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San Diego Nights

Since I know virtually nobody in this town, I'm forced into the night scene alone. It's a very strange experience at first. I had dealt with it a few times along my drive over here. But now that this is my permanent residence, I get to learn about the scene and adapt to it.

It's most ideal for me to check things out after work. I work until 11pm, walk ten minutes east and I'm in the Gaslamp Quarter, the heart of downtown San Diego's social scene. San Diego is very casual. I work in a suit, so when I hit the bars, I tend to stand out quite a bit. Being all alone, even more so.

My first night on the town, I discovered that the Gaslamp is a loud concentrated section of bars and clubs. The busiest places charge at the door. Partly because I'm cheap, and also partly because I just know better, if a place charges at the door, it usually sucks inside. The cover charges here range from $5 to $20. I sought out the places that had no cover and found myself at a quiet Irish pub. Quiet compared to whatever else was around. Irish compared to whatever else was around.

I had no plan, so I just took a stool at the bar and people-watched. I think the bartender appreciated having someone dressed in a suit in his place. After maybe 10 minutes of just relaxing and observing a young woman decided to chat me up for some time. More focused on why someone would come out alone, in a suit, the conversation eventually grew a bit annoying. When she offered her number under the circumstances that I must call her, I was honest and declined.

I believe it's really tough for a lady to offer her number rather than have someone ask for it, so I felt a little bad. But in the end I guess it's a tiny confidence boost for me.

Two days later, I ventured out again after work in search of the Whistle Stop Bar. Two people at work recommended it for a fun atmosphere. Turns out it was a hipster haven. I left New York hoping to never see another goofy hipster again, and it turns out there are plenty of them here too.

Again, it's after work, so I'm in a suit, standing amidst a room of dirty hipsters. Like a sore thumb, I stuck out. The bartender was either too busy, or didn't wish to pay me any attention. So after five minutes of waiting, I took off for another spot down the street.

Fortunately it was not hipster headquarters. This bar was big, new, and they not only played awesome late 80's early 90's music, but they also played the music videos for the songs. The bartender was happy to serve her new patron who wasn't dressed like a bum. I got a Tanqueray&Tonic and just relaxed, watching an old Bobby Brown video. This place was cool.

I noticed, from the corner of my eye, a girl left her table of friends to come and order a beer at the corner of the bar. She got her beer and sat right there. Didn't return to her table. I must've looked her way. She asked me why I wasn't drinking beer. I probably told her that it's bad for you. I invited her to the seat next to me and we chatted for about twenty minutes about anything.

Anyone who knows me, knows that I don't chat about anything with anyone for twenty minutes.

I took her phone number. Called her two days later. We had lunch. I wasn't really into her after that. I think it's mutual.

Halloween Eve. Plenty of people are out in costume. Me, suit, again. I like the suit. I believe in the suit. Stand out. Look classy. My concierge gave me a list of rooftop bars through the city, but since she's an older lady, she would never venture out late at night to try them out. I figured I would check some out, since I'm going out anyway, and give her some feedback.

Still, I won't go anywhere with a cover charge. So I try the first one. No cover, but there's an enormous line. Just as bad as a cover charge. Bars here close at 2am, so why waste thirty minutes on a line? Next.

Another no-cover spot, no line either. A quick elevator trip to the rooftop. It felt a little TOO modern for me and I was really turned off by the fact that the bar had no seating. Being out alone is tough enough, but STANDING alone just seems unbearable. Anyhow, I was standing for 8 hours at work. Gimme a seat. Next.

Hard Rock Hotel has a rooftop bar, so I go to check that out. Before I get in the elevator, the hostess says "twenty dollars". I told her "good night".

There were plenty more bars on the list, but I was getting the feeling that a rooftop bar just wasn't going to do it for me. So I stopped at a little place called Cafe Sevilla. Tapas restaurant and bar. No cover. Live music. Two guitarists playing classic Spanish songs and throwing in a few modern rock verses to keep the crowd thinking.

Typical me, I sit at the bar and relax. I get my drink and turn to face the guitarists. They're frickin' amazing. Some couples are dancing in what little space the bar had. I'm sitting next to "Flo" from the Progressive Insurance commercials. With her is a 6'2" "Jail Bird". Jail Bird's sister is a 5'10" "Poker Dealer from Hell". Poker Dealer from Hell is quite attractive. She's being hovered over by two anxious older guys from either Italy or Spain. Jail Bird and Flo see me laughing at those guys and we talk a little bit, especially after I brought up Flo's very cool costume.

