Last weekend I moved from Clairemont to Mira Mesa, despite all of my better instincts protesting. If you’re like most UCSD sophomores, you probably have a vague sense of where Clairemont and Mira Mesa are. That vague sense, were it to take sentence form, would probably say something like “”Neither of these places are Pacific Beach, La Jolla or Sea World: Does not compute.””
Since I’m not feeling all that funny today, I thought I’d give a brief textual tour of “”The Real San Diego,”” or at least what I know of it. If it’s well received, it will be followed up by “”From El Cajon to National City: Extreme San Diego.”” That’s sarcasm. Some places are really just worth ignoring. Why is it that whenever you get a certain number of miles from the ocean, you start seeing stores like “”Boot World,”” “”Lure Landmass”” and “”Gun rack Universe?”” There must be something in that stagnant inland air. Something stupid.
While I don’t consider myself stupid, I do consider myself poor. That brings us to La Jolla. The Jewel. Singular. Basically, just an overwrought euphemism for nerve-laden portions of the female anatomy. Like I said, way too expensive. If you can’t kick your craving in the jewels, buy her an ice cream at the Marble Slab (best ice cream in San Diego) and a few beers at Karl Strauss (best brewery attached to a bar, and not the other way around) and La Jolla will be all yours for the evening. You won’t even have to spend the night.
Continuing south along the coast is Pacific Beach, taking second prize after Ocean Beach in San Diego’s tight contest for “”stupidest beach name.”” People in PB suffer from a degenerative brain syndrome of a completely different nature than East County: They swallowed too much sea water and their brain dried out. Like Tijuana, PB can be done sober or at night, but not both.
The best vantage point for people watching is World Famous restaurant, where you can eat lobster bisque and watch some of San Diego’s finest men and women try to make a little bisque of their own. That’s right ladies and gentlemen, start your engines, PB is quite possibly the heterosexual fitness capital of the United States. So watch out for creatine in your fish taco.
If you go inland from Pacific Beach, you’ll hit Clairemont. If La Jolla is the jewel, then Clairemont is the chintzy tiara sitting atop the illegitimate princess of the welfare state. If you want to share a 40-year-old barrack converted into a duplex with a foster mother and her psychotic dog, all just a 12 minute drive from campus, then Clairemont is the place for you.
To get a feel for the ambience, go to Clairemont Town Square, buy a bucket of chicken wings, drive 100 yards down the road for a dozen Krispy Kreme donuts and when you’re done, waddle around Marshalls for a few hours complaining how everything is too “”low cut”” and asking if they have American Flag sweatpants with velcro flys.
Driving east a bit, you get into a lighter industrial area, highlights of which are Ranch 99, one of the many boba houses that dot the landscape and The Scene (an all-ages club in an abandoned warehouse tucked behind a tire store … buy a Red Bull for a 14-year-old riot girl and see where luck takes you).
Further south is Mission Valley, a promised land of malls. Some scientists say that in that the flood of the century will completely decimate Mission Valley, which is reason enough for me to take advantage of the great deals now.
The most exciting area of San Diego is Midcity. Going from west to east in no particular north-south order are Mission Hills, Hillcrest, University Heights, Normal Heights, North Park and Kensington. These microcommunities all operate as semi-independent city-states. In Normal Heights (which gets the prize for best neighborhood name ever, in my book), one can walk a block and go from gorgeous homes to urban blight. This can be useful when you want to sell something quickly. It also encourages getting to know your neighbors, so that you know whose name to scream when you wake up with a junkie sitting on your throat holding a sharpened trowel.
If you’d like a more relaxed Midcity experience, Hillcrest has been effectively beautified and gentrified by the gay pioneers of yesteryear. Catch some cheap sushi at Mitsuyama then try your hand batting for the other team at Rich’s or Numbers (or for the ladies, the Flame). Hey, don’t get defensive. It’s college.
Another great bar in the area — this one in North Park — is called The Red Fox. The amazing Shirley Allen wows them most nights with her huge hair and flawless piano playing along with her husband’s clarinet. You can request any song you’d like and sing while she accompanies. If you’re hard up, get a little sauced during a game of electronic darts up the street at Lancers. You can hit on the jaded punk bartender/owner while listening to the Pixies and eating beef jerky. That’s the San Diego I know and love.
