CityBeat’s editorial team was having trouble deciding what to do with this year’s Summer Guide. Do we just play it plain and promote whatever random stuff arrives in our inbox? Do we pick a theme and hope it isn’t too limiting? What do our readers really want to do with their vacation days? Then it struck us: Our readers want to decide for themselves.

Our indecision became a blessing. We’ve taken a few pages from the Choose Your Own Adventure books that inspired us as kids and present our stab at interactive fiction. Here’s how it works: Start reading and whenever you’re presented with a choice, jump to the section with the corresponding number.

And now, let the adventure begin:

You are asleep and caught in a feverish dream. You’re sweating, as much from the poor ventilation in your apartment as from the mild feeling of anxiety at what the morning will hold.

It’s summer, it’s your vacation and there’s too much to do. Sun and fun is to San Diego what glitz and sleaze is to Las Vegas. Visions swirl in your brain: Ice cream cones morph into brain-blasting cocktails. You’re running on a foosball table, then you’re running through Balboa Park chasing your cell phone, then you’re belting out “I got you, Babe” with a 10-foot-tall transvestite named—. She floats off like a ghost. A peach-cheeked Chicano asks if you want Spicy 28 or Spicy 35? What does he mean? Before you can ask him, your alarm goes off. You:

>> Decide the city’s too much for you, so you pack the car and head for North County. Go to 1.

<< Need pancakes and you need them now, so you go to Pacific Beach. Go to 6.

>> Remember that you freakin’ hate mornings, so you go the hell back to bed. Go to 11.

Click here for our picks of summer events including film, art, theater and more.

<< Listen to your inner fitness instructor when it says, “Screw the spirit animal. Hike off some flab.” Go to 3.

2

You’ve built up quite an appetite with your introspective morning. Your nose has led you east, to just before where Highway 76 meets Interstate 15. You park next to Large Marge’s 18-wheeler and follow the intoxicating smell of sizzling meat to a modest roadside trailer serving nothing more than burgers and fries. You’ve arrived at Nessy Burgers. While waiting for your cheeseburger—with thick slices of raw white onion—you wonder why the Fallbrook burger outpost is named after the mythical Scottish beast. After inhaling the classic, no-frills delight, you’re still not sure, but you do remember you’ve got greenery on your mind. You head just up the road to the 50-acre Myrtle Creek Nursery (2940 Reche Road), thinking of creating your own garden of self-realization. Maybe you’ll buy starter plants for a vegetable garden, or purchase some showy succulents. You wander through the outdoor displays and gardens and through the old farmhouse showroom, admiring the antique furniture and local jams for sale. After inspecting the property’s working water wheel and petting the friendly shop dog, you:

>> Conclude that when you said “day trip,” you meant “all-day-and-night trip.” Stay in North County. Go to 4.

<< Decide to cloud your clear head. Go to 5.

>> Reach North County overload and head back to San Diego to cool down. Go to 13.

END OF ADVENTURE

5

It’s beer time. You’ve always wanted to try Brewery Tours of San Diego, and the fact that this company picks you up and drops you off anywhere in the county—plus feeds you dinner—seals the deal. At Ballast Point, the tour guide, Jon, says he’s going to give you a quick behind-the-scenes tour, but it’ll be the only one of the night. After you’ve had a few, he explains, you’re not going to care about how beer is made; you’re just gonna wanna drink. During the tour, you manage to impress Jon with your beer geekery. Maybe it’s just the charm of his Tennessee accent, but something about the guy makes you want him to be your friend. By the time you get to San Marcos Brewery & Grill, the two of you are beer BFFs. At Stone Brewing Co., you sip the 13th and final taster of the night and make a toast to San Diego’s status as the best beer city in the U.S. “In fact,” you say, trying to act casual as you awkwardly throw an arm around Jon, “San Diego might just be one of the best darn cities in the world—period.” On the drive home in the brew-mobile, you plant your cheek against the window and decide you don’t know and don’t care where you left your car.

END OF ADVENTURE

6

You wake up to the sun forcing its way through the cracks in your blinds. You’re in the mood for some outdoor dining, so you head over to Firehouse (722 Grand Ave.,). You choose to be seated on the second level and begin eagerly examining the menu. There’s something about pancakes that makes you feel like you’re on vacation, so you don’t hesitate to order Firehouse’s Hippy pancakes—forgiving the misspelling of “hippie”—which are covered in blueberries, bananas and toasted granola. You also intuitively order the black-currant-infused iced tea, because lounging on the rooftop patio while indulging in delicious food and staring at the glittering ocean will undoubtedly get a little heated. You take note of the impressive fire pit and cushioned patio furniture. Maybe you’ll come back tonight—if it’s a Thursday you can take advantage of the $3 wells, drafts and bottled beers. After you’ve finished your meal and tipped generously, you:

>> Remember that you really need a new swimsuit. Go to 12.