The two older guys start dancing with Poker Dealer from Hell and her sister Jail Bird. I tell Flo she looks like she's Anglo and she tells me she's half Irish, half French. Yatta yatta yatta. I'm just relaxing enjoying myself and being friendly. I look at Poker Dealer from Hell and laugh at how ridiculous these older guys are. She pulls my arm and forces me (not that I was really fighting) to dance with her. I was never good at dancing to Spanish music, but somehow I pulled it off well enough to convince a South American. Poker Dealer from Hell and Jail Bird are two very tall black girls. Turns out they're actually from Columbia. Jail Bird's accent seemed much thicker than Poker Dealer from Hell's. Regardless, we exchange numbers and I had an awesome time.

To recap: I didn't pay a cover charge. I didn't wait on a line. I didn't have to go to some trendy over-priced rooftop. Found a low-key off-beat place and it turned out to have the best atmosphere.

The New Job

Coming from a world famous Manhattan hotel with 1,413 rooms and going to a San Diego hotel with 337 rooms, needless to say, is a big change. It's so quiet here and that's not something that I'm used to. Hours go by, in my work day, where I have literally nothing to do. I'm supervising the Front Desk and my agents also have nothing to do. Whether the hotel is sold out or half full, we complete our tasks in the beginning of our shifts and wait as guests slowly trickle into the lobby.

Back at the Waldorf, we're almost always sold out, there's always a guest coming to the desk and we cherish the rare dull moments when you can breathe and chat with your neighbor. Back at the Waldorf, you don't just get one guest. You get a line through the lobby just before your shift is about to end, and you're sold out, and you're trying to put non-smokers into smoking rooms, and you're trying to convince a 6'2" man to sleep in a full size bed even though he reserved a king size. Back at the Waldorf you're oversold by ten rooms and it's midnight and there are still rooms that are vacant and dirty. Back at the Waldorf, if you haven't argued with self-important people over the most insignificant bullshit and pondered your own purpose on this Earth, your day is not complete.

This quiet little hotel in downtown San Diego seems almost laughable. What did Manhattan do to me? It gave me a thick skin. It prepared me to come here and supervise with ease. Will San Diego let me go soft? Everything here goes smoothly. We don't have 20 different types of rooms. We have about 4 and then a choice of two views. Our managers don't work 14 hour shifts. Some of them duck out early. We are never oversold. We sold out once while I was here and every guest got what they wanted. We have all of our rooms assigned by 7pm.

The true challenge, though, is bringing to this hotel some of the standards that have been ingrained in me. Instructing the Front Desk agents on how to act, how to handle angry and demanding guests, proper verbiage. All the stuff I rolled my eyes at while I was at the Waldorf. Explaining to my new managers what I expect from them and what they can expect from me, and showing them how things worked at the Waldorf and why it may or may not work for us on this smaller scale.

Most of the Front Office staff started just two or three months ago and it was clearly stated when the position was offered that they predict I would provide positive insight to the team. At the end of my first week there, I can already see what it is that I need to do. I just hope I don't offend anyone.

My Roommates Have Interesting Shot Glasses

From Cross Country

San Diego

Ian warned me about California drivers. He said that they tend to drive in the left lane, even if they're driving slow. They don't care who is behind them. They don't know that the left lane is for passing. Shortly after I crossed into California, I discovered he was telling the truth. Be it three or four lanes of highway, there's someone in the left lane, who is not passing anyone. I had to pass them on the right. I even drove behind someone who got out of the left lane to let me pass, and then once I passed, they came right back into the left lane. Unbelievable.

So what can I say about San Diego?

I'll admit, when I arrived, it was a mixture of happiness and sadness. I was very excited to meet my new roommates, to see the city and I was excited that I had actually made it. On the other hand, I was deeply saddened that my trip was coming to an end. There would be no new city each day. It was going to be this city everyday for a long time now. The reality of my situation quickly became apparent.

