misAdventures of Workmonkey 3.0

As i've written in the past, during the eight years I spent coming of age in Rancho Bernardo, I was incessantly plagued by the overwhelming sense I was missing out on something. At the time, I wasn't precisely sure what I was missing out on. I've since learned enough to uncover exactly what I felt I was missing: action. Rancho Bernardo got started in the 1960s as a retirement community. In case you have trouble translating that fact, let me help you: You were more likely to find a pacemaker shop than a pizza place. Towns built for old people don't make fun places for young people. So I spent my time shooting basketball at the court near the retirement home, running over rattlesnakes with my bike, and waiting for college.

At the time, I wished more than anything that Rancho Bernardo had something, anything, going on.

Well, my wish has been granted, albeit in a form I didn't desire. It's incredibly surreal to see Matt Lauer and, as of yesterday, George Bush wandering around the streets I used to try and skateboard down. Soon, people might recognize Rancho Bernardo as they recognize the Ninth Ward, previously unknown (for a reason) towns thrust into the national consciousness. Not as a result of achievement, but of disaster. People at work who know I'm from San Diego become even more interested upon learning I'm from Rancho Bernardo itself. The catch being, of course, I have few connections left from my days there. I wouldn't know if the house I grew up in has burned down, as there's nobody to ask. And I haven't heard from my sister, so that either means a) her house and cell phone has burned down or b) she's ok.

As Age aptly pointed out, if you are going to face a disaster, it might as well be a fire. It doesn't ruin as many freeways as earthquakes, doesn't get your rug as muddy as a hurricane, and doesn't come without warning like a tornado. The residents had plenty of time to hop into their Mercedes-Benzes and drive off to their winter home in Palm Springs. They didn't have to rely on non-existent buses like the people in New Orleans. With a fire, you return to clean plot of land and enough insurance cash to rebuild your dream home with. No need for expensive steam cleaning. The people who are totally fucked are the illegal immigrants, who live in those canyons. They didn't lose their million dollar houses, but they didn't have insurance, either. They had entire communities in those canyons, the gardeners, car wash workers, housekeepers, and others who worked on the million dollar houses that have since burned away. They've lost more than a house.

Well, I always wanted being from Rancho Bernardo to mean something. It finally does.