<< Hear your inner Petula Clark singing, “Things’ll be great when you’re— Downtown!” Go to 20.

>> Stick with the hippie vibe and commune with nature. Go to 37.

<< Are not ready for a seat-belt burn, so you stay in P.B. Go to 7.

7

As those pancakes settle, you make your way to San Diego Coffee, Tea and Spice (5026 Cass St.,). You order one of the best chai lattés in San Diego and sip it while you people-watch. You come to the realization that old people have the coolest clothes, so you decide to make your way to the thrift stores on Garnet. After finding a few super-cool tees at Goodwill (1430 Garnet Ave.) and some pants you can turn into cut-off shorts at the Cerebral Palsy Thrift Shop (1454 Garnet Ave.), you realize you’re starving again. Bub’s Dive Bar (1030 Garnet Ave.,) comes to mind, so you swiftly make your way to the bar, where the floor is covered in peanut shells. You feed many dollar bills to the digital jukebox behind the bouncer to prevent any annoying music from ruining your face-stuffing afternoon. Gorillaz, White Stripes, The Black Keys, The Rolling Stones and “Move Bitch” by Ludacris make your cheese-covered Lunch Lady Tater Tots and saucy Russian Roulette Wings even more satisfying. You eventually find the one crazyspicy wing, and while soothing your tongue with a big glass of ice water, you notice CityBeat columnist Enrique Limón walk in. After raving to him about the adventurous wings you just ate, he tells you he needs a ride to a “spicy” place, but he can’t decide between Hillcrest or the South Bay, so you:

>> Figure that Enrique’s in the mood for gay spicy, so you opt for Hillcrest. Go to 28.

<< Figure that Enrique’s in the mood for Latino spicy, so you opt for Chula Vista. Go to 35.

>> Tell Enrique to take a hike (3?). Go to 8.

8

You’re feeling full—really full—so you decide to take a walk. You head to Mission Boulevard and saunter north until you notice SurfIndian’s pretty aqua storefront on the left (4652/4658 Mission Blvd.). From what you can see, the shop is filled with shiny surfboards, and since you’ve always wanted to try surfing, you decide to head inside. You see that it’s more than just a board shop: There’s a wall of surf videos, sweet Raen sunglasses and tables with board shorts and tank tops. You poke your head out front and see that, right next door, there’s a gallery space that houses surf-inspired artwork. All of that’s awesome and everything, but what really catches your eye is the Steve Mast Mexi Blanket Board in SurfIndian’s shop—yup, a long board that looks like a Mexican blanket. It makes you think of a fiesta in the ocean, so you bust out the credit card and buy that sucker. After shouting “Surfs up, dude!” you:

>> Opt for higher-brow culture. Go to 9.

<< Suddenly feel the urge to bowl. Go to 23.

9

You dig minimalist art from the 1960s and ’70s: The sophisticated simplicity, the measured use of repetition and the artists’ willingness to break with convention. So, you head to the Museum of Contemporary Art San Diego’s La Jolla location (700 Prospect St.,) to check out High Fidelity, which opens May 28 and runs through Sept. 5. The exhibition of more than 50 pieces includes works by Ellsworth Kelly, Agnes Martin, Ed Ruscha, John Baldessari and Robert Irwin. You mosey through the various rooms, stopping in the Krichman Family Gallery at the back of the museum to take in the lovely ocean view, and, after stopping at the museum’s super-hip gift shop for a little inspired retail therapy, you:

>> Decide you can’t leave the coast until you’ve got fish in your belly. Go to 10.

<< Determine that it’s finally late enough in the day to start drinking. Go to 27.

10

You stroll up to El Pescador (627 Pearl St.,) and see there’s a line flowing out the door. You assume the line exists because what you’ve heard is true: The food is ridiculously delicious and has been a local favorite since El Pescador opened in 1978. After waiting a bit, you get inside the tiny fish market and up to the counter, where you see all kinds of seafood laying on ice. From the vibrant colors, you can tell they must have been caught that morning. You looked at the menu while you waited, and you know exactly what you want: fish tacos. You also order a bowl of clam chowder and a hunk of locally smoked salmon for starters. It was a tough call—the Dungeness crab sandwich and local yellowtail salad were runners up— but, hey, it’s San Diego and it’s summertime. It’d be weird to not get fish tacos. After inhaling all the food in record time and declaring El Pescador a sacred temple of fresh seafood, you:

>>top that seafood with Italian dessert. Go to 30.

