SD Pride

LGBTQ+ youth in the US have had an especially rough year. State legislation restricting their right to talk openly about their identity at school has sparked national debate, increasing the pressures and hostility they often already face growing up.

The volunteers for San Diego’s annual Pride Festival have been there, and they know how tough it is. So they’re organizing the Youth Zone, a scaled-down version of the festival where middle- and high-school-age queer youth and their allies can have a social space to be themselves and connect. It’ll be open 11 a.m.–8 p.m. July 16 and 17, hosting outdoor games, dance parties in the evening, and fun and educational workshops, like How to Do Drag.

Cris Sotomayor (they/them), who oversees Pride’s youth programs, says they’ve had a great reception so far: “Young people reflect just how special it feels to have [events] created specifically for them, because they tend to be the last group included or asked about their opinion.” Both the Youth Zone and the parade’s Youth Marching Band are planned by youth volunteers, and more help is always welcome. There’s even a Children’s Garden for little ones and their parents.

Pride’s organizers often remark among themselves about how different their own teenage years could’ve been if more resources like this had been around. For Sotomayor’s part, they hope to pay it forward with the same feeling they had at their first San Diego Pride: “It was the first time I’d been in a space with a bunch of other trans, gender-nonconforming, and nonbinary people, and I was so shook. I couldn’t believe we were all there just to celebrate ourselves, not to advocate or to protest. There was something powerful about finally finding your people.”

The post Pride 2022: A Zone of One’s Own appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

Kelly Slater oversees GoPro’s Carlsbad office

Gather round, children, to hear of a time before everyone had a high-quality movie camera in their pocket. Back at the turn of the century, when we had to wait an hour (at best) to get our photos developed at Thrifty.

Smarting from two failed startups and the dot-com bust in 2001, UC San Diego grad Nick Woodman took a trip to Indonesia. He wanted a way to get action shots of himself while surfing, but the best option at the time was strapping a chunky camera to his wrist with a rubber band. There was his next business idea: a waterproof wrist strap. (He soon saw the wisdom in selling the camera along with it.)

Woodman founded GoPro in 2002, named for what every amateur surfer hopes to do. He prototyped the strap and designed the camera casing himself, and debuted his first product, the GoPro Hero, in the 2004 Action Sports Retailer show at—where else—the San Diego Convention Center.

That first Hero used 35 mm film and took only stills. He pitched it to Kodak and they turned him down. But he got his first big sale, 100 cameras, to a Japanese company for use at a water park. A digital Hero came next, in 2006. It could shoot video—a whopping 10 seconds of footage. But it sold well enough at local surf shops for him to start hiring employees.

A look at the evolution of GoPro models

Woodman’s next eureka moment came while he was learning auto racing. He mounted the Hero on his roll bar “and the other students were like, ‘Dude, where’d you get that camera?’” explains Rick Loughery, GoPro’s vice president of global marketing. “And he’s like, ‘I make these.’ It dawned on him: ‘I’ve gotta get this off the wrist.’”

With a mount, GoPro cameras could attach to a surfboard, a helmet—anywhere. And athletes could turn the lens back on themselves without needing a separate photographer.

That’s when things really took off. Superstar surfer Kelly Slater signed on as a spokesperson. Then Shaun White, Lindsey Vonn—and, critically, a growing fanbase of amateurs. GoPro’s first HD camera, released in 2009, was perfectly positioned to catch the rise of YouTube.

Loughery recounts GoPro’s real estate history through its proximity to lunch: In 2010, the marketing team was working out of a bedroom in Leucadia, right behind Juanitas Taco Shop. As they expanded, their offices neighbored Pipes Café and The Besta-Wan Pizza House in Cardiff, and in 2016 they moved into their current space at Carlsbad’s Make campus (just down the block from Miguel’s Cocina), complete with lockers for employee surfboards.

The ultralight Hero10 Black Bones camera designed for drones

The company briefly expanded into making drones that same year, but has since refocused on its core product: Their lightest camera yet, the Hero10 Black Bones, is instead specially designed to be mounted on a drone, with video stabilizing tech that won the company their second Emmy Award this February.

Looking forward, however, Loughery is most excited about the software side, boasting that the GoPro app streamlines video editing to make it as easy as possible for the average user. “Tap, tap, and boom, you’ve got a really cool, fun edit, matched up to music.”

