California is Spanish for Condo

Here's something interesting about Sin Citizens: they treat southern California the way people in the Twin Cities treat northern Minnesota. Ask around on a Friday afternoon to see what people are doing over the weekend, and at least half of them will be headed for golf in Palm Springs, swimming in San Diego, or to a particularly recommended restaurant specializing in west-African cuisine in Laguna Beach. As one of my co-workers at the music store -- a straggly-haired, Lithium-popping guitar dude named Rich (who is certainly in his mid-forties) -- said: "Man, I just gotta get out of the desert."

I'm not criticizing this behavior; after all, one day I hope to keep one of these in a place like this. I guess the thing that strikes me about it is the fact that they're all going to California. Me, I've been to California twice in my life, and, coming from the Midwest like I do, California is just one of those places. It's far away. People eat large quantities of tofu there. The climate is absurdly temperate. Multiple entertainment personalities have served there in elected offices. It's never been the sort of place you just nip out to on the weekends.

I'm guessing that I'll get over all this right around the first time The Madame and I head off to Laguna Beach ourselves; another of my co-workers has advised me that there is a Hawaiian shirt emporium there that bears a closer look. But in the mean time, I'll just have to keep being surprised. After all, there's something much cooler about saying "I'm going out to Laguna to look at the Ocean and sip sake" than "I'm going up to Alexandria to look at the lake and sip PBR." I don't know, though. Maybe it's just me.