>>Get in on San Diego’s emerging craft-cocktail action. Go to 27.

11

At noon you crawl out of bed past crinkled burrito wrappers, unidentifiable persons, neglected cocktails and fallen beer bottles and decide, once and for all, to get healthy. Your choice is to slowly, gingerly make your way to the meat-free haven Veg- N-Out (3442 30th St. in North Park). You enter the cozy, tiki-meets-new-age den and comb the menu through groggy tequila goggles. Foremost on the agenda is to combat your blossoming hangover with a gargantuan burger, so you land on the western Burger—the smell of sizzling faux-bacon now commandeering your appetite— and Avocado Tempura. You help yourself to the ice water with fresh mint and cucumbers and have a seat outside to soak up some vitamin D and await your plate of fried salvation. Your belly filled, you’re finally ready to tackle a new day. You:

>> Go shopping. Go to 12.

<< Fill the belly even more. Go to 13.

12

Your swimsuit is caked with Lime Jell-O from last night’s wrestling match, so you head to Fables by Barrie (3775 Park Blvd. in North Park) where you try on a montage-worthy array of San-Diego-made, vintage-inspired, pin-up-style swimsuits. You fall in love with the nautical “New Sailor,” but commit to the “Tuxedo,” a thick-strapped onepiece with a cutesy red bowtie that even Bettie Page would never want to take off. (If you’re a dude, you’re simply being dragged through this torture by your wife / girlfriend.) Afterward, you’re hungry. Wait, no—you’re thirsty. Well, kind of hungry and kind of thirsty. “A smoothie!” you say to yourself. You head over to Senor Mango’s, the quirky, cheerful-looking fruit-juice shop at 4607 30th St. in Normal Heights. You glance at the hand-painted menu. You’ve been meaning to try the banana cinnamon licuado, which you imagine tastes kind of like a banana horchata, but a voice in your head tells you that the Vampiro juice (carrot, O.J., beet and celery) would be the healthiest option. The Escamocha—fruit topped with Mexican sweet cream, diced almonds and coconut—sounds tasty, too, but you decide to play it straight and order the strawberry peach smoothie. Then, you:

>> Feel the park calling out to you. Go to 14.

<< Feel a different kind of park calling out to you. Go to 25.

13

With its old-timey logo and wrough-tiron chairs, South Park’s Daily Scoop (3004 Juniper St.) reminds you of an ice-cream shop you might find along Main Street in some quaint out-of-the-way town. But the flavors served here are anything but traditional. You’re a huge fan of the Sweet Cream and Peanut Butter variety, though you’ve been wanting to try the Red Mint Chip. Then there’s Chocolate Mexicano. Decisions. You opt for a two-scoop cup: one scoop of Sweet Cream and Peanut Butter and one scoop of Chocolate Mexicano. Before leaving, you check out Fuschia, the adjoining teensy-weensy boutique that sells all kinds of vintage goods. You find a kitschy-cool cocktail book from the 1960s that’ll come in handy at your next summer soirée. Then you spend some time browsing South Park’s impressive collection of independent shops. Local economy stimulated, you decide to give the ol’ wallet a bit of a break and:

>> Watch the sun go down. Go to 14.

<< Watch birds do what they do. Go to 37.

14

You want to take in one of San Diego’s signature sunsets, but you don’t want to go to the beach. Luckily, you know the optimal southern vantage point—the Golden Hill Community Park (2590-2596 Golden Hill Drive). You follow the elevated park’s circular road up and around—past an open field, lush greenery and a hidden staircase that descends into the canyon—to a massive, gray, aged tree that had to have been plucked from the pages of a Tolkien novel. You have a seat on a picnic bench near the eastern edge of the park, where the hill bends convexly over Pershing Drive. The hum of the traffic below reminds you of the churning ocean. You watch the sun’s pink aura sink between cracks in the Downtown skyline on your left, the forests in the valley on your right glowing amber in the receding rays. Having decided that Golden Hill is truly an appropriate name for the neighborhood, you:

>> Become overpowered by a carnivorous compulsion. Go to 15.

<< Decide to complement your natural buzz with a liquid one. Go to 16.