The post GoPro: Our Very Own Digital Hero appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

The cast of The Lightning Thief at San Diego Junior Theatre 

Little does anyone know, but this average kid had famous ancestors, and they’re destined to do great things. That’s an evergreen theme in stories for young adults: Heroes come from unlikely places, inheriting a history previously unknown even to themselves. A connection to the Force, to the Wizarding world—or even the Greek pantheon.

Rick Riordan’s 2005 novel The Lightning Thief found an irresistible angle on this theme: At summer camp, 12-year-old Percy Jackson learns he’s the long-lost son of Poseidon, his friend Annabeth is the daughter of Athena, and they embark on a quest that leads them to the underworld and back.

The novel spawned four sequels, two spinoff series, two feature films, and The Lightning Thief: The Percy Jackson Musical, now playing at San Diego Junior Theatre.

Jason Blitman has been working on this show for the better part of six years—as the casting director of its original off-Broadway run, on a one-act touring version, and as director of this full-length version. Some of the cast were already familiar with the books. (Ava, who plays Annabeth, recalls going through a Percy Jackson phase and reading them all “in, like, a week.”) Some had even seen the play. 

This is a double-edged sword for up-and-coming actors, who might assume they should imitate the performance they’ve already seen. But Blitman encouraged everyone to find their own take on their characters. While casting, he looked for people with a strong sense of who they were as individuals, who wouldn’t be afraid to make bold choices.

The cast of The Lightning Thief at San Diego Junior Theatre

It seems his message has sunk in. Quincy, who plays Percy Jackson, says the play has taught him that when it comes to acting choices, it’s better “to be strong and wrong than to not try at all.”

Likewise, Ava says she’s learned that everything a character does must have a purpose. “Even little things, like crossing downstage or just getting to the spot you’re supposed to be in, have meanings behind them. It’s kind of like real life: You don’t just walk to the middle of the room randomly so you can start your conversation; everything you do, you do for a reason.”

Blitman specializes in teaching theater by and for young people, and he believes much of that discipline is about cultivating their sense of empathy—to fully imagine themselves in another person’s circumstances and adopt their perspective—as well as what it means to work as a team and take constructive feedback.

Taking on these roles in particular is a way of proving to themselves that they, too, can overcome monsters—the minotaurs and cyclopes are literal, yes, but they’re also “a not-so-secret metaphor for the monsters in the real world,” Blitman says. “The characters are 13 years old and dealing with problems that are bigger than themselves.”

That doesn’t mean The Lightning Thief is only for kids, he argues: “I think adults sometimes look at theater for young audiences and think, ‘Oh, this isn’t for me. But we were all young once; we can all relate to what it was like to be an outcast. Plus, it’s fun, contemporary, and has a really great pop-rock score.”

It may also inspire you to learn more about Greek mythology, as it did Quincy. “There are so many references in the script about things I didn’t know about,” he says. “It makes me curious. I was already a big Percy Jackson fan, but there’s always more to learn.”

The Lightning Thief runs April 29 through May 15 at Casa del Prado Theatre. Tickets are available at juniortheatre.com. 

The post Secret Demigods Overcome Their (Literal) Monsters in ‘The Lightning Thief’ appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

JYK – Super robot

Chula Vista graphic artist Jin Yung Kim has drawn for big names in video games and graphic novels, like IDW, PlayStation Studios, and Marvel; and he’s made a splash in the local art scene as well, with his first solo show at La Jolla’s Thumbprint Gallery this spring. The lover of all things sci-fi and anime found some time to put the pens down and answer our questions about digital art, the self-promotion hustle, and, of course, giant robots.

How did you come to San Diego, and how long have you been going to Comic-Con?

I grew up around San Jose, and moved to San Diego for college in 2007. I’ve been exhibiting at Comic-Con for a few years now, but I never got to experience the days when attendees were able to just walk up and buy tickets on-site. I heard those days were glorious!

What has been the biggest break for your career so far?

Probably when I started working in the game industry right out of college. That’s one of the scariest things, coming out of school: “Will I be able to find a job?” Luckily, I was in the right place at the right time. I also got into the convention circuit, which helped me see that people were actually interested in my work enough to buy it.

