‘You two go ahead,’ he said with the car idling in front of the large, well-lit house. ‘I’ll find parking and meet up with you.’
‘Send a text when you’re close,’ Candace suggested.
‘Will do.’
The girls climbed out the passenger side door, walked up the steps to the fraternity, and then disappeared into the giant structure. It had been fifteen minutes before David caved and decided to pay for a spot in the parking garage a few blocks away. It was another ten minutes before he was close enough to the house to warrant sending Candace a text message asking her to meet him out front, and another five before he gave up waiting for a response. One of the fraternity brothers had been watching the door when he saw the young man approach who was wearing and very nicely filling out the black t-shirt with black boots on his feet and boot cut jeans resting around their tops, and who stood well over six feet with long golden hair landing in loose curls on his chest and back. When David was at the doorway, the boy at the door could also see the short beard with the clean-shaven upper lip.
‘Hey,’ the young man named David Emerson bellowed to the boy. ‘I’m here with friends. Short girl with long hair and freckles and her roommate.’ The thumping music did not drown out his deep voice.
‘I’m not supposed to let any guys in that I don’t know,’ was the response.
‘Here…’ David pulled out his phone and flipped it open to show the fraternity boy a picture of Candace. It was ten o’clock. He had no new messages.
‘Yeah I saw her come in but –’
David stopped listening and looked the boy who was likely two or three years older than himself up and down. The boy was a few inches shorter with a feminine jawline and pretty features. David walked past him, and the thumping grew louder.
‘Hey, you can’t just –’ the boy started.
‘Stop me,’ David belted. There was a tray of shot glasses filled with a clear liquid set on a small table in the hall past the door. ‘What are these?’ he asked the fraternity boy.
‘Tequila shots.’
‘And you’re giving them to people as they come in?’
‘Right. Listen, you can’t—’
‘Just tequila?’ David interrupted.
‘I don’t know. I guess so.’
David quickly downed three of the drinks.
‘What the profanity man?’ the boy shouted angrily.
‘Stay,’ David commanded and then stepped further into the house and began to explore the bottom floor. There were people laughing and dancing and milling about the large house and David was surprised that the boy at the door had obeyed him and wondered if they would have any further confrontation. After fifteen minutes, he had forgotten about it. He pushed through the crowd, making his way through the house wearing a broad smile, and could taste sweat in the air. Several of the girls he passed gave him interested looks and a couple of them had touched his chest. One of them pushed him into the wall.
‘Hey.’ She lingered on the word. ‘I’d have sex with you.’ Her eyes were more closed than open and her speech was slurred. She was tall and brunette and her hair was pulled tight on her head and fell down her back, and David watched the lingering trails she made in the light as her head swayed.
‘Hi beautiful,’ he said calmly. ‘I’m actually looking for a friend.’
‘Is that me? I want to be your friend.’ She put her hands on his shoulders.
‘Ok.’ Her hands felt heavy and smooth on him and he answered, ‘I’ll be your friend.’
‘Oh I’m so happy. We’ll be best friends.’
‘That’s right.’ The thumping beat stretched out and David felt it reaching deeper in his chest. It pounded. ‘Can you help me with something?’
‘I’ll do whatever you want,’ she spoke so slowly that David almost forgot what she was saying by the time she finished the sentence.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked in a tone deeper than he had ever heard from himself. It echoed between his ears.
‘I’m yours,’ she said as she laid her head against his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist, grabbing his backside with both hands. They had not noticed but they were moving involuntarily to the beat, and through their movements David saw where they had been and where they were going, and the motions were outlined and drawn like a laser light show in the eye of his mind before he made them. He pulled his phone from his pocket and opened it. The light from the screen blurred like painted brushstrokes in the air. It was ten-twenty-seven. He had no new messages.
In Herdern’s Palimpsest, everything is laid on the table with the exception of dragons, as noted prior to the Prologue. The colorful and raw story follows the exploits of medical student Lucinda (Lu) Soames-Parker as she grows into her profession and develops the relationships that lead her through this modern classic. Herdern’s prose and writing style are fluid and dynamic, never awkward, and tell Lu’s tale in typical English form.
The writing is thick and tender, though at times bitter on the palate. Herdern leaves very little to the imagination in his work. The blended science fiction and fantasy, mind bending, hyperdimensional thriller is mysterious and intriguing with twists and a mild darkness that offset the often delicate writing style. Dialogues are pure and genuine, bringing a tangibility to the modern fantasy canvas. What starts as a seemingly standard English coming of age story that would make even Dickens proud quickly takes a left turn into the realm of the absurd, somehow managing to maintain a tight enough grip on reality to keep the reader in suspended disbelief. Fresh and satisfying, Herdern presents the problem of traversing higher dimensions in a concrete and staying fashion.
