Here's something you might be interested in.
Ask a Hipster — Advice you didn't know you needed
Big Screen — Movie commentary
Blurt — Music's inside track
Booze News — San Diego spirits
Classical Music — Immortal beauty
Classifieds — Free and easy
Cover Stories — Front-page features
Drinks All Around — Bartenders' drink recipes
Excerpts — Literary and spiritual excerpts
Feast! — Food & drink reviews
Feature Stories — Local news & stories
Fishing Report — What’s getting hooked from ship and shore
From the Archives — Spotlight on the past
Golden Dreams — Talk of the town
The Gonzo Report — Making the musical scene, or at least reporting from it
Letters — Our inbox
Movies@Home — Local movie buffs share favorites
Movie Reviews — Our critics' picks and pans
Musician Interviews — Up close with local artists
Neighborhood News from Stringers — Hyperlocal news
News Ticker — News & politics
Obermeyer — San Diego politics illustrated
Outdoors — Weekly changes in flora and fauna
Overheard in San Diego — Eavesdropping illustrated
Poetry — The old and the new
Reader Travel — Travel section built by travelers
Reading — The hunt for intellectuals
Roam-O-Rama — SoCal's best hiking/biking trails
San Diego Beer — Inside San Diego suds
SD on the QT — Almost factual news
Sheep and Goats — Places of worship
Special Issues — The best of
Street Style — San Diego streets have style
Surf Diego — Real stories from those braving the waves
Theater — On stage in San Diego this week
Tin Fork — Silver spoon alternative
Under the Radar — Matt Potter's undercover work
Unforgettable — Long-ago San Diego
Unreal Estate — San Diego's priciest pads
Your Week — Daily event picks
Amin Nash: Journal
Address: http://aminnash.com">aminnash.com
Author: Amin Nash
From: San Diego
Blogging since: March 2012
Post Title: Tales of an Insomniac: The First Night in San Diego
Post Date: June 4, 2012
Working in San Diego is much different than working in Vegas. You have to find parking on the street or in the parking structures, as there is no assigned parking for employees in downtown. Since my dumb-ass self decided to park on the street, I ran the huge risk of getting my car towed.
Anyway, the club I work at is one of the more popular clubs among locals for electronic and house music in San Diego. Doing security at the club isn’t anything spectacular; it’s like working back home in Vegas, only with shorter hours, since all the bars in California close at two in the morning.
After the night was over, it was time for me to go home, or so I thought. I remember walking up the street and seeing a forest of yellow lights from this towing company called C & D Towing, and they were towing literally five cars at a time from the street.
Five fucking cars. These fuckers tow cars away by the bulk; they don’t fuck around here.
I decided to walk the three miles to where my car was, which took me about an hour, through the roughest area of San Diego. Things I saw during my walk:
A skinny gay homeless guy running up to an Escalade and soliciting himself to the car, and then running after me trying to ask me a question. I had to tell him to fuck off or else I’d beat his ass.
An army of homeless people sleeping on the sidewalks with their tents pitched and shopping carts nearby, littered all over National Avenue. I’ve seen homeless people sleep and pitch tents before, but I’ve never seen an entire street filled with them. It was like the city decided they could just sleep all over this one area and nowhere else.
Two young gangster kids walking out of what looked like an abandoned house. I should have gone back to that house, maybe I could have found a nice brick there.
Right under the highway on National Avenue, there was a gorgeous park detailing the history of Mexican and Indian culture. It was probably one of the most beautiful parks I’ve seen. The fact it was located in such a shitty area of the city was disheartening, but made me smile at the fact that there is some beauty in the worst of areas.
Upon arriving at the tow lot, I realized just how fucked up this city really is, as there was probably a line of thirty people standing outside the office. I couldn’t even afford $30 for gas, I remembered, and now I couldn’t afford to pay $300 to bail out my car.
I was fucked. It was four in the morning and I had no one to call to help me out in San Diego. If this was Vegas, I would go straight to a casino, force a hooker to give me some money, and then pay my way out of this. But I’m not in Vegas anymore, and I’m trying to live a new life.