15

You have a caveman-like urge to stand over a fire and char the flesh of an innocent, yet delicious, animal. Naturally, you head on over to Golden Hill hotspot Turf Supper Club (1116 25th St.). You walk in and are overcome by the sounds of loud chatter and sizzling meat, the number of people hanging about and the savory scent wafting through the air. You deal with the sensory overload by hitting the bar for one of Turf ’s notoriously stiff drinks. Perhaps a Sneaky Tiki? This golden-colored concoction looks and tastes like a sorority girl’s Spring Break drink of choice but has the alcohol content of a Charles Bukowski Tuesday-morning bender. Sneaky indeed! Once you’re assigned a table, you order a delicious raw steak that you prepare and grill yourself on the community grill, or one of the vegetarian options if you’re not into the whole eating-animals thing. (Beware of hungry hipsters attempting to get a prime area of flame—they will use their tongs.) Totally full now, you:

>> Follow that red-blooded food with the red-blooded urge to dance. Go to 17.

<< Need to just sit somewhere, preferably in a dark place where no one can see you. Go to 19.

16

There’s a monster rumbling in your belly, and it needs to be satiated. But hitting up Taco Bell for a Beefy Crunch Burrito just won’t do for your sophisticated palette. No, no, no, you want a beautifully crafted meal that you can sit and experience, not shove into your pie hole while driving in traffic. So you make your way to Jayne’s Gastropub in Normal Heights (4677 30th Ave.), a place that fancies itself a classy British pub minus the bland British food, for an evening of grown-up dinner and drinks. The server talks your ear off about the wine selection from Central Europe. But maybe a refreshing cocktail is what you’re looking for to cool down on this warm evening. The Pimm’s Cup is what the server will offer, but you go for the Hemingway Daiquiri because that guy knew his drink. The atmosphere is lively, and everyone is engrossed in happy conversation. You’ve heard great things about the Jayne Burger, so you order it, and you’re not disappointed. It’s juicy and full of flavor. The monster is finally at peace. After another cocktail, and maybe the Strawberry and Rhubarb Crostada dessert, you:

>> burn those calories by getting your dance on. Go to 17.

<< Feel competitive juices surging. Go to 18.

17

You’re well lubricated by various alcoholic concoctions when you have an epiphany usually reserved for ’80s teen flicks—you just gotta dance! You shimmy over to the brick-faced bayou transplant Bourbon Street (4612 Park Blvd. in University Heights), where the only thing stronger than the drinks is the force with which the patrons air-thrust. You bump ’n’ grind to pop songs you’d otherwise never have known existed with a roomful of new best friends who ultimately convince you to hop up on the ol’ stripper pole. You channel your best Rose McGowan (a la Planet Terror), attempt an aerial arabesque and end up on your head in a puddle of spilled raspberry Smirnoff. You excuse yourself to the bathroom, where there is an even more outrageous party happening. Looking in the mirror, it takes you a moment to realize that’s not lipstick on your forehead; it's a two-inch gash. Thank heaven, it’s less than two miles to the UCSD Medical Center, where you spend the rest of the night getting stitched up.

END OF ADVENTURE

>> Find solace in a dark theater. Go to 19.

<< 11 Find solace in bed. END OF ADVENTURE

19

It’s late, and you’re ready for one last blast before you’re done, but you’ve had enough of superheroes, exploding robots and boy wizards. No, you want something indie, or subtitled, or just plain weird. So you skip on over to Kensington and queue up with the other hardcore filmgoers for what’s on at midnight at the Ken Cinema (4061 Adams Ave.). It might be The Human Centipede. It might be Tron. It might be The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Whatever it is, you’ll catch it in the only single-screen theater inside the city limits that also serves the best popcorn in town. It’s the opposite of the multiplex experience, and it’s a shared experience, since everyone’s there for the same thing. While you’re waiting for your tickets, your designated driver holds your place in line while you pound margaritas at Ponce’s (4050 Adams Ave.), or wine at Bleu Boheme (4090 Adams Ave.), or straight gin at the Ken Club (4079 Adams Ave.). Or all three, since they’re all on the same block. You stagger, hammered, into the dark theater—. That’s the last thing you remember when you wake up in bed with Zach Galifianakis the next morning in Bangkok.

END OF ADVENTURE

20

Yeah, yeah, so it cost more than twice as much as originally estimated to build, but it’s here now, so you figure you best enjoy it. The Harbor Drive Pedestrian Bridge, located next to Petco Park, where Park Boulevard ends, is a self-anchored suspension bridge and, at 550 feet, it’s one of the longest of its kind in the nation. You dig the contrasts: From the bridge you can see Downtown and the bay, but you also have a clear view into the gritty, industrial train-car storage areas that inhabit a corner of the Barrio Logan neighborhood. You cross the bridge, walk past the Bayfront Hilton, kick it on the large expanse of grass, spend some time people watching, and then you:

<<  See your destination: Coronado. Go to 21.

