Stockton, California, is the town I grew up in. I may make fun of it a lot now, but my old stomping grounds wasn’t so bad — just as long as you overlook the gangs, graffiti, drugs, and sideshows.
I’m not exactly sure how the seed was planted, but for at least a decade a lifeboat of wonderment floated along listlessly in the deeper canals of my mind: how did it feel, exactly, to fly (or hover, or fall) above the earth like a bird, an insect, or Ralph in The Greatest American Hero? And hence, for my 30th birthday, I fully intended to find out. Continue reading »
I was back in high school when I had last come to the Stockton Asparagus Festival 12 years ago. Back then, downtown Stockton in the southern part of town was best avoided, and the festival was held in a park among rural, grape-harvesting lands closer to Lodi, the neighboring town to the north. This all changed a year or two ago as the downtown area was revitalized, with a new movie theatre, new shops and restaurants, a grand baseball stadium in progress along the waterfront, and a police force more intent on making residents and shoppers feel safer. The festival was then relocated to showcase Stockton’s renewed hidden jewel. Continue reading »