Do you prefer to work in traditional media or digital?

I don’t really have a preference;  both have their pros and cons. These days I mostly work digitally due to the high volume required of working in games. Outside the workplace, I enjoy scribbling in my sketchbook. It gets my eyes off the screen after I’ve been staring at it for eight-plus hours.

Which is more challenging?

Both have their challenges. For instance, painting with watercolor—or any paint, really—is difficult for me. I haven’t given myself the proper opportunity to buckle down and practice with those tools. For\ digital works, the bigger challenge is keeping up with all the latest programs available. Technology is advancing so quickly, I want to utilize them all!

What’s been the most fruitful way for you to find work? Networking? Social media?

Definitely a mix of both. Comic conventions have been tremendous for networking with great people—fans, artists, entrepreneurs. Some of those contacts eventually turned into gigs, and even friendships. I don’t have a huge social media presence, but it has been a huge help with getting my work seen. It used to be much easier before all the algorithm nonsense was implemented; now it’s practically a second job trying to keep up with it all.

Jin Yung Kim sketch

Do you have the time to do any passion projects just for yourself?

A buddy of mine, Sean, is writing the story for Techni-GAL, a character I developed. It’s our homage to ’80s and ’90s giant robot anime and Super Sentai—Power Rangers, Kamen Rider, et cetera. The project is still very much in its infancy. My goal is to have a graphic novel, and who knows where it’ll go from there?

What is it about giant robots that makes them so fun to draw?

Giant robots are my jam! What’s not to love about them? You can draw them in all sorts of crazy shapes and proportions without it looking unusual. Figuring out the function of a robot will always inform a lot of the decision making. Finding a balance between armored areas and the frame can be a fun design challenge: It’s cool to show all the inner workings, but if too much is showing the mech will be vulnerable!

What kind of project would you love to work on but haven’t had the chance yet?

One day I’d like to work on an animated feature, or some kind of sci-fi flick as a visual development artist or concept artist. Being part of building a universe sounds like so much fun. Another thing I’d like to do is create my own action figure or vinyl toy. I need more time in the day to work on all these passion projects!

jykallday.com

@jyk_allday

The post 8 Questions for Chula Vista Comic Artist Jin Yung Kim appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

The Crew of the Little One—Rear: Charles Cartmille, ball turret gunner; Merle Weik, top turret gunner; John Lewis, tail turret gunner; Guy Howard, radio operator; Robert Marcum, nose turret gunner; Bob Garin, flight engineer. Front: Lt. Joseph Lidiak, navigator; Lt. John Rucigay, copilot, 1 Lt. Tom MacDonald, pilot; 2 Lt. Robert Denison, bombardier.

Robert Denison was serving as the bombardier aboard a B-24 when he was forced to bail out, separated from his crew, and survived for 40 days in Nazi-occupied Yugoslavia. In commemoration of Veterans Day, our copy chief put together this story, of his grandfather’s last mission in World War II. What follows is a composite, assembled from spoken and written accounts he gave over the years.

Between May and July of 1944, I flew 17 missions over Europe in the B-24 Liberator Little One. Most of the 10 men in our crew were fresh out of high school. I was just 19 years old, and the pilot was the “old man”—at 23.

Our plane was built right here in San Diego. As part of the 15th Air Force, we were sent to Pantanella Airfield in Southern Italy, to replace a crew who had just been lost. Over the previous year, the 15th alone had lost 186 planes.

We flew missions to Northern Italy, Bulgaria, Romania, Slovakia, and occupied France without major incident. Then on July 19, we embarked on our final mission—the one where we flew out and walked back.

When the curtains went up in the briefing room, they revealed our target: the BMW Aircraft Engine Factory in Allach, Munich—the third-most-defended city in the Reich, and we all knew what that meant. It was our first mission over Germany, and the chaplain announced that any Jewish soldiers among us could ask to be excused from it without fault.

Last Flight of the Little One

The entire 15th Air Force took part in the raid—nearly 3,000 planes in formation at once. We took off like an assembly line, in 20-second intervals.

It was very cold in the plane. I had to wear two sets of work clothes, my flight suit, my winter flying jacket, and even a second pair of fleece-lined boots over my GI boots. You could rest your beers on the bomb bay doors and they’d stay ice cold.