I must've looked at my new apartment on google maps a dozen times. As I reached a street that I remembered from the map, I became very anxious. University Avenue is a major road through the Eastern part of San Diego. As I followed it, stopping at many traffic lights, I looked around and tried to imagine this place as home. The buildings are brightly colored, white, yellow, and pink, standing no taller than three stories. The Sun, in a clear sky, beat down on the city and gave it a hot glow. This is City Heights.

I made a right turn, left turn up a steep hill and my apartment building came into view, perched at the top. I had seen this all on Google Streetview, so it was like driving it for a second time. I parked my car on the side of the street and stepped out. I stretched and I took a long breath.

At the front entrance of the building is some overly complicated code system just to ring upstairs. I looked at it for a few seconds and before I could even try any buttons, someone came out the front entrance and I slipped inside. Technically, I could be trespassing on my first day in San Diego. I knew, just from the pictures of the apartment in the ad, that I was on the fourth floor. The actual apartment number has no fours in it though. The elevator is the slowest elevator I've ever been in. Later on that day, I reached the fourth floor and found #191. No doorbell, so I knocked

Lacey answered. She's tall, blonde, quiet. She showed me around the place, but again, I had already been here through the pictures. It was familiar but brand new at the same time. Nobody else was home so Lacey helped me unload the car.

Sarina came home a few hours later. She's shorter, reddish brown hair, and speaks her mind. They've been best friends since high school after they discovered a boy they both dated reused poems and love letters on them. His picture is on our refrigerator. A goofy young guy, shirtless, pretending to flex muscles, smiling with a mouthful of braces.

It doesn't take me quite as long to open up to new people anymore. On day one, we were strangers, on day two, new friends. My only friends, so far, here in San Diego.

Vegas.

The desert seemed as if it were never going to end. I had considered stopping to see Bryce Canyon in Utah, but it would've added an extra day to my trip. Driving was becoming a real chore. So many days and so many hours in the driver seat were taking a toll on my back. Even when I got tired and stopped at a rest area to nap, my car was so full with my belongings that I couldn't angle the seat back any more. I wanted to reach my destination already. The girl from the Holiday Inn suggested a decent hike through Bryce Canyon would take hours. Vegas was going to be my next stop. I could always come back to Utah some other time with friends anyway. Probably safer to do a canyon hike when I'm not alone.

Hotels.com had a lot of results for one night in Las Vegas. Rooms were going for as low as $20. I couldn't believe it at first, but I recall hearing how much the city was suffering because of all the panic surrounding the economy. Circus Circus had a room for $24, but Gerard mentioned, during Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, that it was old and run-down. Plus, the Congress Airport Inn of St. Louis was still a fresh memory for me. When I saw that the Luxor offered a room for only $60, I figured that would be a good choice for the night. A contemporary hotel and a very affordable rate.

I continued driving south through Utah. I was now on the Interstate 15. Paul and also some of the people I had met in Denver warned me about a stretch of highway in Utah where there is no gas station for about 200 miles. I was on alert the entire time. I kept an eye out for highway gas station signs to see if any of them noted the distance to the next station. None did, this kept me on edge even more. Throughout the entire trip I never let my tank go below one quarter full, so as it neared the one quarter mark, and I had to relieve myself, I pulled off to a Chevron across the highway from one of many tiny middle-of-nowhere towns. These towns are so isolated you wonder how they chose such a location. Maybe this is where you go when you join the witness protection program. Australia started out as a penal colony. Maybe in a few generations, these tiny outposts in Utah will be bustling communities comprised of the offspring of the witness protection program.

I stepped out of the car and began fueling. A Chevron employee came out of the garage and began cleaning all of my windows. This is totally alien to me. I asked him about that stretch of highway with no gas stops and he seemed to think that I was heading in the opposite direction, but when I told him I was headed for Vegas he replied that I had already passed that stretch of highway. "You done good", he said. That gas station might have had the cleanest restrooms ever.

Interstate 15 doesn't go directly from Utah to Nevada. It actually cuts through the northwest corner of Arizona. So for about 25 minutes I was in Arizona. Oddly enough, the desert looks just a little different there. I little brighter, a little more red.

Nevada seemed a little more pale, but the Sun was getting in front of me by this time. The highway is lined with billboards for casinos and shooting ranges. After the state line it's still quite a ways in until you reach Vegas and on that final turn, you roll over a hill and see way out in the faded distance, a glistening oasis of skyscrapers. The overpasses and streets stretch out from the city like roots.

