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I took a long bike ride around north county San Diego last week to get more practice using my new camera. I came across a cluster of retired lifeguard towers on Ponto Beach. It was a little sad to see these once-proud icons of the beach dethroned from on high.

The new towers have a unique look and I haven’t decided if I like them yet. The color is as obnoxious as a blue port-a-potty that I can only hope will fade under the California sun. What can I say about that shape? With the towers closed for the winter, it looks slightly menacing with those weird angles.  I’m curious to see how the towers change when they’re in full bloom this summer.

Candyce and I just got back from a quick weekend trip to San Diego. On Friday morning before we left, I got a call from John saying that a group of triathletes were swimming 150 yards off shore when a shark attacked and killed one of them. But it didn’t hit me until I got into California where everyone was talking about it. I was told that on Friday afternoon, planes and helicopter flew up and down the cost looking for the big shark.

I walked across the street on Saturday morning to see if there were any surfers in the water a day after the death. The water was empty. I snapped this photo of a sign pinned to the top of the staircase to the beach.

I’ve learned that shark attacks are rare in the San Diego area. The last shark attack in the area was in the summer of 1959 when a diver was killed. That was almost 50 years ago.

I am aware of the dangers of the ocean. Some people are afraid just because they are afraid of everything…or they’ve watched Jaws one too many times. But my fear comes from a run in with some giant Devil Rays while snorkeling in in Cabo San Lucas. I later found out that the Devil Ray won’t harm you, but running into a massive creature like that is hard to forget. Now every time I look at the serene ocean, all I can think of are the monsters beneath the surface. There is nothing more frightening to me than the thought of being lost at sea.

This recent news reminded me of a weird event last summer. We were having lunch at Ruby’s Diner at the end of the pier in Oceanside…

As you can see from the photos above and below, the pier is really long–almost 2000 feet. As we were walking out of the restaurant on our way to shoreline, I looked right and saw a skilled swimmer turn around at the base of the pier, and then swim south as if he were doing laps.

I marked the point with a orange arrow below…

I was mortified. An awful feeling crawled all over my body. Is this guy crazy? He’s taking a leisurely swim in the middle of the ocean. It was as bizarre as a man taking a nap on rail road tracks. I was confused and scared for him. I asked my friend Dr. Philips standing next to me, a triathlete, if he ever swam that far off the shore. He looked down at the man with disbelief. “No. I would never swim that far off shore.”

Everyone in our group stood in silence, completely unnerved. We were afraid to watch the guy because if there was a shark attack, what could we do? A jump off the pier could’ve easily hurt someone, making the problem even worse. It was such a bizarre moment on an otherwise perfect afternoon in San Diego. It was better to just assume he knew what he was doing and move on with our day.

I’ve told that story to a couple of people over the past year, hoping that someone who knew more than me could explain why someone would swim 1900 feet from the shore. They both told me that there’s nothing to fear…that shark attacks are rare…that it’s no big deal. But the past few days have told us that that sharks do attack people.

Bad things happen. Just because it hasn’t happened in a long time does not mean it won’t happen again.

It’s been an exciting summer here in San Diego, but it’s time to go back to Phoenix and pick up life where I left off. Here are some random highlights from the summer, in no particular order:

Escalade School Bus. When I was a kid, I saw a customized, hot rod school bus on the cover of a magazine at the Ingles grocery store in western North Carolina. It was so cool and so outrageous that it made my young mind spin for weeks. This summer, I found this image online, and I got that same rush. I can’t explain it.

I’d buy it.

Kayaking in La Jolla. Candyce, Lauryn, Danny, and I went to La Jolla to rent some two-person kayaks to explore the caves in the cliffs of La Jolla. We were paddling along where the waves wash against the foot of the cliff when stumbled across a huge rock covered with seals. You would think that you would see something like that coming, but I was so caught up in the colorful fish that were swimming around the rocks beneath us.

We backed off the seal rock and watched it like a live performance of Discovery’s Planet Earth. Although I couldn’t figure out why, a male seal was really mad, and he barked and moaned like he was insane. He was just not happy with what was going down. I would think that it was us causing all the ruckus, but he was cool for the first 10 minutes. I couldn’t believe how loud that bull was. It echoed around the cliffs and bounced back on top of us. Maybe he’s just proud of his voice.

Invitation to Write for Suns.com. Near the end of July, I got a phone call from the VP of Interactive Services for the Phoenix Suns. He invited me to join their team of writers by keeping a blog on their website. I already write about the Suns here on supafly.com, but I like the professional challenge of writing for a wider audience.

