Athenaeum Mini-Concerts
May 20, 2013
The free concert series continues with Wyn Wilson and Billy Wolfe performing Burt Bacharach.
27 other Music events on Monday, May 20
By Hutton Marshall
On the first tee of the finely groomed Morley Field disc-golf course, five college-age kids are waiting to begin their round. With startling synchronicity, they each grab a can of Natural Light beer and shotgun it without a care about those watching.
By Hutton Marshall
On the first tee of the finely groomed Morley Field disc-golf course, five college-age kids are waiting to begin their round. With startling synchronicity, they each grab a can of Natural Light beer and shotgun it without a care about those watching.
By David Rolland
Five young men covered in blue and black protective uniforms are clustered together at one end of a field on the base at Camp Pendleton, each armed with a gun and poised to attack.
By Jamie Pasternack
It’s 3:30 p.m. and Eeva Bernardo has the thermostat of her yoga studio cranked precisely to 105 degrees. She takes off her shoes as she enters and begins wiping the wall-length mirror to get rid of any sweat left over from her earlier class.
By Dave Maass
Britney Henry throws hammers. Mind you, these aren’t your hardware-store, ball-peen or claw hammers. Henry throws the Olympic hammer, an ancient cousin of the sledgehammer, with a cannonball-like sphere at the end of a wire.
By Kelly Davis
One side of Rosa Parks Field in City Heights is a patchwork of dust and dry grass. At halftime, Janice Jordan passes around a bag of Halls to her team, the Undisputed Ones— UD1s for short—to soothe dry throats.
By Kinsee Morlan
Weapon in hand, I immediately want to swing my sword around like Penelope Cruz in Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides, maybe finishing my swordsmanship debut with a backflip into the splits.
By Morgan Wood
A few days before trying my luck on an SUP, I did what any self-respecting neophyte would have done: I Googled the sport and watched a few clips on YouTube. I found that a serious SUP subculture has emerged—and then I watched a cat jump into a cardboard box.
By Peter Holslin
As skateboarding culture became increasingly mainstream, the anti-rollerblading propaganda got louder and aggressive inline skating steadily waned in the United States
By Claire Trageser
The racewalker’s goal is simple: Walk as fast as possible. In fact, racewalking—an Olympic sport—has only two rules. One foot must always be on the ground (unlike in running) and each leg must be straight when its foot touches down.
By Ryan Bradford
We’re standing on top of a Downtown building that Tisdale manages, six stories up, on a particularly breezy evening. It’s his suggestion to hold our interview up there, to show me where he practices parkour. It’s an astonishing scene, set against San Diego’s skyline, and one that I can’t fully appreciate due to my intense fear of heights. I tell him that I’m fine, but, really, I’m terrified.
By D.A. Kolodenko
When she was 11, Marzena’s 35-year-old father died of cancer. Four years later, her mother, at age 37, also died of cancer. Relatives decided that 15-year-old Marzena would leave Poland to live with her father’s sister in the United States.
By D.A. Kolodenko
When she was 11, Marzena’s 35-year-old father died of cancer. Four years later, her mother, at age 37, also died of cancer. Relatives decided that 15-year-old Marzena would leave Poland to live with her father’s sister in the United States.
By D.A. Kolodenko
Life is fleeting. It’s good. It’s bad. Then we vanish. It’s pointless one minute and precious the next. Who knows what it’s for?
By D.A. Kolodenko
Imagine you’re inside a bar in San Diego. Let’s say it’s in the attic of a shoe-repair shop in a part of town where you don’t want to walk around at night. You can get the password only by sending a self-addressed, stamped envelope to a post-office box.
By D.A. Kolodenko
There may be more pressing misuses of our public and private spaces, like lack of adequate homeless shelters, but these are my 10 pet peeves of the last 10 years. The dominant theme: carelessness.
By D.A. Kolodenko
Last Friday was Friday the 13th! So what? You don’t actually believe that bullshit, do you? Apparently, you do. Or at least a lot of you do.
By D.A. Kolodenko
I like endearing aspects of our culture that are fading away, and a main one is a bar without a television.
By D.A. Kolodenko
Earlier this month, the Federal Energy Regulation Commission (FERC) ended its eight-month review of the massive power outage across San Diego, Imperial County, Yuma and Baja California on Sept. 8, 201
By D.A. Kolodenko
The patrol car arrived and two officers stepped out and took a look at us teenage musicians with our weird clothes and knew all they needed to know.
By D.A. Kolodenko
“What are they doing?” one of the German students asked, pointing down at the kids with flashlights and buckets, running along the beach and squealing under the moonlight.
By D.A. Kolodenko
The other night, I stopped by my favorite Convoy Street Japanese joint for a gobo salad, but instead of driving straight home afterward, I swung by Mesa College Drive and pulled over on the street and sat there for a moment, staring into the past.
By Enrique Limon
At times, I’ve felt as if my tenure at CityBeat has played out like low-budg version of The Devil Wears Prada (“a million girls would kill for your job” is one of my many mantras). So, with my love not just for alt-media, but journalism in general, still intact, I decided to kill the baby, so to speak.
By Enrique Limon
At times, I’ve felt as if my tenure at CityBeat has played out like low-budg version of The Devil Wears Prada (“a million girls would kill for your job” is one of my many mantras). So, with my love not just for alt-media, but journalism in general, still intact, I decided to kill the baby, so to speak.