It is a story rich with unique lore. The text is not overly wordy, but describes its settings, characters and plot devices elegantly and completely. There is sex, criminal violence, science and pseudoscienc. The narrative is satisfying and brilliant, keeping the reader’s attention, and begging them to read just another page. Herdern scores in every way possible. The first book in the Palimpsest Series can be found here on Amazon, and author Herdern can be contacted on Twitter.
She was far off in the distance, but I could see her clearly. I had seen her before, but this time she was smiling and waving her left hand high in the air. There was a man with her, old and leaning on a cane. His long beard and grey hair whipped lightly in the light breeze around him. She was wearing purple. A dress. He was wearing an old suit, the jacket draped over his right arm. I don’t remember how I got there. I was just there, and she was there and the old man was there. Her chocolate brown hair fell lightly around her face, framing her green eyes and heart shaped mouth. Even at a distance, I could see the light freckles over her cheeks.
The old man joined in beckoning me across the chasm. I can’t describe the place. It was dark, removed from reality. Above, there was machinery. Gears and turbines. A giant conveyor belt that looped in on itself. It churned and clicked along in steady rhythm, with a song like a charging locomotive. The old man and the girl were at the center of everything and I ran from where I had been. I ran until I was at the center. They were there and I was with them and the girl extended both arms toward me, taking my right hand in both of hers while the old man began to speak. Her smile widened and she bowed her head.
“The song,” he said to me. “When you hear the song, know it can only speak truth.”
I said nothing. The girl was silent but she released my hand and turned, standing beside me and facing the old man. I remember not being able to see the ground. I could feel it, and I could see my feet, but there was nothing below. Until I heard the song. It was then I realized I had bowed my head as well.
The old man hummed a simple, haunting melody. Four, sometimes five notes. Alternating and repeating. The ground came alive. “What do you see?” asked the old man.
“Nothing,” I quickly replied.
“Keep looking,” he urged patiently, the song still humming behind his words.
I kept looking. Down. Colors of all the rainbow became shapes, and shapes become objects, and those objects grew in complex form and figure. “I see machines. Roads. Sky below and above. There aren’t people, but I can feel that life is everywhere.”
“Keep looking.”
Above the roads and sky there were cities. “People are in cities above the sky,” I said, and felt something brush the small of my back.
“And?”
I looked again at the machines. “The machines share a signature, and they’re all working together.”
The girl had wrapped an arm around me and pulled me toward her. And then she fell. Back, down, and through the floor, and she pulled me with her but we parted as we fell.
My body shook, quickly and violently, and my eyes opened. I was alone, standing in the old subway tunnel in New York City. I was leaning against the wall, waiting for the train. I had almost fallen over when I woke, but managed to stay on my feet. Dark, blue and grey. A few of the people around me glanced in my direction when I shook, but no one said a word. There was a train accelerating from the station. Had I missed it?
I took a step toward the track and saw through a dirty, scratched window of one of the cars, the visage of a woman with green eyes and freckles framed by rich, straight, soft brown hair peering back at me and when my eyes met hers, she lifted her chin and raised a hand. A finger pointed skyward and her eyes slowly shut, and when they did my vision turned black and I felt I was falling again, down through what had been holding me on my feet.
Again, my eyes opened and I shook. I was in the subway, back where I awoke before and I knew it was the same. The girl was there as before, and as before I fell away from her.
Again. Again. Again, and again. I would never catch her. I could never catch her. In vain attempts, I tried to communicate with the others. With anyone else at the station. They would shrug or roll their eyes, and I would lose my will. I pushed them and they would fall. All of my strength to push and they would fall and I would fall back and away and start it all again.
I was lucid now.
I had given up.
When my eyelids parted next, I surrendered and raised my sight to the sky. I couldn’t see it, and I didn’t need to. My head tilted back on my shoulders and my eyes resumed their resting state as my hands came together at my chest and I let it all go. I didn’t fall and I didn’t shake.
Gently…
Awake. Open eyes.
The realization came quickly that I was home. My right arm extended and the warmth of another was felt. I turned on my side and exhaled. She was there. The chocolate hair and freckles and the green eyes, though the eyes were concealed by their sleepy lids. She was there, wearing a pendant with an emblem matching a signature I had seen in the other world. I blinked slowly and shifted my weight, sliding one arm back under my body and the other over hers. And then I pulled her close.
