Here's something you might be interested in.
I've been in East County Denial for the past 6 years. You see, I moved to La Mesa from Lakeside (the heart of E.C.).With those gained 12 westward miles, I wanted to believe I could dismiss the East for good. With much regret, I finally accept the fact if I still find myself in a 24 hour Wal-Mart on a Saturday night, then I might as well still live in Lakeside.
Over the past 6 years, I've shaken off plenty of the E.C. dust. No longer is my hair half platinum and half black, nor is my face 2 shades lighter than the rest of my body due to MAC Studio Fix and Hollywood Tans. Furthermore, my dreams of lifted trucks and tribal tattoos have long been laid to rest. I'd like to think my tastes are more refined, more North Park, if you will. So, as I walk down La Mesa Boulevard in skinny jeans, listening to some band that I'd announce but for fear of them selling-out, I smile and try to ignore the bros drinking margaritas at Por Favor.
La Mesa really is bursting with culture. On any given weekday, there is an Open Mic Night. I’ve never personally attended, but my Dad gives good reports. Within a one-mile radius, I can enjoy a global-culinary tour: Trolley Stop Deli for mean pastrami; Tamarind Thai for tear-worthy yellow curry; Filiberto’s for 24 hour breakfast burritos. The night life has come along way, too. First, we got Hoffer’s, whose ambient-misgivings are only forgiven because of the better-than-BJs beer selection. None of these things, however, led me to believe I was out of East County more than the Riviera Supper Club.
When the Riviera was just a rumor, it seemed too good to be true: a hipster haunt in the 91941?! Absurd and beautiful all at once, like restaurant Dadaism. Then one night, I was driving down University Avenue and all my knocking on wood paid off, The Riv's neon was bright, they were open for business. Suddenly, all the cool hipster kinds were in my hood! I even rubbed elbows with Lloyd Russell at the grill! Better still, I could get drunk and walk home... oh, who I am kidding, I've never walked up that beast of a hill!
I was finally getting comfortable telling strangers, “I live in La Mesa” when I found myself at the 24 hour Wal-Mart not once, not twice, but three times in the same month! All on Saturday nights, no less. For the record, each time I was searching for essentials like an E.T. look-alike stuffed animal and It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia season 4. Anyway, it was on these shopping trips I realized my beloved La Mesa was not any better than my loathed Lakeside. Standing in line with my fellow East Countyers, my inflated hipster ego burst. I looked down at my stupid American Apparel zip-up and thought, “Who am I kidding?!” Once East County, always East County
I've been in East County Denial for the past 6 years. You see, I moved to La Mesa from Lakeside (the heart of E.C.).With those gained 12 westward miles, I wanted to believe I could dismiss the East for good. With much regret, I finally accept the fact if I still find myself in a 24 hour Wal-Mart on a Saturday night, then I might as well still live in Lakeside.
Over the past 6 years, I've shaken off plenty of the E.C. dust. No longer is my hair half platinum and half black, nor is my face 2 shades lighter than the rest of my body due to MAC Studio Fix and Hollywood Tans. Furthermore, my dreams of lifted trucks and tribal tattoos have long been laid to rest. I'd like to think my tastes are more refined, more North Park, if you will. So, as I walk down La Mesa Boulevard in skinny jeans, listening to some band that I'd announce but for fear of them selling-out, I smile and try to ignore the bros drinking margaritas at Por Favor.
La Mesa really is bursting with culture. On any given weekday, there is an Open Mic Night. I’ve never personally attended, but my Dad gives good reports. Within a one-mile radius, I can enjoy a global-culinary tour: Trolley Stop Deli for mean pastrami; Tamarind Thai for tear-worthy yellow curry; Filiberto’s for 24 hour breakfast burritos. The night life has come along way, too. First, we got Hoffer’s, whose ambient-misgivings are only forgiven because of the better-than-BJs beer selection. None of these things, however, led me to believe I was out of East County more than the Riviera Supper Club.
When the Riviera was just a rumor, it seemed too good to be true: a hipster haunt in the 91941?! Absurd and beautiful all at once, like restaurant Dadaism. Then one night, I was driving down University Avenue and all my knocking on wood paid off, The Riv's neon was bright, they were open for business. Suddenly, all the cool hipster kinds were in my hood! I even rubbed elbows with Lloyd Russell at the grill! Better still, I could get drunk and walk home... oh, who I am kidding, I've never walked up that beast of a hill!
I was finally getting comfortable telling strangers, “I live in La Mesa” when I found myself at the 24 hour Wal-Mart not once, not twice, but three times in the same month! All on Saturday nights, no less. For the record, each time I was searching for essentials like an E.T. look-alike stuffed animal and It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia season 4. Anyway, it was on these shopping trips I realized my beloved La Mesa was not any better than my loathed Lakeside. Standing in line with my fellow East Countyers, my inflated hipster ego burst. I looked down at my stupid American Apparel zip-up and thought, “Who am I kidding?!” Once East County, always East County