America's Finest City

If I were to live in the city (as opposed to the suburbs), I could probably live here forever. San Diego is lively in the summer with the frenetic enthusiasm of thousands of vacation-goers. They are here for the perfect weather, sunny beaches, world-renowned gardens, and--this weekend--Comi-Con, the world's largest comic book and popular arts convention.

I won't be making it to Comi-Con this year, but I did spend the day downtown and, everywhere I went, evidence that the convention was going on abounded. When the trolley stopped at the 12th & Imperial Transit Center, the masses who disembarked bore a noticeable distinction from the types of individuals one normally encounters using public transport: I observed a green-haired Joker propping what appeared to be a rocket launcher over his shoulder, and his companion was a furry-faced creature that looked like she might have come off of the Planet of the Apes. A number of unusual and vividly colored hairstyles stood out above the sea of comic-book-themed-t-shirt-clad convention-goers of all ages, sizes, and ethnicities. As the crowd shuffled out toward the street, the few of us left on board the trolley turned from staring at them through the windows and faced one another, beaming in mutual amusement.

No, I ventured downtown today not to browse dozens of yards of manga, not to go celebrity-spotting in Hall H, and not to geek out on the latest "4-D" video games, but to volunteer at the farmer's market in Little Italy. I spent my morning at the Mercato, standing on a hill overlooking the bay, people watching and enjoying the pleasant aromas wafting my way from the flower vendors and tamale purveyors. I wore a badge reading "Mercato Volunteer," and shoppers would occasionally approach me with questions--usually regarding local businesses of which I know almost nothing. Occasionally, if the intersection where I was posted became especially congested, I would direct traffic. When the market began to close down at 1:30, I was awarded for my efforts with $10 worth of "Mercato Money," enough to procure some fresh goat cheese and an ounce of arugula micro-greens.

The afternoon was spent shopping for shoes in Hillcrest (alas, when I made my ambitious New Year's resolution to not purchase any clothes all year, I did not anticipate the torture this would inevitably inflict on my poor feet and back when I found myself in a job where I had to spend most of the day standing, and without any comfortable, work-appropriate shoes to do so in) and strolling through Balboa Park. It was as I walked across the Cabrillo Bridge that stretches from 6th Avenue over Highway 163 to El Prado that I was struck with the realization that I really like my city. I mean, it truly is an exceptionally beautiful place. And I spend quite a lot of my time debating inwardly whether I should move to another part of the country or the world so that I can see new places and have new experiences, when the reality is that I can easily see new places and have new experiences every day in San Diego.

Another city would have its own ambiance and pace of life, and, depending on where it was, it might even come with built-in friends from college. But San Diego is a perfectly suitable place to call home. Maybe some day I'll be able to convince some of my friends to call it home, too. Or maybe I'll eventually be able to make some new friends who are just as good as my old ones. And, regardless of how content I am to be here at the moment, there's still always that possibility that I'll move away again, either temporarily or permanently. But, for now at least, I'm pleased to be living in "America's Finest City." Very pleased, indeed.