The dirt around the dugout was dark and pocked with holes. Tiny puddles of water filled the majority of them, and the sound of scratching cleats in the grain echoed off the back wall. The air was cool and dank, not refreshing as it should have been. The way I would have preferred it during practice. I was sweating and sticky, my hands with fingers curled around the wet metal of the fencing separating us from the field. It was raining. I liked the way the rain smelled in the late winter. It was almost as if you could smell the new growth on the trees and brush around the perimeter. I don’t think you could, but the scent reminded me that the full greenery and floral aromas of the primavera were only weeks away. I loved the anticipation of new life, the warm breeze, and the inevitability of time spent outside the house in the open fields or around a charcoal grill with my family, or riding my bike to the plaza to rent a movie with friends.
This year was different. I was in a new city, a new state, and a new school. I was outgoing and had made enough friends that I really hadn’t missed my hometown. At least not yet. Everything was fresh and new and exciting. Then there were the boys. When I was younger I was a pale blonde. I think I was attractive. Not beautiful or anything extraordinary, but I was proud of how I looked and who I was. My hair was long and thick, and I knew how to get attention with my sky blue eyes. And I was getting enough of it. I was happy. I knew what boys wanted and I was smart about it. It was high school. Most weren’t able to express anything more than that. I had a friend, a guy, who I liked to be around. He and I had spoken earlier in the day.
“Hey!” One of the coaches called to me. “Can you get out there and fill in at catcher?”
Obviously. “Sure,” I replied and then scuffled to the bleacher to retrieve the heavy gear and suit up.
“Hurry up,” he shouted back. “Less than half hour left.”
I know. “Right, of course.”
The rain was cold. It dripped through the helmet and down around my eyes, to my chin as I jogged to the plate and turned to face the coach, tall and in his baggy black poncho. I nodded and turned to the coach behind the plate. He motioned toward the mound and choked out something unintelligible. I heard, “Ready,” squatted, and looked across home.
Thud. I caught the first pitch. There was no one at bat. Just a warmup pitch, and then four more. I really had to reach for the fourth. Across my body, left of the plate. It hit the edge of the glove with a Thwock.
The rain was cold.
By the time I’d gotten through three batters, I was in my own world. The fielders with their red uniforms against the green grass of the ballpark looked pleasant and hypnotic to me. I’d been doing this since I was a little girl. Nothing interesting. I was good at it and I didn’t need to think. Just catch.
“Hey, who’s that behind the fence?” The fourth batter asked me, smiling. I glanced behind, quickly.
“I don’t know,” I lied.
“He’s watching you.”
“Yeah, I told him he could meet me after practice if he wanted.” It was the friend I mentioned earlier.
“Hmmmm… ok.”
“He’s fine.” My heart fluttered, but I ignored it.
She laughed. “It’s pouring rain.”
“Yeah.” The next three batters came and went. I only had to catch once.
Practice had ended, and I had gone down into the dugout to pick up my things and take a drink of water. It was colder than the rain, but I was hot under my uniform. I didn’t hate it. I was smiling but don’t think I knew it. The other girls made a few comments and I brushed them off.
“You looked really good,” the boy at the fence said when I came up from under the shelter. I turned and stepped toward him.
“What are you doing?”
“I wanted to come say hi.” He smiled.
“It’s raining!” I was incredulous.
“I live across the street.”
“Yeah, but it’s freezing.”
“You’re out here,” he said through his smile. I looked down at my feet and back up.
“Yeah,” I said, “I guess.” I walked to the fence to see him.
He laughed. “It is really cold.” I shook my head and then our eyes met. His held a sparkle and life that gave the same feeling as the smell of the rain.
California, United States. Less than one percent of the American population has been tested positive for a virus that has been labeled by some as the deadliest disease we’ve ever seen. And apparently, it doesn’t go to the beach. In San Diego, people are still swarming to the coastline during a time where everything else is closed. I might have been the only weirdo wearing a mask.
Oddly enough, masks are still required inside the surf shops just across the boardwalk. No, I did not wear the mask when I went surfing, but I did wear it while I spoke with the other beach goers, including one who admitted to having and just recently recovering from COVID-19.
I can’t decide how I feel. As a scientist, it doesn’t seem to me that the pandemic really deserves the title. According to Claire Gillespie at Health, the flu kills tens of thousands every season in the US alone. It’s still early, however, and new cases of the virus are popping up everywhere. It’s difficult to tell people to let something like this run its course. But when you stifle a wildfire too long, the result is increased devastation when the spark catches.
For now, there are thousands of happy, healthy people at the beach, and maybe only one in every hundred has the virus. In a world where freedom is considered a right, it’s hard to tell people to stop having fun. I’m not going to either. Until the virus becomes a problem on a scale tenfold it’s current state, I really don’t believe people will take it seriously. Until then, have fun and take care of each other.