Boris Diaw in Ratatouille? Speaking of the Suns, I swear they modeled the French chef after French basketball player, Boris Diaw. You decide:

Boris Diaw the basketball player, the animated chef.

Watching Transformers, Twice. I loved Transformers as a kid, even though we were only able to afford a couple of the toys. I got my fix from watching the Transformers cartoon after school. I can honestly say, there was nothing that got me more excited as a child than catching a full episode of Transformers with a bag of sour cream and onion potato chips. It was sensory overload.

The problem with my childhood experience of Transformers was that they never stepped into reality. The toys were always more simple than the cartoon characters they were modeled after. They always took forever to transform, so it was hard to play with them with the same action and intensity as the cartoon. I always wondered if in the future my car would ever transform into a robot and by my friend and soldier. I doubt this will ever happen.

But watching real cars and trucks transform into robots in a movie was exhilarating for me. It was a childhood fantasy that was alone in my head, now exploded onto the movie screen. I enjoyed it so much that I went back and watched it again. I’ll definitely add it to my DVD collection (Napoleon Dynamite, The Passion, The Shawshank Redemption, and Almost Famous.)

I also enjoyed seeing new American muscle cars battle it out.

Bumble Bee the Camaro and Barricade the Mustang.

Kanye West’s new song: Stronger. I can’t stop listening to this track!

Getting off Work, Going to the Beach. Nothing beats getting off work and then going to the beach for two hours. One notable accomplishment for me is simplifying my walks across the street and onto the sand. I now just go in my swimming trunks. I leave behind the chair, books, magazines, sketch pad, towel, umbrella, chair, and bottles of water. I just bring my keys to the house. It’s like having a pool in your backyard, except it’s 200 yards away.

Married at the Beach. Spending a summer out here with Candyce was cool when we were dating, but being married adds intensity and romance to the summer that is unique to newly weds. We make dinner together and eat it outside by candlelight. We go out every other day for a jog (Candyce) and for a bike ride (me) and explore the beach towns north and south of us.

Escondido Car Show. We went to a Saturday night car show in Escondido on Grande Avenue. I caught a glimpse of this custom Chrysler 300 rolling down the street.

The first thing you notice is the suicide doors up front. There are no doors in the rear because they were welded and filled.

Although the imagery is goolish and not my style, I love that it’s outrageous and unlike anything else I’ve seen.

Illustrating a Video Game. I’ve designed a lot of things, but this summer was my first time illustrating a Flash video game for lifeteen.com: Vatican Ninja vs. Pirates. There’s something magical about making a video game because you can take an outrageous concept and make it a reality. The idea behind the video game becomes more legitimate and matter-of-fact once it culminates into a fun, interactive experience. I don’t believe video games can teach morality, because in the end, people will only play it if it’s fun. Once they’re finished having fun, they’ll be done with it. Playing a game is a shallow experience and you can’t take them too serious. But games on our site could be fun to raise awareness for our summer camps and teach a little bit about the regional geography that tells the story. That’s the next game.

Not Remodeling My House. I know that as soon as I get back in Phoenix, I’m going to dive into a quick and intense remodel of the main level of my home. I’ve spent a lot of the summer planning, sketching, and finding materials for the project. Jeff and I have sat down a couple times to re-think the floor plan. The anticipation is boiling inside of me. It’ll be good to be back.

This year was the second full summer I’ve lived at the beach in Southern California. I’ve seen the full, unedited reality of “a day at the beach.” I know that each person at the beach goes home and tells about their magical day at the beach, but they’ll never tell the whole story.

Maybe it’s because other people don’t care to listen about the reality of a day at the beach, so giving the edited version of the story is not for bragging rights, but out of consideration for your listener. Regardless of why we don’t tell the whole story about the day at the beach, the reality is that none of us tell about reality.

Here’s a random list of what gets edited out of everyone’s story:

1. Parking sucks. You can spend an hour just getting in and out of the beach.

2. The morning after the party. When you are leveling out the sand to make way for your beach towel, you end up unearthing a fossil of last night’s ocean-side party: cigarette butts, bottles, random trash, and unmentionables. You feel dirty.

3. Bugs. Dry seaweed attracts fleas, and they hop all over you. It’s hard to look relaxed and beautiful when you’re swatting at invisible bugs on your legs.

