I wish it were easier to poll people who say that San Diego is a beautiful place. I want to know whether, after re-examining that statement, they mean it literally, or if saying so is simply a more concise way of expressing satisfaction with the city’s unvaryingly fair, warm, cloudless, weather. The latter sentiment I can understand, but I am still not able to agree with a more literal interpretation. San Diego is easy—always ready for action and requires no courtship, no waiting, no promises. You needn’t dress to impress, because lord knows S.D. isn’t going to change outfits for you: if you hate olive drab, brown and blue, you are out of luck.
I don’t know if I could have a long-term relationship with a fashionably high-maintenance person, but I sure do swoon over a place that knows how to work a full wardrobe. I can dress to suit when my date is rocking the sparkling black and white, and when their mood is such that even a single day sees them in multiple outfits the hues of fire, the sight warms me. Emerald greens, tea browns, storms of blue-gray-white-blue… Did you ever notice that San Diego’s houses dress to match: entire closets of Gated Community Beige and HOA Terra Cotta?
Trade someone all the stucco in this place for a single wall of red brick with moss on it and a thunderstorm.
I love Reddit. I kill more time there than anywhere else. In its defense, I am at least able to choose the type of thing I read about more easily there, and there is no culture of taking what one has read and regurgitating it (see previous rant about Facebook). Anyway…
Today I saw a photo of two boys who were, immediately after the photo was taken, struck by lightning. It was a sad occurrence. Still, I couldn’t help being fascinated by the comments! Did you know that crouching down, head on knees, is the best position to protect against harm from lightning when shelter is not available? Did you also know that hair standing on end is a very good indicator that you should find shelter or crouch?
Even more amazing, however, are the Lichtenberg figures burnt into lightning strike survivors. They are fractal scars, maths problems that storms figure out on your skin, reflections left on people when lightning uses their skin as a mirror.
This is what your skin looks like after you’ve been struck by lightning
Lichtenberg Figures — Lightning Strike Patterns / Source: Oxford Textbook of Medicine Online.
Old black and white Lichtenberg
Meet Winston Kemp, Lightning Strike Survivor and Lichtenberg Figure Owner | Gear Diary
It has been one of those weekends: rain most of the time, and when not raining, windy, chilly and overcast. Something about these weekends makes me slip into a comfortable melancholy. I got out the deck of funk flashcards and drilled myself: What am I doing? What have I done? Even worse, what haven’t I done? Where am I going? Am I enough? Am I happy? What is happiness? How come everyone else is happy but me?
Sounds pathetic, but while it is, it isn’t meant to be. The words in my head sound matter-of-fact. Seems like a waste of time, and it is that, too. Instead, I should write more. The ideas come, but I don’t grab them and shove them in here, or at least onto paper. Instead, I allow myself to work on other things, to get distracted by the technical aspect of maintaining a blog and then never writing in it, of collecting notebooks, none of which get filled. I did some fun things, tho, and I was surrounded all weekend by people I love, and who love me. Smoo was in rare form Friday and Saturday, D an I worked on her room today, mom is chipper and full of March madness (or at least neuroses), and Josh is a dear. They are what make the funk comfortable. And, to be honest, the funk itself was comfortable in a way, but in that way that I am not supposed to nurture. Ah, well.
It is raining outside, and the sound of it on the softened, rotting plywood sounds like it used to when Jeff and I would sleep out back in our tent. It was waterproof enough… that is until you touched the side — just to make sure it wasn’t leaking, mind — and the pressure of your fingers offered just enough [unknown physics word] to cause a droplet to seep through and down your arm. The lesson there? Enjoy the rain. Get as close to it as you need to, but don’t disturb the thin sheet that keeps you from soaking.