05/12/07

Bubba Visits San Diego on November 5, 2003...

 (or, Derby Learns Hockey)

Bubba's visit to San Diego originated when he learned about -- and was granted permission to attend -- a conference on Environmental Forensics.  I decided his boss must really like him since he got to stay at the Marriott in Mission Valley, which is NOT an inexpensive hotel.  Of course, if his boss really liked him, he'd send him for more than 3 days and pick something besides (YAWN!!!) a conference on Environmental Forensics.  (Note to self -- Bubba didn't seem all that bored by the conference subject.  Will keep an eye on him to evaluate further.)

Our evening of debauchery began around 5 PM when I picked Bubba up at the hotel and we drove about a mile-and-a-half to Seau's Restaurant (owned by Junior Seau the Linebacker for the Miami Dolphins, formerly of the San Diego Chargers).  Click here to get info about the restaurant.  The hostess kindly directed us to the bar (where we ordered up a couple of pints of Guinness and some grub) and then she tuned the television to the Canucks/Predators game.  The game had started only moments before we arrived and the score was still 0-0 when Bubba informed me that if the Canucks scored first, they would set a new all-time record for the NHL of 13 consecutive games in which they had scored the first goal of the game.  Needless to say, the Predators slapped a shot past Hedberg and so the Canucks were relegated to a tie for the existing record of 12 consecutive games.  Better luck next time, Canucks!  After a couple of Guinnesses each and mounds of food had been consumed, Bubba ordered a Stella Artois and I switched to Scotch on the rocks as the Canucks beat the hapless Predators 4-3, thereby giving Bubba wins for both his moneyline and over/under wagers on the game.  The game was more interesting because Bubba explained some of the obscure rules of the game as they came up.  For instance, I had heard of minor and major penalties, but I didn't know there was such a thing as a minor-minor penalty.  Later, Bubba stepped outside to take a call on his cell phone while I considered ordering another beer, but he came back pretty quickly and we decided to venture on.  The phone call was from his wife who was just checking in as she waited in the airport enroute to the next destination on her convention schedule.

It was barely 8:30 PM at this point, and much too early to call it a night, so we jumped in the SPX Southwest Region's limousine (a requisitioned 1994 Jeep Grand Cherokee) and drove 5 miles to the Gaslamp Quarter in downtown San Diego to see if we could find any trouble to...er, avoid.  I could tell Bubba was immediately impressed by the aromatherapy feature created by the two-week old seatcovers in the limo.  If I had to describe the smell, I guess 'dead sheep' would about sum it up...  The manufacturer must think it conjurs up images of a misty pastoral morning in a sheep paddock which, I suppose for some people, might have a relaxing effect although where I come from 'relaxing' wouldn't always be the end result.  For the record, I didn't detect Bubba being unusually interested in the dead sheep aroma, so I was relieved about that!  After driving around the Quarter for a bit, we found a parking space and took a photo to validate this event as an official SPX function.  We contemplated reviewing the magazine racks in a nearby, well-known bookstore but opted instead to walk through the Gaslamp Quarter in search of more beer.

A short stroll from the parking lot we found Rock Bottom Brewery located at 401 G Street.  If you're in town and want to give them your business, you can call them at (619) 231-7000 or fax (619) 231-7046.  Rock Bottom is a local microbrewery that caters to a high-end clientele, although the old fart who came in after us and sat at the bar apparently didn't realize it.  The giveaway was when he was confused about why he couldn't just have a Budweiser (I believe the barkeeper said it best, and I quote, "Turn up your hearing aid, we don't sell Budweiser, we're a micro-brewery!" and I'm still not sure if he peed his pants before he got there or after the bartender yelled at him.  Maybe Bubba knows because he was sitting right next to him).  Bubba and I each had a beer while we watched (hohum!) Jennifer Capriati beating (yawn!) Ai Sugiyama at the WTA Tour Championships in Los Angeles.  We were in complete agreement about two things:  1) Jennifer Capriati has improved the speed of her serve through hard practice and what appears to be a religious eating regimen which has added much bulk to her once nimble frame and, 2) The game would have been more interesting if either the quality of play was improved or Anna Kournikova was substituted for either of the players.  Since neither of those things seemed likely to happen, we set off in search of more fun...

Bubba surprised himself, me and two half-drunk imbeciles who asked us where they could find a store called, "Sam Goody's".  Without hesitation, Bubba motioned over his right shoulder and said, "Right over there, across the street."  I was very impressed, especially since Bubba had never been to San Diego before.  So the lesson here is, if you are ever in a strange town and need to know where to find any store, just ask Bubba...  At least that was what I thought the lesson was last night after three beers and a scotch on the rocks.  (Oh, by the way, did I mention that the well scotch at Seau's is not worth ordering unless you want to disinfect a wound or clean oil off your driveway?)

We proceeded south until we got to K street where we found a steakhouse called Fleming's.  We looked inside to see what kind of place it was and decided that the bar looked inviting and they could probably scare up some dessert that would be worth eating.  The service was impeccable and so was the atmosphere, with one minor exception.  Now this is only my opinion, and Bubba may disagree with me on this, but the stupefied barfly who was talking about how she had bought dozens of televisions at Nordstrom's to outfit her array of stores was on the deep end of annoying.  And she was persistent!  She told her friends the same story repeatedly at a volume adequate to be sure everyone in the lounge area didn't miss a word.  But we didn't let that distract us from our mission!  Bubba ordered a single malt Jack Daniels and I got a Drambuie and we both ordered cheesecake while we watched more of the aforementioned WTA tour Championship game that had been playing at Rock Bottom.  After paying the bill we decided to stroll through Dick's Last Resort, which is kind of popular with the younger crowd.  Dick's regularly schedules talented musical acts, although as we noticed last night, they aren't always successful finding talented ones.  Apparently there had been many more patrons in Dick's before we got there because the floors were carpeted in discarded napkins nearly two inches deep in places.  I'm convinced that many napkins could not have been distributed by the few remaining drunks slumped across the tables as we passed through.

We exited Dick's onto 3rd Street and headed north stopping only to wait for crosswalk signals to let us cross the streets.  We both decided that it was getting late, and since Bubba had to catch an early plane, we headed for the limo.  I slowed to about 25 miles per hour as I swung through the valet port back at the Marriott and Bubba jumped out and I saw him roll twice as I headed for the exit.  When you're 45 you need your beauty sleep and I wasn't about to get to bed after midnight if I could help it!

(Note to Bubba:  I hope you came to a safe stop after exiting the limo.  From what I could tell, you didn't bounce much, which is a good sign.  And I apologize, it was only after I was all the way home and digging for Advil in the medicine cabinet that I remembered I promised to stop at a drug store so you could pick up some Alleve for the trip home.  Of course, I realize that you're a resourceful sort and that you'll figure out that the hotel probably has a $10 package of Alleve to go with that $5 mini-tube of toothpaste they sold you.)

Well, that's what I remember about last night and Bubba's first visit to San Diego.  I'm quickly forgetting what he tried to teach me about hockey rules, but that's what us old fogeys do -- we forget.  So, Bubba, if I've forgotten anything, please be sure to remind me at your first opportunity.  I promise I'll try my darnedest to remember...

(Note to self -- despite initial misgivings about Bubba's apparent interest in a topic like Environmental Forensics, he seems to be all right after all!)

End of Travelogue