<<  Realize it’s tea time. Go to 22.

21

You grab the ferry at Broadway Pier ($4.25 each way for adults, free for kids) and take the 15-minute ride across the bay to Coronado’s ferry landing, from which it’s a mile-and-a-half walk (20 minutes) along B Avenue to the Hotel Del Coronado. There, you head to the Babcock & Story bar, which, aside from the flat-screen TVs, reminds you of something you might find in ernest Hemingway’s Key West of 90 years ago. You grab a seat in one of the big wicker chairs by the window, away from the flat-screens, and order the Key Lime Pie cocktail—vodka, lime juice and cream with a rim of graham cracker crumbs. You call the water taxi for your trip back across the bay; it runs later than the ferry and picks you up near the hotel. Marveling at the Coronado Bay Bridge, you decide to quit your job and work full-time to prevent it from being renamed after Ronald Reagan. 

END OF ADVENTURE

22

Tea for two, and two for tea. Sounds pretty nice right about now, doesn’t it? You take a stroll through East Village and stop at Café Chloe (721 Ninth Ave.). You grab a seat right by a window and order the Urban Tea ($29 per person, served from 3 to 5 p.m. daily with reservation), which consists of a pot of tea (the bourbon tea is amazing) and a two-tiered serving platter stocked with sweet and savory nibbles that are little presents from the flavor heavens. You sit and enjoy the open, airy environment—and the soft breeze that comes through the large windows—with a book, one of the magazines on hand or good company. You let your troubles melt away—it’s a place and a time to just relax. This feels good. Real good. So good, in fact, that you’re ready to:

<<  Soak in a grand sunset view. Go to 14.

<<  Go full-on Olde English. Go to 24.

23

It’s afternoon and your inner Dude (the Big Lebowski one) feels like hittin’ the lanes. Your outer man—or woman—about town, however, won’t stand for the smell of sweaty socks, obnoxious children’s birthday parties or wearing a bathrobe outside the house. Good thing East Village tavern & Bowl (930 Market St.) is around to provide the happy medium with a happy hour. Food and drink are cheap and a game is just $2 a pop. After bowling, you can grab a seat anywhere in the huge space and catch the game—any game—on one of the many, many, many flatscreen TVs mounted along the walls. Or you can try to strike up a conversation with one of the bartenders. Good luck with that. Next, you and your sore arm:

>> Seek relief in the form of a craft cocktail in Little Italy. Go to 27.

<< Seek relief in the form of a craft cocktail in Coronado. Go to 21.

24

You’ve heard lots of stuff about Bill Shakespeare’s The Tempest and how the vicious witch Sycorax sentenced the affable little spirit Ariel to 12 years in a pine tree for pulling rank, so you make plans to check it out at The Old Globe Theatre’s Summer Shakespeare Festival (it’s one of three shows running May 29 to Sept. 25 at 1363 Old Globe Way in Balboa Park). Early on in the show, it dawns on you: You’ve had a bellyful of relationships with people like Sycorax—the backstabbing, conniving, self-absorbed ass-hats who demand perfection from everybody but themselves. To your singular joy and relief, the Syckmeister eventually dies of a broken heart, so you’re feeling pretty full of yourself and the hostility that’s lain dormant all these years. Thus emboldened, you:

>> Follow that 17th-century culture with some 21st-century culture. Go to 19.

<< Take control of your suddenly gnawing hunger. Go to 29.

25

You pull out your cell phone and look around to make sure no one’s watching. Playing Balboa Park’s Giskin Anomaly game is not the type of activity you want people to know you do in your spare time. It’s nerdy. It’s for kids. It’s only for tourists. You can just imagine what your friends would say if they knew what you were up to. You head to the Old Globe Theatre’s box office and look for the Giskin sticker. It gives you a number to call and a code to enter, so you do it. You’re immediately sucked in while the recorded voices of “Pandora” and “Drake” present you with some sort of mystery and a challenge to find the next “anomaly.” Before you know it, you’re jogging from location to location looking for little markers with codes so you can call the number and learn more about the next location. You appreciate the history and knowledge the game manages to drop in, but the real fun is in going to spots in the park you never knew existed. Now that you’ve embraced your inner dork, you:

>> Remember that you were going to upgrade your décor. Go to 26.

