spring.

But today is the unofficial first day of spring.

As I get out of my car in front of Dunkin Donuts I consider the possibility that today's caffeine make be taken through a straw. I stroll inside and queue patiently. Usually, the stupidity of humanity would be surging my blood pressure, but not during springtime. The woman getting 300 donut holes individually wrapped not a problem--today I am a new man. Gravitating towards the register, I make the call.

"Iced Coffee with a little cream and sugar."

And there it is--the first iced coffee of the year. As I enjoy the frosty goodness of the first sip, I can almost hear the Starbucks Survivor cover band: "Roy! Roy! Roy!"

Spring in New Jersey is much like the tulip that blooms within the season, opening its beauty for just a moment in between the suffering that is winter and the oppressive humidity of summer. But that first day of spring, when the tulip's petals are perfectly parabolic and weather makes you feel like better person, much maligned New Jersey is absolutely beautiful place to live.

This is every day in San Diego.

Dinner With Cynthia

It seems to me we are always busy extrapolating our life, predicting where will be in the future based on where we are and where we have been. We predict in the short term (where are we having dinner?) and we predict in the long term (what will I name my 30 foot yacht?) Based on our wishes and desire, our abilities and weakness, we all have complex predictive models of what our life will be and we all prepare for the futures we think were going to have. 

And we're lousy at it.

When I was 16, my dream career was in stand-up comedy, but I also had some grand aspirations in writing television advertising. It looked like Tom Hanks had a pretty good job in Nothing in Common and if one could wind up with Sela Ward, that wouldn't be too shabby. The plan was to live in New York, buy Jets season tickets, and buy a glass front refrigerator--like the ones you get a coke out of at Wawa or 7-11. I don't why, but something about those sliding glass doors epitomized cool urban décor.

Well, if everyone found gainful employment in their childhood dream career, we'd probably have a lot less accountants and a lot more firemen and astronauts. So I never wrote any ad copy, never got the cool fridge, and alas, Sela Ward as of yet has not returned any of my phone calls.

Herein lies the humor for me, I was dead wrong at 16 about where I'd be at 36 and I'm probably wrong now about where I'll be at 56. I sat down with a financial planner the other day and she asked me where I'd like to be in 10 years. My answer including things like a owning a nice house, saving for children to go to college, setting up to retire well, etc. And as sat outside Starbucks searching for answers for Laura to compile in her wealth accumulation worksheet, I probably didn't mention the most salient thing about my future life. 

After we'd been out west for a couple months, we had dinner with one of my old friends. Cynthia and I go way back--our parents lived in the same apartment complex, received the honorary non-biological aunt and uncle monikers, got rich and moved to the suburbs together, and we spent every major holiday together. Cynthia and I were the same age and paralleled each other in school, periodically sharing same teachers and competing for the same attention. Since high school, we'd only seen each other at my wedding and our high school reunion. 

Yet there we were on a warm September evening, dining on Pacific cuisine at a restaurant on Shelter Island--a couple of Upstate New York kids separated by 3000 miles and 20 years. 

Cynthia realized this absurdity.

"If you told me in high school that someday I'd be having dinner with you and your wife in San Diego, California, I would have thought you were crazy." 

Exactly.

This is our story...

It was just about a year ago my wife and I decided to move from New Jersey to Southern California. Since that time, we've sold our townhouse, driven across country, rented an apartment, landed new jobs, made new friends, found a new dry cleaner, and now finally bought a new home. 

People have certainly accomplished more in the same amount of time and I'm not waiting for a congratulatory call from the Oval Office, but this move symbolizes a series of major accomplishments for my family. 

This is our story…