It’s a very fine line being ridden. Tide is in, so I need to catch a wave.
She could see him sitting there inside the dimly lit café before she opened the door. There was nothing special about him. He was a tall blonde man with blue eyes. She preferred men with green eyes and dark hair. Tall. Right. He was tall. He was taller than her but she stood nearly six feet, at least a head above most of her friends. Anyway, he stood to greet her when she came through the door. That was when she noticed how tall he was. They met online four months before that night and she had never asked about his height or physique. In his photos, he appeared friendly but was scruffy and unkempt. The boy that met her at the door was clean cut and well dressed. Not attractive, but nice-looking.
“Hey Madison,” he said to her at the door, “you’re really tall.”
He’s a nerd. The girl laughed and displayed her teeth, straight on top and crooked on bottom. She was overdressed and her bobbed hair was pinned to her head. Overdressed. Let me think. It was a cool evening. Not cold. She was wearing layers and a scarf. Everything was left to the imagination. “Hi, how are you?” she asked without breaking the smile.
“Good. This place is cool.” She picked the place knowing he like small coffee houses. After nodding her agreement, she moved gracefully but quickly around him to sit on the bench behind the table where he had been seated before she entered.
“Yes,” she had said while she moved. “This is one of my favorite places.” He could tell she wasn’t physically interested in him, so he pulled the chair at the opposite side of the table with every intention of sitting across from her. The wooden legs of the chair scooted along the floor with hollow squeaks.
“No no no,” she said quickly. The smile had not faded. “Come sit with me.” Her dark golden eyes were fixed on the bright blue of his.
“Ok.”
He’s nervous. She watched as he shuffled around the table. He sat with a reasonable distance between them. His body was muscular and his jawline was square. The girl named Madison could see his freckles now, in the low light of the dining room. They were faint on his jagged cheekbones. His hair was lazily combed with a curl falling just off-center on his forehead, above his left eye.
“Thanks for coming to meet me on such short notice,” he started the conversation. “I was supposed to meet someone else tonight but we pushed that back until tomorrow.”
“It’s fine.” Her smile had softened but her dark amber eyes held their gravity. She hadn’t wanted to go out that night. It was Thursday and she had to be up early in the morning. 4:30am.
The boy, who Madison called Patrick, sat deep on the bench with his back against leaning against the rest and his shoulder against the wall. He set his cell down on the small round dining table and was about to speak when the waitress interrupted. “Good evening,” she said. It was just after eight o’clock and the sun had fully set. I forgot to mention that. It was dark outside when she arrived. “Can I get you two something to drink?”
Patrick made eye contact with the waitress and ordered an Americano before his head shifted on his shoulders to face the girl. “Madison?”
At least he didn’t order for me. “I’d like a banana crepe and cappuccino.” She spoke firmly. Authoritative. The waitress nodded and asked if the boy and girl needed anything else. They didn’t, so the waitress went away to the kitchen. “So how did your move go?” Madison asked Patrick. The two had spoken about Patrick’s move into his new apartment two weeks prior. They had spoken about everything over the last few months. Everything that they thought was appropriate to share online, anyway. For the girl, meeting for the first time did not have the feeling of newness. They could have been friends for years and the evening would not have felt any different. She could see that her question and potential for conversation had eased Patrick’s nerves. Good.
“It was good,” Patrick stated. “I never liked my old place. Too far from work, friends, the city, everything. If I hadn’t had the gym down the street I would’ve moved a long time ago.”
“Oh.”
Patrick shrugged and leaned his elbow on the backrest. “How have you been? You went hiking last weekend right?” Patrick’s eyes pinched nearly shut and his mouth broadened.
“Yes. They were supposed to have refreshments at the end of the hike so I didn’t bring anything but water. All they gave me was a beer.”
Patrick laughed. “Nice. They didn’t have anything else?”
“No. And I don’t drink.”
“Right,” said the boy. “You mentioned that.”
“It didn’t feel like a reward. I wanted something sweet.” Her disappointment was written on her face.
“I went to the bank this morning and they gave me a lollipop.”
“I wish they had lollipops,” she laughed.
“Well next time I’ll go with you and bring a lollipop.” He considered a wink but held it back.
Her laugh became a giggle. “Thanks Patrick.”
Patrick looked toward the door and back at the girl. “My name isn’t Patrick. I just use it online.”
“Oh.”
The boy had laughed and was about to speak when the waitress returned. “Americano for you, and the crepe and cappuccino for your girlfriend.” She placed the food and drinks appropriately in front of the girl and boy. “Do you need anything else?”
