Reading (For Dummies)

Your Ocean is a Drop of Water

Life is rough. I had to travel to San Diego on Monday for a meeting with the Navy. In particular, a meeting with Commander Heller of the Navy. Life is funny and small in a lot of ways. He grew up in his parents' house in Marlton, New Jersey, one town over from my Mom's. He has no plans to move back there. I knew, right then, that I would like him.

The meeting itself was business. Odd, considering the Commander plays Starcraft, reads Slashdot, and has a yacht complete with Pringles-can wifi antenna that he lives aboard, mooching internet access from his Harbormaster. It is a life that I envy, though I'll probably forget about it once I return to my mountain home.

After our meeting, which was a lot of talking by others and a lot of nodding by me, I've got five pages of notes, mainly acronyms spelled out, with arrows connecting agencies to programs. I will never in my life keep them all straight. Frustration sinks in.

When I was in Tulsa I had a in witty encounter at a Pizza shop that made me think the government wouldn't be so imposing. That has turned out not to be the case. I'm a geek. I'm interested in the nitty-gritty details of how something works. Unfortunately that isn't my job. Or maybe it is, but nobody ever asks me to explain the systems that we're working. I have yet to even be asked for a thumbs-up or thumbs-down on any given approach. It's safe to say that I'm adrift.

I'm in technology transfer, which requires a broader view for how people are playing with each other, the occasional poking and prodding of actual developers to get them to do what we really want. I don't mind the work, I just feel like I should be doing a little more pure research. Maybe developing Ice-Nine or something.

In between thoughts and fears of world-destruction, I take notes, smile, nod, ask questions that people usually don't know the answers to. I worry that I might be viewed as a bit eccentric. I worry more that I'm not.

After our meeting and lunch, I went to La Jolla to put my feet in the Pacific. I've never been to the Left Coast before, never touched so much kelp with my toes. It was amazing, full of cliffs and seals and rocky shores. Watching the sun set over the ocean clinched it: I want to move to San Diego some day. If only houses didn't cost $700,000 for a one-bedroom rancher on a plot of land as big as my mom's garage...

After about 5 hours on the beach, admiring seals, pelicans, and falling in love a few thousand times, I drove off to the San Diego Zoo. I had hoped to snap a photo of a Koala for a friend; the $21 admission price turned me back. I don't care much for the idea of a zoo -- if you want to see a wild critter, you ought to go to its native habitat and really see it. Don't get me wrong, zoos aren't evil or anything, I just hate to give such a large amount of support to such a place. Let genes do what genes are genetically adapted do, which is to roam, hunt, forage, fornicate. And, for good reason, to be afraid of human beings.

Empty-handed, I wandered on the outskirts of Hotel Circle. While I (perhaps imaginedly) share some loathing of New Jersey's suburbanness with Commander Heller, I guess I should be thankful that I learned to survive the harsh conditions that a place like that has to offer.

While looking for food in a strip-mall town, always look for the most run-down mall, and then pick the restaurant on one end, furthest from the anchor store. Preferably, the side that has no side-street. The freshly stucco'd units in prime strips spend their money on appearance and rent. The dimly lit shitholes pay to have a chef. The best meal I've had in weeks was had for about $10, 20% tip included. Funnily, it was only a few minutes away from a road with my name. Unfunnily, Wightman St only intersected streets with southern-state names. I still couldn't help but wonder if the road had name had something to do with my grandfather...an exploration that I'll be making Real Soon Now.

So it goes, back to New York in search of the next adventure.