orange county is an interesting place, and i mean it's interesting in how uninteresting it actually is. gated community after gated community after hollywood video, i could be anywhere in the country where the sun shines. in fact, it reminded me of vegas - not the strip, but where everyone in vegas lives, a rather soulless and fully homogenous place where character melts in a puddle outside chipotle.
needless to say, it's not for me.
we did a tech scout at trabuca hills high school (go mustangs!) and checked out their amazing athletic complex: eight tennis courts, two swimming pools, two softball fields, one baseball field and a brand new football/soccer field with stands that seat a couple of thousand on each side. it's really impressive. unfortunately, it looks too much like california to shoot there. but hot damn, i would have loved to have played here in high school. in fact, i might have actually taken the time out from basketball to learn how to hit a curveball just to get dirty in these diamonds.
who am i kidding. i'd learn how to identify a curveball to lay off of and wait for the heater i can drive.
but i digress.
we're staying at the ritz carlton in dana point, which is south of laguna beach. this hotel ain't foolin' around. everything is pristine. the pool is gorgeous and the rooms are almost too nice to stay in. i somewhat feel inadequate whenever i stay in a place like this. then again, in the bar, i saw a creepy bald 70-year-old man who looked like ben grimm with his semi-hot 40-year-old wife (or girlfriend). she looked uncomfortable, but had enough money to feel like she belonged. me, i'm just a guy wearing a katz deli t-shirt and a baseball hat sitting at the bar, watching sportscenter. i should be valeting cars outside.
trust me, i'll get over it.
there's a convention in town. i can't make out what everyone is there for, but if i had to guess, i would say it's a stereotypical rich white man's convention (bring your own blazer). i'll get down to the bottom of it. i can't be any more surprised than my trip to indianapolis, where my fat people convention was actually for physical therapy. who knew?
one more note: i'm having a glass of frei brothers' reserve pinot noir 2005 as i type. if you ever get the chance, have a sip. it's got nice hints of butterscotch and vanilla to it, and it's as smoooooth as sam cooke wearing velvet. i have no idea how expensive it is. for all i know, it's the PBR of the wine world. but i dig it.
before i forget (and i did; i just got out of bed to type this): we saw the strangest thing over dinner we had on the harbor. a security guard (who was a man in his fifty wearing a polo shirt) stopped another man (who was in his sixties and was bald) from writing his name in wet cement. he yelled, "you're old enough to know better!" and then followed it up with this surprising kicker: "and you're even carrying a concealed weapon. get out of here!"
so a man, who was old enough to know better and who was carrying an unidentified concealed weapon, wrote his name in wet cement and was then yelled at and chased out by a younger man who was still way too old to be a security guard.
i guess that's how they do things here in the OC.