There's piles of crap everywhere. World War Z, empty contact lenses boxes, a stained coffee cup, paper clips, a microfiber rag, an iPad, an iPhone, two opened and humming laptops. If writing looks like anything it looks like a crisis. At any given time emails and DM's are flying back and forth and this morning is no different; I'm making inquiries, seeking advice, setting appointments, venting. Something hit me a couple of weeks ago: the force of it prompted me to try to figure out a metaphor. Maybe being hit by a baseball thrown by Clark Kent in Smallville; it took its time getting here, but wham when it did. Simple, really; take the thing you're known for, blow it up,
then
rebuildit,
redefine it
and everything it represented.
I almost feel stupid for not thinking of this sooner. Almost. If it happened all the time it'd be rote, not inspiration. The notebook I set aside for this is filling up rapidly. Idea. Idea. Idea. Idea.
Just before my brain shut down last night, I figured 13 hours. 13 hours in the world I chose to inhabit. I could have been lying in the sand absorbing light. I could have been sitting on my board, waiting for the next set to roll in. I could have been perched on the nose, watching the ocean spin by below me, beside me, above me. I could have been watching the pavement roll underneath polyurethene wheels, carving turns down hot blacktop, wind in my face. I could have been moving swiftly down a dusty trail, heart thumping, sweat running into my eyes and mouth. I could have been throwing the football in the pool with they boy, or encouraging the girl to kick kick kick, big arms, swim! A rugby ball. A container of bubbles yet to be blown. Bikes. A dog's leash. Lacrosse sticks. Sidewalk chalk. Instead, 13 hours spent in front of a screen, drowning in the torrents of a binary world, a construct built on 140 character bursts and pages and pages of instructions, opinions, "facts", "truth", a barrage of data like carbon dioxide working its way into my pallid skin.
Here's a bit from my longer piece about my BlogHer '11 experience:
"The fact of the matter is this: women dominate the online creative writing space. They’ve defined and re-defined blogging in ways that men (especially dads) haven’t. I’d argue that one cannot be a successful blogger—in whatever way one chooses to measure that success—without reading and understanding women like Heather Armstrong, Ree Drummond and the myriad of strong Internet writers who happen to be female.
Still, I’m a guy. And this was BlogHER, not BlogHIM. None of the content would be directed at men. So I had no interest, until I found out last year that BlogHer 2011 would be held in my hometown of San Diego. And even then, my motivation was more along the lines of “Eh, might as well, I won’t have to buy a plane ticket.”
So I went to my first BlogHer Conference, because it was here in San Diego, and hey, why not? I submitted a big essay to my overlords at Man Of The House, which will detail What It All Meant, so I won't do an exhaustive/exhausting recap here. I said hi to just about everyone I met for the first time over at Twitter, but I think I forgot to mention that it was great meeting Whipstitch, who is married to my friend The Muskrat. I also forgot to mention that I met Lotus, who along with being very nice is an amazing photographer. Cool names, right? It's like they're superheroes. (Marvel superheroes, because they seem to have the best handles.) Oh, and I met Avitable. Also a cool name. Like a Bond villian's. And unlike you, they get a shoutout in a blog post.
I learned three things at BlogHer. In no particular order:
1. Using A Picture That Looks Like You On Your Blog Or Profile Really Helps. Especially if you're a guy at conference for women - the nametags usually hang around the midriff, and while I do enjoy staring at women's chests from time to time, that can be awkward in certain social/professional situations. It was nice to know people by their face, and it was nice to be recognized. Everyone who recognized me said I looked exactly like I do in my picture, especially on Saturday, because I was wearing the exact same shirt. Also, I bought my pass from someone who was not able to attend, and her handle is A Vapid Blonde, which in my case is only 50% true. (Thanks again, Marla!)
2. You Will Have At Least One Socially Awkward Encounter. Here's how mine went.
Me: "Hi, I'm Jason, I run DadCentric. Nice to meet you!" (I'm actually somewhat friendly in real life.)