The Luxor is a pyramid and two towers. There's a whole Egyptian theme going on in there. And just like a pyramid, it's a mystery to find your way around the place. Casinos always seem to be designed so that in order to get anywhere you must zig zag through the casino floor. I really don't know if that helps or hurts the casino's revenue, because I always find it frustrating. I checked in, got my key and was then instructed to cross the casino floor to find the elevator up to my room. It took me a while but I eventually found it.

The room continues the whole cheap Egyptian theme and that's no big deal, really. But what is really cool about the room is that it's on the pyramid wall. I wasn't sure the first time I rode, but the elevators travel diagonally with the shape of the pyramid. And so in my room, one window is the glass pyramid wall. As I went to check out the view, I bumped my head on the slanted glass.

I didn't walk around all of Vegas, I checked out the Luxor, and the Mandalay Bay and Excalibur which are connected. I took a quick glance at New York, New York, but I didn't think it was a very convincing set up. Don't go to Vegas to see New York. I also got to take a peek at Planet Hollywood but I cut it short as I was getting very hungry. Eating alone is no fun, but I did it in almost every city along the way. I usually eat fast without saying much anyway.

When I went to Atlantic City with Ryan, I had a really awesome time. That was the time I discovered that gambling sucks and that the nightlife there is really uninhibited. In order to have a full experience in Las Vegas, I knew I would have to check out a club. Much like eating, going out to a club all alone is not a proud experience, but considering my situation, I just had to suck it up and go. I'm glad I did because now I know that I'd love to go back to Vegas with some friends.

Green River, Utah

After Colorado's enormous mountains towering over you, you don't expect the scenery to get any cooler, but I think Utah had the best "backdrop" of all the states. As the Rockie's fade away behind you, they are replaced by strange crooked mesa and small mountains in pink and beige. They are so distant that they don't seem so real. Like when I was twelve and saw the Grand Canyon, the other side of the canyon was so far away that I would've sworn it was a painting placed just outside my reach. Utah's terrain was just like that. Everything was so spread out. Looking at my pictures, I know they don't come close to doing it justice because you can't just look at it on your screen. You have to open the window of the car and feel it. You have to park the car at one of the many View Points and stand on the pale dry Earth. I did just that, turned the car off and hopped out. With a bit of hesitation, I stepped off the paved walkway and stood flat on the dirt. I almost got a chill because it is so different than stepping off the sidewalk in Astoria. Utah, except for its sprinkling of vegetation, makes you think you are on Mars. It's empty, it's dry, and it's so far from home. It's a desert and you don't dare drive your car off the highway for fear that you will immediately die of thirst, have the crows pick your corpse clean, and your skeleton just become part of the landscape.

I already knew this country was enormous as a whole. Kansas taught me that. But Utah was like an older wiser man who puts his hand on your shoulder, shakes his head and says, "no, Dan you still don't quite understand just how large this place is."

From Cross Country

From Cross Country

I stopped in Green River. It's a small town on the highway. It's basically one strip of of road that intersects with the interstate. There's a couple gas stations, a bunch of hotels, some restaurants. I didn't really explore. Tamarisk, looked like a nice restaurant. I sat alone at my table with a view of an enormous mesa right outside the city limits. The food was weak.

I asked the Front Desk at my hotel about what people do here at night. I figured I could find a bar nearby. Every town has some type of watering hole. Green River has one. The girl at the front desk advised me not to go there. On the topic of me being an outsider she said nobody would bother me, as long as I'm just passing through. If I were to move in permanently, however, she said then people might have a problem. Hmm.

I stayed inside the rest of the night. Traveling alone can be a bummer, but usually you can get out and entertain yourself. Being cooped up at the Holiday Inn Express all night is no fun.

I got up early in the morning. Ate in the hotel, planned my trip to the next state. The drive through the rest of Utah was, unsurprisingly, also beautiful. And seeing it as the Sun was just above the horizon made it even lovelier. The rock formations changed shapes and angles. There are beautiful hills and canyons to drive through. I started thinking about all the cool Wild West stories that may have been inspired by places like these. I also wondered how many spots out there have never had a human being walk over them. There were more mesas that were probably 1,000 feet high and they had vegetation on top of them. I hope Utah stays as desolate as it is now, because that's a major part of it's beauty.