Madison shook her head and the boy replied, “I think we’re ok, thanks.” He was almost laughing and his voice had deepened. The waitress nodded, offered to help with anything else and instructed the two to wave for her if the need arose.
“My name isn’t Madison either,” the girl formerly known as Madison informed the boy.
“Oh,” he replied in the newly deepened tone. “Are you going to tell me your real name?”
“I don’t know.”
The boy cracked a half smile. “Ok.”
The girl returned a mirrored grin. The air had thickened. Somehow, the lights seemed to be glowing softer but brighter and with halos, and the black sky outside the café seemed darker with more vibrant reds and yellows streaking down the road as the cars passed. The room was quieter but louder, and the loudness of other voices was indistinct and the boy and girl would never have known if the voices were even speaking the same language.
“Where else have you gone hiking recently?” He asked the question after taking a sip of the near scalding coffee that had been placed before him.
“I’ve been all over,” she answered. “Do you want to see?”
“Of course.”
The boy pivoted his left arm at the elbow and the tips of his fingers brushed the girl’s shoulder and upper back, over the thick grey sweater she wore. The touch was barely felt. Ok… She moved in closer to the boy and leaned to share the pictures she had taken. Her cell phone had a clear plastic case, but the screen was cracked. “These are from Yosemite, last fall,” she explained. In most of the images, she was featured alone with the same lopsided but full smile stretched across her face. One side of her upper lip rose higher than the other and her eyes were wide and expressive, shining like fire.
“Beautiful,” said the boy. His fingers were slowly tracing circles on her upper back, and it seemed to the girl that he wasn’t doing it for her, as if he just enjoyed the texture of the sweater. He did, but he was enjoying her company more than it seemed.
“It is,” she agreed and continued to share memories from her travels. Always with the same pleasant and familiar smile, regardless of the pose or angle of the shot. Inside the little coffee shop, the air was pleasant and bright and there was a warm draft. No. That doesn’t sound right. Imagine a small fire burning in an old stove nearby and anytime the wood might pop or crackle, you’d feel a quick warm burst. It was like that, without the fire. This went on for a while, and the girl took a few opportunities to sample her crepe or sip her cappuccino and the boy was always playing with the wrinkles in her sweater. “You have pictures from your last trip?” she asked after a sip of the hot drink.
“Yeah,” he answered smiling and reached for his phone. “They aren’t as pretty as your pictures.” He was laughing when he looked up to see her response. Her lips were tightened and she seemed to be holding back a smile. Her eyes met his and his laugh faded to a deep chuckle and then he paused. “Hey,” he said.
She did not answer but gently raised her chin in curiosity.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked.
“Yes.”
His head came closer and her head turned to accept. The room was white and then it was gone. It must have been happening. The kiss. The white lights were flashing on the newly white sky and each flash sent a pulse down the boy’s neck until all of his body was filled with the light and he forgot what he had asked or why he asked it, and the girl was there and he was running the fingers of his right hand along her cheek and then down her neck and back up. The space where his heart used to be had been filled and could no longer contain what had filled it and his left hand dropped down, bumping the ridges of the thick sweater as it went and then it rested at the small of her back, and then he slowly retreated from her lips. Her eyes were wide and she smiled with all of her face, calm and content. But there was something new in her eyes and he had never seen a look like this before. He wondered what she was thinking.
On July 11, 1889 the city of Tijuana was founded in the Baja California region of Mexico, just south of San Diego when an agreement was signed between descendants of Santiago Argüello and Augustín Olvera to begin the development of the city. The agreement was signed 41 years after the end of the Mexican-American War. Since this isn’t meant to be a history lesson, I’ll leave it up you to check out Wikipedia for more about the city’s origin.
Tomorrow, Tijuana is turning 131 years old, and it exists as a part of the San Diego–Tijuanatransborder urban agglomeration. It is a city full of vibrancy and life. The culture is rich and the people are friendly and welcoming to all people, as it has become a popular migration hub for its employment opportunities (as a major manufacturing center) and other obvious reasons. The beaches are beautiful, and access to Southern California adds to its own inherent charm. If you’ve found my page and aren’t the best English reader, check out the article at Zeta Tijuana by Carlos Sánchez for his beautiful description of the city he loves. To read the same article, translated to English, click here.