Female Blogger Who Shall Remain Nameless: "Are you an asshole? Because you look like you're an asshole. I bet you're an asshole."
Me: (Long pause.) "Um...I...try not to be?"
Female Blogger Who Shall Remain Nameless: "You look like one of those asshole guys. Like, your jaw. It's an asshole jaw."
Me: "Ah, well, I, uh..."
Female Blogger Who Shall Remain Nameless: "Also, the hair. And that shirt."
Me: "Ok, well, hey, great to meet you."
3. Turkey breakfast sausages dipped in pancake batter and then deep-fried like a corn dog are the bomb. But you probably knew that already.
It occured to me that there are (myself included) only fourdadbloggershere in San Diego (please don't send me nasty emails if you are a San Diego dadblogger and I didn't mention you), all of us will be at BlogHer '11 in some capacity, and none of us has (as of this writing) stepped up to offer our fellow male attendees any tips on Guy-Specific things to do while in San Diego, apart from hanging out with hundreds of women who'll be fawning all over us, because I don't give a fuck what you say, that's one of the reasons guys go to BlogHer. Own it, and be free.
Anyway, I'll keep it short and sweet. Here's 5 suggestions for you. You're welcome.
5. Drink some beer at Karl Strauss. San Diego is one of America's best beer towns; our micro- and local breweries can go head-to-head (pun intended) with the nation's best. Pop in to the Karl Strauss brewpub downtown and sample their wares. Recommended: the Amber Lager, of course, and whatever the current special happens to be.
4. Eat a fish taco. San Diego has the best Mexican food in the U.S. We sit right on the border, we don't serve microwaved Velveeta and try to pass it off as "queso" (sorry, Texas, but real queso fundido is actual melted cheese, not Pasteurized Processed Cheese Food), and residents can be fined if caught dining at El Torito. Regarding the fish taco: you may have them where you live, and they may be decent, but they are cheap knock-offs. For the real deal, go to Rubio's - they're generally good, and Rubio's is widely credited as being the first place to offer authetic Baja-style fish tacos to the gueros, but if you don't get them fresh out of the fryer, they lose a little something. (And wash it down with a Pacifico and lime, or a Negra Modelo. Because Coronas are for frat boys and tourists.)
3. Hit the beach. Are you really going to sit through all of those conference sessions while outside the sun shines and the ocean breezes beckon? Of course you're not. You're in Paradise, for Chrissake. Take the Coronado Bay Bridge, and follow the signs to the water. Chill out, maybe bodysurf (and try not to drown - the beachbreak can be punishing), then grab a beer at McP's or show a little class with a martini at the Hotel Del's famous B & S Bar. Also, if you were looking for a Rubio's downtown, you're out of luck, but there is one on Coronado, so hey, now you have another excuse.
2. Check out the ballpark. Petco Park is pretty sweet, even if you're not a baseball fan. There aren't any games scheduled during BlogHer, but it's worth a look. (Fun Fact: my grandmother used to work in the Western Metal Supply building, which now serves as one of the ballpark's walls.) And once you've done that - it'll only take a few minutes - go grab a Mule and a genuine Chicago hot dog (Vienna Beef, flown in from Chicago) at Wolffy's Place. Especially if you're a midwesterner who's confused and frightened by our heretical California ways.
1. Roam The Gaslamp in search of adventure. There are all sorts of killer places awaiting you in the Gaslamp District. Explore! Do I have a favorite? I'd be hard-pressed to pick one. The Field is an authentic Irish pub - and by "authentic", I mean "literally shipped brick-by-brick from Ireland to San Diego" - with a massive selection of whisky (they claim to have 50 different labels). Vin de Syrah is a great place to chill out before or after a night of carousing. And the Cuban Cigar Factory on 5th has beer, wine, and cigars. Cigars!
That ought to get you started. I'll be around, and will probably see some of you there. You know, even though I'm a surly bastard who hates crowds and has little use for tourists, I'm almost excited for BlogHer. Almost.