I had to call my parents and tell them my situation. Unfortunately, the only solution was to find an open Western Union, and no one knew where it was.
I started walking around and contemplated suicide. I looked at the homeless people and realized, “I am one of them now. They made bad decisions, couldn’t live a healthy life, and are now forced to sleep under a bridge. I always figured I’d kill myself before something like that happened to me, and here I am.”
I started to cry for about fifteen minutes. I never cried that hard in my life.
My phone started ringing and my dad was on the line. He heard my sobbing and told me to man up quickly. He told me people always go through rough times and that I am no exception. I told him that I shouldn’t do this thing in San Diego, that I should just get a job in Vegas again, and he told me to shut the fuck up.
I quickly snapped out of my emotional state and started walking. After about an hour or two of walking, I saw a Western Union.
God does exist.
[Post edited for length]
Here's something you might be interested in.
Amin Nash: Journal
Amin Nash: Journal
Address: http://aminnash.com">aminnash.com
Author: Amin Nash
From: San Diego
Blogging since: March 2012
Post Title: Tales of an Insomniac: The First Night in San Diego
Post Date: June 4, 2012
Working in San Diego is much different than working in Vegas. You have to find parking on the street or in the parking structures, as there is no assigned parking for employees in downtown. Since my dumb-ass self decided to park on the street, I ran the huge risk of getting my car towed.
Anyway, the club I work at is one of the more popular clubs among locals for electronic and house music in San Diego. Doing security at the club isn’t anything spectacular; it’s like working back home in Vegas, only with shorter hours, since all the bars in California close at two in the morning.
After the night was over, it was time for me to go home, or so I thought. I remember walking up the street and seeing a forest of yellow lights from this towing company called C & D Towing, and they were towing literally five cars at a time from the street.
Five fucking cars. These fuckers tow cars away by the bulk; they don’t fuck around here.
I decided to walk the three miles to where my car was, which took me about an hour, through the roughest area of San Diego. Things I saw during my walk:
A skinny gay homeless guy running up to an Escalade and soliciting himself to the car, and then running after me trying to ask me a question. I had to tell him to fuck off or else I’d beat his ass.
An army of homeless people sleeping on the sidewalks with their tents pitched and shopping carts nearby, littered all over National Avenue. I’ve seen homeless people sleep and pitch tents before, but I’ve never seen an entire street filled with them. It was like the city decided they could just sleep all over this one area and nowhere else.
Two young gangster kids walking out of what looked like an abandoned house. I should have gone back to that house, maybe I could have found a nice brick there.
Right under the highway on National Avenue, there was a gorgeous park detailing the history of Mexican and Indian culture. It was probably one of the most beautiful parks I’ve seen. The fact it was located in such a shitty area of the city was disheartening, but made me smile at the fact that there is some beauty in the worst of areas.
Upon arriving at the tow lot, I realized just how fucked up this city really is, as there was probably a line of thirty people standing outside the office. I couldn’t even afford $30 for gas, I remembered, and now I couldn’t afford to pay $300 to bail out my car.
I was fucked. It was four in the morning and I had no one to call to help me out in San Diego. If this was Vegas, I would go straight to a casino, force a hooker to give me some money, and then pay my way out of this. But I’m not in Vegas anymore, and I’m trying to live a new life.
I had to call my parents and tell them my situation. Unfortunately, the only solution was to find an open Western Union, and no one knew where it was.
I started walking around and contemplated suicide. I looked at the homeless people and realized, “I am one of them now. They made bad decisions, couldn’t live a healthy life, and are now forced to sleep under a bridge. I always figured I’d kill myself before something like that happened to me, and here I am.”
I started to cry for about fifteen minutes. I never cried that hard in my life.
My phone started ringing and my dad was on the line. He heard my sobbing and told me to man up quickly. He told me people always go through rough times and that I am no exception. I told him that I shouldn’t do this thing in San Diego, that I should just get a job in Vegas again, and he told me to shut the fuck up.
I quickly snapped out of my emotional state and started walking. After about an hour or two of walking, I saw a Western Union.
God does exist.
[Post edited for length]
Comments