<< Realize that you’re a total Anglophile. Go to 16.

26

Your apartment looks like shit. That papasan chair you found in an alley back in college is looking really shabby, and you’re thinking maybe it’s time to take down the Beeriodical Table of Elements poster you have up as “artwork.” Instead of going to Ikea for home decor, you go to Antiques on Kettner in Little Italy (2400 Kettner Blvd.) to find one-of-a-kind vintage knickknacks and furniture. You peruse through the limited-edition E.T. glassware, amazing mid-century armchairs and other cool tchotchkes that probably came from a hip granny’s attic, finding some great decor for a home makeover. Instead of heading straight home with your loot, you:

>> Celebrate your new finds with a fine cocktail. Go to 27.

<< Head up the hill. Go to 29.

27

Most evenings, house whisky at a dive bar will do, but right now you feel like pampering your taste buds and liver with something shaken and stirred to perfection. That’s why you make your way to Little Italy for drinks at Craft & Commerce. But wait. Where is it? Did we take a wrong turn? This place is harder to find than the city of Atlantis! Finally, you find your way to the door (675 W. Beech St.) and enter a dimly lit world where men dressed like old-timey train robbers and lumberjacks pour, squeeze, shake and adorn each and every drink in a way that borders on obsessive compulsive. They’re peeling the skin off an orange and rubbing it on the rim of the glass. Why? Who knows? But it’s clear that these bartenders do not screw around. You and your friends debate what to order. Everything sounds like liquid awesome. You either fly solo and order your own thing or get the punch bowl to share. The latter is cost-effective ($42 and serves at least four) and damn adorable since it’s an actual punch bowl accompanied by granny style teacups from which to imbibe. Now your hammered, but you’re a champ, so you:

>> Fight off the spins and cab it to Mission Hills. Go to 32.

<< Act on one of your crazier ideas and cab it to Old Town. Go to 33.

28

You head over to Bluestocking Books (3817 Fifth Ave. in Hillcrest), pick up The Ballad of Reading Gaol and start reading: I remember I never could catch you / For on one could match you / You had wonderful, luminous, fleet / Little wings to your feet. Enrique rolls his eyes and makes a beeline toward the “Gay Fiction” section. You try to explain the significance of Oscar Wilde’s poem. Even Mary, the gal behind the counter at Bluestocking, helps by asking Enrique if he knows that Wilde was incarcerated on charges of homosexuality and wrote Reading Gaol shortly after his release. Enrique rolls his eyes again and pays $4 for a copy of Robert Rodi’s Drag Queen, then dashes toward the door. He says he’s heading down the street to Babycakes (3766 Fifth Ave.), the only place where he can get coffee, cupcakes and cocktails under one roof. You shrug, say goodbye, buy the 50-cent copy of Reading Gaol, and:

>> Head off to grab a bite. Go to 29.

29

Your stomach’s rumbling with the kind of hunger only satisfied by real home cooking. With visions of picnics and Grandma’s casserole dancing in your mind, you’re drawn like a moth to the bright neon-lit “FUN” sign on the patio of R Gang Eatery (3683 Fifth Ave.). Inside it feels like home and summer camp combined, from the fireplace to the mason-jar candles. You grab a drink at the chalkboard bar and get started with the house specialty. Chef Rich Sweeney’s tots are fist-sized, fried in duck fat and filled with garlic and Fontina cheese, and you wolf them down with a ferocity you never thought tots could inspire. Still ravenous, you go for the Tuna Noodle Casserole. When it arrives, beautifully arranged and topped with bright slivers of potato-chip-crusted ahi, you think maybe you got the wrong plate. But once you dig in, you know this is no mistake. After quietly apologizing to your grandmother, knowing that, starting today, you’ll always worship another’s casserole before hers, you: 

>> Mosey on down Fifth Street. Go to 30.

<< Mosey on down Fifth Street. Go to 31.

30

You realize you’re fading fast. You’d kill for a good cup of coffee, so you make your way to Pappalecco (3650 Fifth Ave.). Inside, an Italian movie is playing and the café’s rich colors conjure the spirit of Tuscany. Then again, so do the pastries, paninis and gelato of every color that greet you upon your arrival. You can’t resist. You order a croissant filled with Nutella gelato, savoring the warm pastry as it surrounds and softens the frosty treat inside. It’s delicious, but it doesn’t solve your caffeine problem. You debate the possibilities: cappuccino or gelato frappé? You finally decide that you’re craving espresso despite the summer heat, so you go for a Pappalecco original, the Shakerato—a double espresso, shaken with ice and a touch of sugar and served in a martini glass. Good move: You feel oh-so-cosmopolitan, and substantially more refreshed with every sip. You’re ready to go again, so you take a freshly filled cannoli for the road, and:

>> Continue to mosey on down Fifth Street. Go to 31.