4. The ocean is salty. If you are frolicking in the water and open you mouth for a 1/2 second, you swallow a quart of salt. If you spend an hour at the beach, you’ll see three people hunkered over and gagging. Gagging is not sexy.

5. There were other people there. Everybody loves the beach, so you’re likely to see quite a variety of locals trying to enjoy a perfect day as well. Everyone is invited to the party regardless of how good they look in a bathing suit. Whenever you hear the story, “…man there were these hot girls there that we were talking to…” know that they’re omitting the part about seeing women twice their age trying to be hot. Which is not hot.

6. This is not Bay Watch. We all know that Bay Watch wasn’t real, but you want to believe it draws from some reality. It does not. Lifeguards are not always sexy, and even if they’re good looking, there’s no chance of them flirting back. There are 100s of tourists bobbing in the water, only inches away from a rip tide or menacing creature beneath. Nobody gets saved from death if the tan folks on the tower are taking down your phone number.

7. Creatures Beneath. Okay, maybe you do have a chance of making a connection with a lifeguard. Jellyfish or stingrays can ruin an entire day at the beach because they hurt you. When I walk into the water, I don’t take steps anymore, I slide and shuffle my feet along the bottom. I’m told that I will only “bump” a stingray this way, and they’ll scoot out of my path. But if you take big monster steps and put your heal on their head, then you’ll get whipped with a razor blade. You’ll come limping out of the water with a leash of blood behind you. Women will scream and the lifeguard will drop out of the tower and sprint to your side. This is your only chance to become a player on the stage of Bay Watch and it’s not a pretty scene.

8. Surfers who can’t surf. I’m convinced that guys who “surf” are not much different than guys who “play golf.” Both groups like to dress and talk the part–it’s the lifestyle they are quick to adopt. Because they play the part so well, these guys can convince you at the bar that they are the best surfer or golfer in Southern California. But once they’re in the element and expected to catch a wave or drive the ball 300 yards into the fairway, very few come close. You’ll see a salty, tan surf dude skip down the stairs with a surfboard under his arm, but once he’s in the water, he’s as loosy goosy and clumsy as a Great Dane.There’s something else people don’t tell you about surfing: you have to share the waves. Because there are no secret waves in California anymore, a dozen other guys are eying the same wave.; Half of all surfers are very new to the sport, and they have no idea what they are doing. That’s okay, because we all have to start somewhere, but the collision of a rookie surfer and a salty pro is not a pretty scene. Everyday, somebody gets taken out by a stranger. It’s a zoo out there.

9. Jogging on the beach. This probably the most often told tale of the beach, “…it’s great. After work, I take a run and down the beach to clear my thoughts. I catch the sunset…” Let’s tell the full story of this magical jog on the beach. There are two types of sand at the beach: wet sand and dry sand. The dry sand is fluffy and usually claimed by people with beach towels, which is okay for the joggers, because it’s too unstable to run on. You might sprain an ankle.It’s wise to run on the water-packed sand closer to the water. Unfortunately, this is also where children make sand castles, complete with broken sticks forced into the sand to become gates and bridges. They dig big holes for miniature lakes and carve out trenches to serve as motes. You have to hop over these land mines or run around them. You never see this scene on television. You’ll also hop over clumps of seaweed, massive clumps that looked like dead animals. Another reality of the beach jog is the never-ending fear of getting T-boned by a crashing wave. It’s impossible to keep a respectable, athletic pace when you’re constantly two-stepping inland to avoid a rush of water.;Other clumsy realities of running on the beach is more sweat (from deeper humidity) and an occasional hit by a frisbee or football.

I’m okay with this unedited version of the beach. I’m amused by all the commotion, the collision of lifestyles and expectations. And somehow, nothing can deter the mob from traveling to the beach each day. Nothing can discourage a millionaire from buying a home next to this mob. Real or not, we love the story of being at the beach.

Last week, me, Danny, Gavin, and Candyce went to see The Format in concert in Point Loma. They’re a fun Phoenix band with an upbeat sound. I’ve listened to them ever since I moved to Phoenix, but this was my first concert. Here’s how our night went down…
The First Rubios

Before the show, we went to the world’s first Rubios in Mission Beach to grab dinner. I know that Rubios could be dismissed as unoriginal, another version of the strip mall mainstays Chipotle and Baja Fresh. But their first restaurant was a kitchen on a busy road with only outdoor seating. It’s as “local” as you get. And since I like their authentic Mexican food, I’m okay with saying I’m a fan of Rubios and that eating at the OG Rubios was pretty cool.