To summarize Carlos Sánchez, Tijuana is set apart from other Mexican cities because of its location and diversity of attractions and opportunities. The city is bursting with culture at every corner with live music and mariachi bands, street vendors selling the flavors that they cherish (all in their own way) from tacos to fruit and vegetables to delicious drinks and smoothies, and the occasional fire dancer in the middle of an intersection (always remember to donate a couple pesos). As I mentioned before, the people are warm and welcoming and willing to talk and get to know you. The metropolitan area is huge and always growing, and the masses of people are known to be joyful and polite. In addition, the city is home to many long term opportunities in industry (science, technology and manufacturing) with chances to participate in or watch sporting events. You’ll even find some pleasant oddities mixed in with the rest of the city’s offerings, such as the Burro Cebra or Zonkey (a black and white striped donkey). Even if you don’t love Mexican food, the city has plenty of other options, many of which can not be found anywhere else. Try sushi with banana.
Apart from its own attractions and dynamic night life, Tijuana is central to many other worthwhile diversions. The town of Tecate can be found less than an hour to the east and offers many enjoyable experiences including dining, spas, resorts, and hiking. Along the Pacific Coast, to the south of Tijuana are the coastal towns of Rosarito, Puerto Neuvo, and Ensenada. A two hour road trip from Tijuana to Ensenada offers the chance to see many incredible sights along Mexican Federal Highway 1D. But this article isn’t about the things around Tijuana. Not when the city itself holds so much of its own charm.
A simple trip to Tijuana’s lively El Centro (downtown) is a reward in itself. To walk along Avenida Revolución alone gives you the chance to see the unique culture. Restaurants and hotels sit along both sides of the street. You’ll pass young couples in love and smiling vendors trying to make their honest living. One of the best places to eat and relax over a cup of coffee is Praga Cafe. The environment is warm and friendly, quiet, and can be very romantic. The region around Tijuana also has a rich selection of wineries to visit for the refined adventurer. Pictured below is La Ruta Del Vino, a restaurant that serves wine from the vine the vineyards around Ensenada.
Of course, Tijuana also has its wild and sensual night life. There are a multitude of bars and clubs, many of which offer good clean fun. You can go salsa dancing, drink with a few friends, and then go back out to dance until the sun comes up. Unlike cities in California where bars and clubs close at 1 or 2am, Tijuana’s clubs don’t quit until around six in the morning, keeping the party alive as long as you can stay on your feet. Other adult-only options are available as well, but sometimes singing karaoke, laughing and dancing with your friends is all you need.
To sum it all up, Tijuana is a growing young city with wide eyes and childlike excitement driving its development. Even if you can’t visit, take the time to research the city and the surrounding area. Its culture and life bleeds into and shapes the experience in San Diego and much of Southern California and it is well worth the visit, whether physically or virtually. Happy Birthday Tijuana! May there be many more to come.
Short and sweet. The mask shortage within testing facilities, schools and universities has become a problem and a bit of a hot topic during the COVID-19 outbreak, especially in the United States in the midst of the 2020 presidential campaign. Whether you think Trump should have or could have prevented the shortage and so many of the casualties, or there was some other reason for the problem in the US, the truth is that we all have the resources available to prepare our own washable and thus reusable masks. Cotton cloth from any t-shirt and a pair of scissors are all that are required. Creating your own masks frees up resources so that facilities like COVID testing labs have better access to manufactured masks specifically designed for laboratory use. Below are two of my favorite DIY masks.
The simplest and most easily washed facemasks can be made using a t-shirt and scissors, and only require cutting a single piece out of the fabric. Check out the YouTube video here for simple instructions. Credit to The Telegraph for the instructional video. I really like this mask because it only requires the washing of a single piece of cloth rather than strings and a face cover, as in the next example. Using this method, you could prepare as many as four masks from a single t-shirt. Be careful with your dirty masks when you’re not wearing them.
The best looking DIY masks that I’ve seen can also be made with only a t-shirt and scissors, and the tutorial for making them can be found here. Credit to Jan Howell for the video. This mask is great — comfortable and more professional looking. However, the washing of the separate parts makes it less desirable. Either way, it is a great alternative to using disposable masks.
Please do your part in protecting the health of the people around you (and yourself), and if possible, please find the time to create your own reusable masks so that the shortages in your country and in the world can start to fade into history. Many of us have dropped the ball in the initial response to this pandemic, but we can all catch up and prevent the situation from growing worse. Be considerate, be respectful, and be a patriot. Wear a mask.
Speaking as an American citizen… In the United States, we are all in this together. We may have differing opinions on our government, especially the executive branch, but we all live together, work and play together. This is not a political issue. This is a public health issue. Please treat it as such.