<< Outlast that caffeine buzz with a midnight movie. Go to 19.

31

You’re feeling somewhat adventurous. You’d like to travel to some exotic, far away land, but you’re not going anywhere, and you know it. You’re at 3100 Fifth Ave., and you see what appears from the outside to be a strange Mediterranean oasis with a glowing sign that reads “Caliph,” and your curiosity gets the best of you. Walking in is more like entering a Chaldean grandmother’s living room that doubles as a weird-smelling gay bar full of wacky characters. There’s loud karaoke, boisterous laughter and dirty jokes about genitalia flying everywhere from older gay men, trannies and the fun-loving regulars of all sexual persuasions. You can either get in on the action and croon some Cher tunes, or just soak up the environment. If your head starts feeling fuzzy from the magic-carpet ride you just hopped on, you can snack on the Caliph’s version of exotic oasis dining: popcorn, hot dogs, meatballs, fries, nuts and other greasy bites. Now that you know how a gay sultan parties, you:

>> Realize you need to sop up all the booze in your tummy. Go to 32.

<< Realize you enjoy partying like a gay sultan and close the joint down. END OF ADVENTURE

32

It’s midnight, you’re starving and you’ve decided that you’re sick of the late-night bur rito grind. So, you head to a small strip mall in Mission Hills where you see a string of paper lanterns hanging above the doors of Izakaya Masa (928 Fort Stockton Drive). You walk into the tiny restaurant and take a seat at the bar, noting the soft yellow lighting and signs in Japanese all over the walls. Once seated at the bar, you note the ample bottles of sake and plastic Godzilla toy perched in front of you. You notice a sign on the wall that says something about late-night ramen, and you’ve been wanting to try ramen that doesn’t have the word “top” in front of it, so you order it. A server carrying a gigantic bowl of piping-hot liquid is heading your way. After it’s placed in front of you, you take a minute to sniff the brothy goodness before digging in with chopsticks. The pork belly is buttery, the broth salty, the pickled ginger tangy, the noodles dense but silky—there’s a party in your mouth. After deciding that you’ll never eat another late-night burrito again, you head home, fall into a carb-induced sleep and dream about picking up seashells by the seashore.

END OF ADVENTURE

33

San Diego is an old place with tons of ghostly history. Even Baywatch had an episode devoted to our local spirits. Poor C.J. didn’t know what was coming. You may be a believer or you may think it’s all bullshit; regardless, having called 619-972-3900 to reserve a spot, you make your way to the water fountain in Old Town (2754 Calhoun St.) and meet ghost hunter Michael Brown. He’s going to take you on an 11 p.m. Ghost Tour of the oldest part of the city. Armed with electromagnetic field readers, you, Brown and other curious souls start hunting for longgone residents. Brown admits you may see nothing and you may feel nothing, but the possibility is very real. Oooooooh! He has you feel the vortex at the Whaley House and tells you of his experiences with San Diego’s spirits. Some around you may swear they just felt something touch their arm. You listen to the creepy tales and keep an eye out for Thomas Whaley lurking about, and then you.

>> Remember that you’re prone to nightmares, so you can’t go to sleep just yet. Go to 32.

<< Remember that you kind of enjoy your nightmares, so you confront the Sandman. END OF ADVENTURE

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You’re feeling a little peckish, and find yourself wondering, What does a good-looking person like me have to do to get a whole barbecued lamb’s head? Inspiration hits you, so you cruise to Chula Vista, to the tiny strip mall housing Aqui es Texcoco (1043 Broadway, Suite 108). The specialty is barbacoa, which they’ve been serving up in Tijuana for more than 20 years, and now at their second location in the South Bay. You stuff yourself with the mixiotes rabbit (it comes with broth and tortillas), the zucchini flower quesadillas and the nopales salad. You salivate when you’re served a heaping plate of rolled lamb tacos. The crispy tubes are buried under a pile of shredded lettuce, parmesan cheese, crema and limes. You wash the whole thing down with an horchata, then dig into dessert: honeyed yams. You roll your distended belly out the door, vowing to return again to the bright and clean confines, and then you:

>> Are in need of a walk, a cocktail and a boat ride, but not in that order. Go to 21.

