Concerning the guy from Chino who laughed excessively in the San Diego cafe

At 3:36 in the morning hours, a person needn't have any excuse to act stupid, silly, or just plain off. The trouble comes when a person actually is one, or all, of the above. Can I get an amen?

Six coworkers and I were taking in a hot drink at Lestat's Cafe in the Normal Heights neighborhood of San Diego. We sat in lush armchairs, sipped luscious coffees and teas, and discussed things like literature, sex, and death (marriage). Then G. noticed something strange happening outside in the street.

A thickly built man in hibiscus patterned board shorts and a tight, colorful t-shirt was up to something in the middle of the street immediately outside the cafe. When I first turned my head to look, he was bent over, hands on knees, facing away from his audience. That was fine though, since his butt was probably more emotive in its gyrations and pumpings than anything his face could serve up.

Nevermind. Once he turned around we saw that his face was equal to the task with its vacillations between a Mr. Potato Head grin and a Lamaze-esque look of exercising agony. He rhythmically punched the air and stomped the ground in turn, and then took to jogging.

He bounced up and down the small tract of concrete before the cafe, still pumping fists in all directions, until he found a spot to stop, bend over, gyrate, and then he jogged around again until finding a new spot.

We loved this guy. At one point he noticed us and waved enthusiastically, though I suspect he had intended for us to watch him all along, given his decision to jazzercise in front of the only open business for miles. But then, Mr. Chino, a frumpy white guy sitting nearby, reared his fool head.

"BWAHAHAHA, LOOK AT THIS CHARACTER! ONLY IN SAN DIEGO I TELL YA!"

I was glad he appreciated the guy. I really was. Hell, I appreciated him, why not everyone else? I leaned over and asked him with genuine curiosity, "where are you coming from?"

"CHINO."

Everything he said reeked of capital letters - the kind you find in misspelled forum posts begging understanding and sympathy for Britney Spears. Chino explained it though. It explained his amazement at anything remotely fun, anyway. It didn't explain why he wasn't getting his fun-fix in Hollywood, much closer to home.

Speaking of Hollywood, "only in San Diego"!? As though this painfully mono-seasonal, military-entrenched border-town held the franchise on freaks exercising in the streets at 4 am? Maybe I'm a bit arrogant (fine, there's no maybe), but I believe my little hometown to the north is a much stronger contender for the rights to that honor.

San Diego, nice town as it may or may not be, is probably not tops in any category you might invent. No, not even in stupid hyperbolic statements shouted amid vacuous Chino guffaws.