I often find myself wondering, how did I get here? I mean just generally, in life. And then specifically, when I’m lost in the backcountry, or front country, or city.

During Coronavirus Weirdness, I tried to apply myself to baking bread and improving my Spanish. I think I earned a solid C+ in the baking department., especially after Iron Chef (justifiably horrified by my early COVID attempts at sourdough) gifted me with the Ken Forkish book “Flour Water Salt Yeast.” This is actually the best book about baking bread in the world, and I am not just trolling for sponsors, because I highly doubt Ken Forkish and I would be all that compatible. But I may be stereotyping him because his last name is Forkish.

The Spanish was coming along a little more slowly. You may recall I became motivated to return to my Spanish studies after an awkward language barrier in Argentina nearly resulted in the Chef and I getting an extended stay in a steel bar and concrete AirBnB during that country’s robust Coronovirus lockdown.

So, I’m now on special assignment Podunk-style in San Diego, California, studying both my Spanish and my urban navigational skills.

So far, I think my Spanish is coming along faster than my urban IQ.

For starters, plastic surgery and toupees are phenomenon I rarely enounter in Podunk. Here, the exception is the rule. I mostly know Cher and Joan Rivers-type “work” and it turns out that is a thing, and it scares me, like clowns scare me. And surely these men know we know that is not their hair. I feel like in Podunk, this situation is much more logically and economically solved with a good hat.

This really happened to me. I tried to buy a chelada, my refreshing beverage of choice, at the Padres baseball field, with cash. They would not accept my dirty COVID cash, and directed me to an ATM where I could turn my cash into a credit card!? I am not making this up. I did it, of course, so I could end up with a refreshing beverage, but overall I am very much against this movement.

Finally, for today, I am going to observe that city people have more dogs than we have in Podunk I don’t know what the statistics are definitively but I do know that from my special assignment eyewitness reporting, there are a lot of big men with very small dogs, and a lot of petite women with gigantic dogs. And a lot of concrete. And dog shit everywhere! I feel like if I wanted southern Californians to visit Podunk, I would start a “Millions of Acres of Public Lands Where Your Dog Can Shit and You Don’t Have to Grab With Your Plastic Gloved Hand,” campaign, but it would be way more catchy than that slogan so it could fit on a sticker. And besides, like only 2 people are actually cleaning up their dog’s poop and the rest of them are leaving it for me to navigate around in addition to all of the other things I have to navigate, and honestly that doesn’t always work out.

In this next episode of Podunk’s special assignment, we’re going to talk about how as a coping mechanism, you can de-construct your big city surroundings into a Podunkian neighborhood. See you soon! Adios!