Based on a true story about kindness in a darkened world
I had only been back in San Diego for a few days. The last time I was in the city, I camped with my son in a quiet business park about a dozen miles east of San Diego proper. No problems, just a few other cars in the area and a man dressed like a 90s church dad talking on his cell phone across the street when we woke up. At night it was well lit. After seeing the guy on his phone, I knew I wouldn’t feel comfortable sleeping there again. Anyway, that weekend I spent a few days in a cheap motel outside the city. I needed a shower after working and sleeping in the car all week. I work for a courier service delivering food and groceries. Like Uber but without the crazy passengers. Most weeks I make about six hundred dollars. Sometimes more, sometimes less. If I’m really motivated, I make enough early in the week to take an extra day off and feel good about it, but I usually try to save money by only renting a room one night a week. My son goes on the deliveries with me. He’s seven years old so being with his mom all day every day doesn’t bother him. He keeps me sane and gives me reason to get up in the morning.
I don’t have an apartment because I haven’t lived in San Diego long. The way I see it, I need at least $2,600 per month just for rent and utilities. After that, maybe $1000 for food, clothes and everything else I never remember I need. $4000 would be comfortable. It wouldn’t be glamorous, but I’ve never cared about that. It’s possible but difficult on the pay I’m getting, especially with gas and inevitable car repairs factored in. I’m looking for a room mate.
Well, the weekend was over and I was back in the business park. I found a new spot so anyone who might recognize me wouldn’t see me. I didn’t really like the old spot anyway. It was too bright and there was another car that parked ahead of me most nights. I could see the guy inside staring back at us. He never did anything or even got out to approach me, so I let it go. A lot of people camp in their cars. It was a blue Honda Civic. I should probably watch for it.
“Can I watch a movie tonight?” My son asked me more politely than usual.
“Sure, why not?” I didn’t care either way. I’d set it up and then get out for a smoke before bed. The stuff was low grade and “economical” but it got the job done. I wouldn’t be able to sleep without it. Not in a car.
“I want to watch the one from last night.” He’d actually seen it four nights in a row, but he was smiling with his eyes squinting behind his shaggy yellow curls. I wasn’t going to say no.
“Yeah, ok.”
All I could hear were the orchestrated jingles behind the opening credits when I stepped out onto the pavement. I shut the door as gently as possible. As I started to dig for my lighter, a squad car rounded the bend in the road behind us. I froze. I wasn’t really doing anything illegal but I was bending some rules. I started to panic and my fingers went numb. The top of my head tingled. The car flashed its lights and pulled up behind us.
It isn’t that I don’t trust cops. I don’t. But it’s because I don’t trust most people. I’m a petite blonde woman. 30 years old. Not to mention the news is filled with stories about dirty cops right now. I had no idea what he thought he could get away with.
He had already seen me. He had seen my car. He might have seen the joint in my hand. My cell phone was in my back pocket. By the time I realized it was all actually happening, he was shining his flashlight through the windows into my car. He saw my kid. They made eye contact. They even waved at each other. I hated that someone knew where we were. I definitely didn’t want the police to know where we were sleeping.
“Is everything alright?” He asked the question as if expecting a “no”. The flashlight was pointed at my face.
“Sure,” I stammered, “I’m fine.” No, I’m trying to enjoy my evening and get some rest before I work all day tomorrow, and I’m talking to a cop in a business park with a joint in my hand, and he’s taking way too long to get his flashlight out of my eyes.
“Ok,” his body started turning before the word was off his tongue. “Have a good night.” He had his back to me now and he was walking away. Back to his car.
“Ok.” OK
I slid my phone out of my back pocket and dropped down to the curb. He was driving away. Sweat was burning at the corners of my eyes while I watched the tail lights shrink into the distance. He turned out of the park.
“Holy excrement, that freaked me out.” I sent the message to a friend in the city.
“What’s up?” he asked. I told him what happened. All he said back was, “that’s crazy.”
“Expletive, that really hit me hard, man.” I sent the text with shaky fingers.
“I’m surprised he left you alone. Are you at the business park? Did he know you had bud?” he said, and then asked. Weed is legal in California, but that was one of the rules I was bending.
“I’m still in the business park,” I answered, “but I don’t think he noticed the weed. I don’t want anyone else knowing where we are.”
“Eh… If he was cool and left you alone, it’s probably a good thing.” He was trying to calm my nerves. “The cops in SD are used to it.”
Another cop car sped by while I read the last message, so I didn’t respond directly. “Excrement, another cop just drove by.”
“If they want you to move they’ll tell you.”
“I’m not scared of that.”
He reminded me I had a camera attached to a phone. “SD cops aren’t gonna mess with you.” I wanted to believe he was right, but I wasn’t going to be complacent.
“I guess I have the benefit of having a kid with me.”
“Right,” he agreed. I could tell he was worried for me, but didn’t want to add to my anxiety. I didn’t respond to him for five minutes. I would have, but another cop car pulled up before the text came through. No. It was the first cop. He came back. And by this point, I had finished smoking. In hindsight, I shouldn’t have smoked that night. But I did. I don’t think he noticed. After he left, I send my next message.