Fun with Emo Kids

The opening band was The Honorary Title, a band I’ve never heard of. But I decided half way through their set that I liked their music. Since the concert, I’ve discovered that they are classified as “emo”, which is good to know.

My problem with the emo scene is that it’s so difficult to define what emo music actually sounds like. Half of the bands that I listen to are emo, and to date, the only thing that separates these guys from the other rock bands is they wear girls’ pants. And the lead singer usually has more swooping, emotional vocals as a opposed to the aggressive, fist-in-your face vocals of your standard rock band. That’s it.

Can you spot the emo kids? Learn how on yourscenesucks.com

We were thoroughly out of place because I wore mens’ pants and Candyce wore shorts that showed off her tan legs. I thought about being self-conscious, but I realized that it’s okay to become the older guy at a concert that doesn’t fit in. I give all the younger music fans something to worry about. What is he here for? What’s his deal? Plus, it’s mischievous to make their scene less cool because I interrupt the well appointed line up emo friends.

I know this is how they think;because I listened to alternative music back in the early 90s. I hated it when uncool people were at my cool alternative concerts. Because alternative was a new kind of rock that was unlike the hair bands that almost killed music in the 80s. My bands were raw. They were real. (I really don’t believe this, but it’s fun to write it like I would’ve said it back when I was 14.)

So emo of today is like alternative of yesterday, a new flavor of rock music that eventually works it’s way into the main-stream and ceases to become unique or worth identifying with. One difference between our two scenes is that, none of us back then would’ve been so hard-up for an identity back then to assign the name “alternative” to our clothes, friends, and ourselves. You listened to alternative music, but that didn’t make you an alternative. It feels awkward just writing about it because we never used that word in that way.

In the grand story of life, the previous;5 paragraphs have no significance. The world keeps spinning.

Behavior at Concerts: Some Things Don’t Change

It doesn’t matter what rock concert you go to, there is always a trail of four or five kids snaking their way through the crowd pretending they’re looking for someone or returning to their spot before they left for the bathrooms. All they are are really doing is preventing themselves from being judged by the people who are standing still and listening to the band.

This is how it works. The strongest, most confident and well-manicured emo friend leads this conga line through the crowd. From there back, each emo kid becomes more weak and fragile, like descending stair steps of cool. The person on the rear is no more than an underweight kid from marching band with his newly-died hair.

This single-file parade will continue until the kids have decided that it is safe to stop and actually listen to the band without fear of being judged uncool. I’m not kidding you, if you had a live, overhead video footage of any rock concert, there would be a half-dozen of these parades passing in and out of the crowd.

Comedian Mike Berbiglia

Mike Berbiglia was a comedian that did a set in between the bands. He was hysterical for the first ten minutes, and then he stumbled down the hill of predictability when he decided to make political jokes for 20 minutes.

This is your standard Bush-bashing that might have been relevant four years ago, but now it just comes off as unimaginative. It’s just like when people made BJ jokes about Bill Clinton four years after-the-fact. Even the most staunch Clinton-hater got tired of clapping to show disgust and solidarity.

To be honest, it’s as lame as a Christian rock band who isn’t that good, but keeps the crowd hyped by constantly asking “Who here loves God?” Sorry dude, I paid to hear you play. I can tell people I love God for free. Your job is to pick up your guitar and make some magic.

The Format

Everyone was happy when The Format finally took the stage. Watching a band live is always so interesting. With each song, you see more clearly the people and personalities behind your favorite songs. I’m happy they didn’t waste my time by talking about stupid stuff in between songs.

I don’t know why bands do this. Maybe it’s a trick they’ve learned from comedians. You plan brief moments of awkwardness that make the crowd uncomfortable. So when the real zinger comes 10 seconds later, they laugh with more intensity because the sucky part of their day has passed. So I suppose (now this is a stretch) that a lead singer says stupid things before a song because it builds tension that is meant to be relieved by their biggest radio hit. Still, it’s a bad idea. Your “best song” might suck, and now you’ve got a problem on your hands.

Now, if you are a big band, it’s a good idea to talk to the other guys in your band in between songs. This is exciting to fans because it’s like their watching a live, 15-second reality show between their lead man and guitarist-with-mystique. Like Jeff Bebe and Russell Hammond from Stillwater, or Anthony Keatus and Flea from the Red Hot Chili Peppers. The rule is that you can only do this mid-concert banter if you’ve sold at least a million albums. For the rest of you, just play your songs.