By Enrique Limon
Though fur-suit enthusiasts have a public Meetup page, it wasn’t easy to get access to the outing.
By Enrique Limon
If you’re a regular reader, you know that The Eagle holds a special place in my pervy heart; some of my best nights there have turned into columns, while the really good ones I’ve kept between me and Layla, the friendly woman at the free clinic.
By Enrique Limon
Guiding his buddy as he sewed up the stockinette-stitched sleeve along the stop-sign rod, he recounted the tale of his first stop-sign flower
By Enrique Limon
Slevcove became familiar with the whimsical, kitschy statuette during high-school church-group trips to the TJ slums and vividly recalls that first encounter.
By Enrique Limon
There are two conditions from which Brazilian-boartist Paulo Nazareth will most likely never suffer: potassium deficiency and male pattern baldness.
By Enrique Limon
Standing well over 6 feet tall in heels (closer to 7 with the right hair), his presence is imposing, and halfway through his transformation, the similarities between him and his idol are uncanny.
By Enrique Limon
On a mission, he crossed Vermont Street. I waited for the walk sign, and as I joined him, a cop shone his patrol lights and ordered me to stop. The officer, sans badge or ID tag, instructed me to surrender my identification, proceeded with what I believe was an illegal search and wrote me a jaywalking ticket.
By Enrique Limon
By Enrique Limon
Recently, I found myself at a creative dead-end. Yes, a couple of news stories had caught my eye, and, yes, I’d had my share of debaucherous nights. But I just wasn’t sure how to translate that to a 900-word narrative.
By Jim Ruland
Karen Green's book, Bough Down, published by Siglio, is an elegy for her husband, the much-loved writer David Foster Wallace, who committed suicide in 2008.
By Jim Ruland
Karen Green's book, Bough Down, published by Siglio, is an elegy for her husband, the much-loved writer David Foster Wallace, who committed suicide in 2008.
By Jim Ruland
What would the world be like without books? That’s the question Write Out Loud is asking San Diegans in its month-long celebration of the dystopian classic Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury.
By Jim Ruland
Crapalachia is McClanahan's third book about the Mountain State but his first long-form treatment of the subject nearest and dearest to his heart. He couples a savage sense of humor with a willingness to revisit life's most uncomfortable moments.
By Jim Ruland
There comes a point fairly early in Confessions from a Dark Wood, Eric Raymond's debut novel from Sator Press, where it appears as if the author is determined to take his 21st-century satire over the top. And then he takes it further.
By Jim Ruland
During my early 20s, I worked as a night cook at a 24-hour fast-food restaurant in rural southwest Virginia. I met a lot of interesting characters during my time on the grill.
By Jim Ruland
Call me tardy. After a stint in the Navy, two English degrees and an ocean of books, I finally got around to reading Herman Melville’s classic seafaring adventure, Moby-Dick.
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By Jim Ruland
Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk by Ben Fountain is stuffed so full of Americana, it’s enough to make the most effusive red-stater blush.
By Jim Ruland
We send messages every day. Thoughtlessly, dutifully, compulsively. In 21st-century America, sending messages is how we communicate.
By Jim Ruland
Heather Fowler’s stories are full of sex and magic. That sounds flowery, but in this San Diego writer’s hands, it’s anything but.
By Jim Ruland
Götz and Meyer is the title of a 1998 novel by Serbian author David Albahari, translated in 2004 by Ellen Elias Bursac. Götz and Meyer are the names of a pair of German soldiers whom the novel’s protagonist discovers while obsessively researching his family tree.
By Alex Zaragoza
It was at a birthday party recently over craft beers and pizza at Pizza Port in Ocean Beach where I heard the woe of many late-20-somethings expressed with sullen nostalgia.
By Alex Zaragoza
It was at a birthday party recently over craft beers and pizza at Pizza Port in Ocean Beach where I heard the woe of many late-20-somethings expressed with sullen nostalgia.
By Alex Zaragoza
It’s strange for me, in particular, after years of what felt like stagnation in my personal life. There’s a charge in the air that led me to ask the universe a simple yet important question: What the fuck is going on?
By Alex Zaragoza
The culture surrounding UFC has always felt like a strange cult to me, like Heaven's Gate, Jonestown or that other brutal yet freakishly fascinating cult, child beauty pageants.
By Alex Zaragoza
I consider myself a feminist, so when it comes to female exotic dancers, I’ve always felt a combination of awe and aw, man. If a woman chooses to do airborne leg splits on a pole while a bunch of horny dudes make it rain dollar bills and it allows her to pay her rent, more power to her.
By Alex Zaragoza
If you dress up as a giant Christmas gift, you will be sexually harassed.
By Alex Zaragoza
Like Nicky Minaj, there are many random alter egos that float around in my head, every so often popping out during conversation.
By Alex Zaragoza
I’ve never had a problem with the theory of evolution—not because I’m of a strict scientific mind or a staunch atheist or I think people do kind of look like primates.
By Alex Zaragoza
The question of what happens after we die has always haunted me. It haunts most of us non-hippies who have no clue about chakra flows.
By Alex Zaragoza
East County has always been a strange, foreign planet to me. It’s sort of like the basement baby of San Diego, or the weird child that parents hide whenever people they want to impress come over for dinner.
By Alex Zaragoza
I am not Carrie Bradshaw. I never looked up to her impeccably styled columnist character on Sex and the City, who often “had to wonder” about shoes and how they relate to the rich dude she was boning at that time.