“He came back and now I’m having a full scale panic attack,” I said.
“Let me know if anything goes down,” he sent back. “Take a pic and send if you need to.” He thought the cop was still there with me. I corrected him.
“I’d already smoked and had just finished up so I thought, well expletive me, naturally. But he came up and handed me money and told me he has a little girl and just wanted to help out and if it’s OK, to give my son a police badge sticker. Then he reiterated he has a little girl and just wanted to help out. Then he told me to have a good night, turned around, walked away and left.”
“No.”
“I swear.” I sent a pic.
“Sweet.”
“I can’t move.” I couldn’t.
“Was he sexy?”
“I don’t know.” I didn’t. Or at least I hadn’t noticed.
“That’s cool.” This was his last text before a long string of messages about his experiences with crooked cops.
That was more or less the end of it. My son finished his movie and I didn’t see another officer that night. I fell asleep after the movie with an arm around the boy. He was breathing softly and had no idea the amount of panic I’d been through. The whole night was fun for him. I woke up the next morning thinking the whole thing had been a dream. Then I saw the police badge stuck to my son’s shirt. His eyes were still closed.
One of the biggest and most controversial topics of discussion during the last US presidential election was on Donald Trump’s promise to build a wall between Mexico and the United States in order to keep illegal immigration and smuggling to a minimum. As a resident of California, this was very strange to me. When making the trip across the border and into Tijuana, it is difficult to miss the giant fence that divides the US from its southern neighbor and stretches out grotesquely into the Pacific Ocean. See the photo below.
According to 2019 Washington Post article by Nick Miroff and Josh Dawsey (found here), Trump wants the wall posts “painted black and topped with sharpened tips”. The general idea is that the wall should be as treacherous to pass as possible, with the dark paint absorbing heat from the sun. The thing that I think most Americans are unaware of is that there is already a significant structure set up between the two nations, and according to Miroff and Dawsey, any additional building that has taken place over the last few years of Trump’s presidency has been to rebuild sections of the existing barrier, not to complete the gaps in the separating superstructure. Yes, Mr. Fake News has some exaggerations and twisted
On the other side of the fence people are excited about the potential blending of culture and economy, and I don’t mean the physical fence (though the statement is true either way). Digital Artist and Tijuana resident Esteban Quiroz has a completely different idea about how the two countries should interact at their borders. His project, Reinventar Los Bordes, blends the cityscapes. His vision for the project, translated into English, is as follows:
In this project I propose a new landscape by digitally mixing urban and architectural elements of various public spaces in Tijuana and San Diego. These imaginary scenarios have allowed me to wonder about the dynamics of economic and cultural exchange between both cities. What would a transportation network that would connect both areas be like? Why does a construction of the same type cause such a different experience in Tijuana than in San Diego? What would San Diego be without Tijuana? How would Tijuana be without San Diego? What is really regulated through the existence of a border?
Quiroz, Esteban. Reinventar Los Bordes
The obvious answer to the question of regulation is illicit substances and human traffic. Travel by the honest citizen is currently heavily impacted by those regulations. However, there already exist differing sets of travel regulations in San Diego and Tijuana when compared to locales further removed from the border. That is, different visas and passports are required for travel beyond the border cities. If regulation of traffic and substances could be maintained outside the interface between San Diego and Tijuana, then the two neighboring cities could enjoy a healthy blend of culture and economics. Residents from either city could expand business into the other country, stimulating the economy and ideally strengthening the relationship between the countries. Uber, taxis, and other public transit would benefit from the blended border. It would also ease the traffic at the border for citizens who already cross on a daily basis for work.
The blending of the two nations’ economies would benefit both and increase exposure for small businesses and nation specific corporations. It would also discourage a fair amount of illegal traffic by allowing residents of one city (and country) access to the goods and services of the other. It would also set a precedent.
Whether you feel the wall is necessary, or a blended border would be a positive, progressive project, the reality is that both the wall and blended border already exist. Many US citizens live in Tijuana and work in San Diego, and many Mexican citizens living in Tijuana are able to cross the border with limited paperwork, as long as they stay within a 25 mile radius of the border. US citizens are not even required to obtain a visa for trips into Tijuana lasting less than 72 hours. Of course, this is all under “normal circumstances”, and before the COVID pandemic.
The development of the border issue will continue to be a hot topic, especially in the 2020 election year, and the border zone is prepped to go either way. Full exclusivity and strengthened border patrol, or a more relaxed approach? Vamos a ver.
Politically Romantic 