<< Are feeling invincible and ready to battle. Go to 18.

35

“Chula Vista? Why Chula Vista?” you ask, but it’s too late. Enrique is  already in the passenger seat of your car barking out directions to the Chula Vista Nature Center (1000 Gunpowder Point Drive). “OMG,” he says. “You’re going to flip out.” You park in the lot and take the shuttle. Marsh birds swoop in front of the bus, and you point out the lovely light-footed clapper rail. Enrique is sooo not impressed. He calls you a “bird nerd,” grabs your hand, pulls you off the bus, through the flock of swallows nesting in the entryway and into the center itself. “The Art Aquatic exhibition is amazing,” he says, showing you the glass sculptures set up inside several fish tanks in the main exhibition hall. “It’s something Lady Gaga would come up with while sucking down a sea urchin, don’t you think? Flamboyant and flashy, yet somehow it works. My favorite is the ‘Rainbow Reef,’” he continues, twirling you around so fast that you accidentally bump into the big glass sculpture in the middle of the hall. When several volunteers in blue colored shirts look at you in horror, you:

>> Are so embarrassed you want to die and ditch Enrique. Go to 36.

<< See security coming and make a run for the Mexican border. Go to 39.

<< Make a run for the Arizona border. Go to 38.

36

The Mount Hope neighborhood of San Diego is, like, cemetery central, with three memorial parks spread out over an area bigger than the San Diego Zoo. You head to the largest, Greenwood Cemetery (4300 Imperial Ave.), and drive to the hawthorne section (near the southernmost portion of the cemetery) to spend some quiet time with the Tanzer monuments. A collection of 16 Italian-marble statues, they adorn the 16 plots that Frederick Tanzer (1861- 1938) purchased for just two people: him and his wife Bessie, aka “Best Woman That Ever Lived.” Before leaving, you walk to the other side of the hawthorne section, where Ulysses Simpson “Buck” Grant (of U.S. Grant Hotel fame) is buried, and try to figure out whether the huge Angel of Death adorning his grave looks sad or sort of fed up. Having made up your mind, you:

>> Are randomly inspired by Steve Buscemi’s death in The Big Lebowski. Go to 23.

<< Decide life’s too short. It’s time to cross something really geeky off your bucket list. Go to 25.

37

You like nature. You like wild flowers and water fowl in their natural habitat. But you don’t want to drive all day to see it. So, you head to the Sweetwater Preserve in Bonita. You park behind the Starbucks at 5030 Bonita Road and cross the street. For an easy walk, you go west. The 3.3-mile loop circles the Chula Vista City Golf Course and Rohr Park. But to get a glimpse of undeveloped San Diego, you plunge into the preserve. You take the trail east to the pedestrian bridge that crosses Highway 125 until you reach a steep trail carved into the red dirt. (For a Parks & Recreation Department map, Google “Sweetwater Regional Park.”) At the top, you find Summit Park, where the views of the Sweetwater Reservoir are gorgeous. You sneak a peek at the Sweetwater Dam, an engineering marvel of old San Diego—built in 1888 it was once a tourist attraction. From atop Summit Park you can see San Diego Harbor to the west, Mexico to the south and the Cuyamaca Mountains to the east. After convincing yourself that, next time, you’ll explore the park the way ranchers did in the 19th century—on horseback—you:

>> Scoot home for a shower before a civilized cocktail hour. Go to 21.

<< Decide to keep it rugged and eat some mutton face. Go to 34.

38

Arizona is really your only option now. Thanks to SB 1070, it’s a state where Enrique won’t feel compelled to come along. You head east on Interstate 8 and don’t look back. “Desert View Tower”—the road sign (In-Ko-Pah Road, Jacumba, 619-766-4612) gets your attention and you think, I owe it to myself to take a break. As the gravel crunches under your wheels, Ben, the Tower caretaker, emerges from the carved-stone garden where he seems to be checking up on the various animals made of sandstone. A parade of dogs are at his heals as he welcomes you in and shows you around. A strange robot sculpture catches your eye, and Ben tells you it’s made by an artist right here in Jacumba. You pay a few bucks for the privilege of climbing the stairs to the tower, and, when you emerge onto the small platform surrounded 360 degrees by pure natural beauty, you’re overwhelmed. You squint into the sun as the wind jostles your hair and you swear you can see as far as Phoenix. You decide, Screw Arizona. You’ll never to return to civilization again. You’re possessed by the turkey buzzard of Kumeyaay folklore and fly into the sunset.

END OF ADVENTURE

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