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solo socializing in the courtyard community
Saturday, September 11 1999
I took my cheap non-ergonomic DaVinci PDA with me to Dog Beach. The thing is so hopelessly non-ergonomic, I can't imagine ever using it for anything besides quick note taking. I've been pretty good at not forgetting my better cognitive moments, but every now and then one slips through the cracks. Incidentally Royal, the maker of the DaVinci PDA, is now under an injunction brought about by 3COM (the parent company of the subsidiary that makes the Palm Pilot). Evidently the Hong Kong subcontractor who built the DaVinci operating system for Royal accidentally left some of the shamelessly copied original Palm code in the DaVinci's ROMs. Whoopsie!
The only thing I put in my PDA today, however, was sand. It's really just a toy. I'm glad it didn't cost very much.
Dog Beach is perhaps the longest public beach in all of San Diego. It curves from the rock jetty north of Ocean Beach and extends inland up the San Diego River for about a mile. Today we took Sophie up the river a ways. The water becomes less intimidating for a little dog as you head inland from the ocean. The waves dwindle away to almost nothing and the water grows decidedly warmer than the 61 degrees of the late summer Pacific.
As usual for a sunny Sunday afternoon on Dog Beach, there was a veritable Noah's Arc of dogs frisking about, amiably smelling one anothers' butts and chasing tennis balls into the surf. One couple had brought their own little menagerie of canines with them, some half dozen dogs in all, not a single one of them larger than Sophie. I thought I'd seen every kind of dog, but two of these little guys were unusually peculiar in appearance. They had long hair on their heads and tails, but no hair at all on their bodies. Indeed, they were so hairless that they actually required sunscreen. They looked like something right out of the pages of Dr. Seuss. Their master, after telling us they were "Star-bellied Sneeches" owned up to their being Chinese Crested Dogs. They were incredibly friendly and frisky. Sophie thought they were great fun.
The only other doggie encounter of note came as we were sunning ourselves on our beach blanket. Suddenly this nasty looking bulldog approached us, took a big nasty shit on the sand some two dozen feet away, and then charged right amongst us, slurping us, kicking sand, and attempting to snuggle. He may have looked like Jabba the Hut, but he seemed to be under the mistaken impression that he was a fuzzy little kitten. His cohort in crime was a tiny little black and white dog no larger than a large mockingbird.(right Karin & Eric?)
In the evening, Kim was off at work and I was coming home from Sophie's evening walk around the block. Jason, the neighbor surfer dude from Malibu was hanging out in front with Paul, another neighbor. They were drinking beers and shooting the shit. Jason told me he had an apartment full of chicks and that I should come over.
So what the hell, I did. It was one of the few times I've ever socialized in the apartment complex in Kim's absence. Most Saturdays I don't feel I can justify socializing. It's one of the few times in my week that I have to devote to writing. But my hermit-like behaviour isn't healthy and I'm fully aware I need to venture beyond the ruts to which I've become accustomed.
So there I was, hanging out in an unusual San Diego phenomenon: a room full of chicks. With the exception of myself, Jason and the married neighbor Paul, it was all women: Jason's spunky hard-drinking mother, Pat, Lisa and Lori (sp?) from next door, and Lisa's brunette friend Trish. I have to say, things were definitely different without Kim there. I felt unusually central to the conversation in the room. The principle force behind our discussions was a British magazine called Bizarre that Jason had bought in Los Angeles. Every para/photograph was a gratuitous attempt to shock, but boy was it refreshing. How come no one else talks about masturbation in the animal kingdom?
I was particularly intrigued by Sophie's social behaviour tonight. In the midst of all the socializing, cigarette smoking and drinking of Bud Lite from ice-cold mugs, she was a loyal, alert companion. I could tell that she was continuously monitoring the body language and tone of voice of each and every person in the room, monitoring whether anyone was posing a threat to me. It wasn't that she could really do anything about it; it was simply a matter of pack loyalty. I was stoned at the time and I was pretty sure that Sophie was also monitoring any possible sexual energy between me and the girls present. Since Sophie's ultimate loyalty still lies with Kim, I don't think she would have been pleased with any unfaithfulness on my part.
When Kim came home she found me in bed. We had a fight, but it wasn't as bad as it would have been had I done as I'd originally planned: go to Tony's with the girls and leave her a note. Jason had correctly warned me not to pull such a stunt on Kim, saying she'd "be pissed." But Jason's other advice didn't make much sense. He told me I should post a picture on my website of him shooting an esoteric machine gun on the deck of an aircraft carrier, that I'd get lots of traffic from gun enthusiasts. He's still sensitive about the time I referred to him as a "redneck," though his relentlessly macho behaviour is hard to characterize with any other term.
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