Things started going wrong before we were halfway to the target. First our new navigation unit caught fire; then Engine 1 quit on us. With just three engines, we had to drop out of formation and fell to a lower altitude.

“I painted our plane’s nose art myself, out on the tarmac in the rain. ‘Little One’ was the pilot’s nickname for his wife.”

The sky over Munich filled with bursts of antiaircraft fire; it got so close I could hear the shrapnel tinkling on the hull. Since we’d broken formation, we had to pick out a different “target of opportunity” to hit; then we banked to head for home. Only then did someone notice the holes shot through the wings. It was shortly after noon.

When Engine 2 went out as well, all the aircraft’s power was coming from one side, creating a constant midair skid. The flak also shorted out our electrical system, which meant no power for the turrets, the radio, most of the instrumentation—or even the flight controls. Now the only force keeping the plane level was the pilots’ own physical strength, same as losing power steering in a car. They stood up and put all their weight on the rudder pedals to keep us from entering an uncontrollable tailspin. I relieved the engineer on the waist guns so he could go up and help the pilots. Unfortunately, this meant I could no longer keep track of our position.

We flew south for another hour until we passed over a well-defended city and the sky filled with flak again. Then, who should appear but two red-tailed P-51 Mustangs—those brave Black pilots of the Tuskeegee Airmen.

They could see we were in trouble. One flew closer to the city to draw the enemy fire, and the other came up alongside and escorted us awhile. We communicated with him out the window by sign language, since our radio was out. He smiled, and wiggled his wings. Eventually he had to return to his own mission.

Soon after that, Engine 3 failed. After three hours of fighting to stay airborne, we were down to 11,000 feet and falling. There was no way to make it home with a single engine.

The pilot gave the order to bail out.

The Little One releases its payload while flying with other B-24s of the 464th Bomb Group, 15th Air Force.

Abandon Ship

I relayed the order to the four airmen in the waist gun section. They all just stared at me and shook their heads. “No sir,” they said. “After you.”

No time to argue. I opened the rear hatch and told the men to head southeast once they hit the ground, so they’d reach the Allied front line. We were turning back over land from the ocean, and I assumed we’d made it to the main “boot” of Italy, south of Venice. I was wrong.

I was first to tumble out. I caught a glimpse of everyone else opening their parachutes right away, high above me, but I knew what easy targets that would make us to ground fire, so I waited to pull my ripcord until I was just 300 feet up. We were trained to roll as we landed, to distribute the impact evenly—but in the confusion of the moment I tucked my knees and smacked hard heels-first, spraining my ankles.

This photo shows Denison’s actual plane.

I was in a cornfield, and a three-gun antiaircraft battery was close enough that I could hear the soldiers’ voices. They also had two German shepherds—who were both looking right at me and barking.

I lay on my back, my ankles throbbing in pain, trying to gather my thoughts and expecting to be taken prisoner at any moment. I rolled up my parachute and took off my jacket, which was covered with identifying insignia. Now I saw that the dogs were wagging their tails. To my astonishment, no one came.

So finally I crawled away into a dry irrigation ditch at the edge of the field, where I hid my jacket and parachute. A little more safely out of sight, I decided to rest and give my ankles some time to recover. I kept looking around for my crew but never saw them. Having opened their chutes much earlier, they could have drifted miles away before landing.

Before I knew it I’d fallen asleep. I was awakened in the middle of the night when the gun battery opened fire—the sound shook me to pieces. British bombers were flying overhead, heading southwest.

Veterans Day / Little One’s Flight Path Map

Finding Food, Water, and a Boat

The next morning I ate some raw corn and took inventory of my escape kit: bouillon cubes, matches, needle and thread, a compass, waterproof silk maps of Europe, and 42 US dollars. Too late I realized I’d left my .45 pistol behind in the bombardier’s position when I went to relieve the engineer. My only personal item was the wristwatch my parents had given me at my high school graduation two year ago.

As soon as I could bear putting weight on my ankles, I set out, slowly and limping. The countryside looked just like California. I knew the Allies were gaining ground every day, so we were bound to run into them if we just kept heading southeast.

I picked up more corn and some tomatoes to eat as I passed through the fields. To my surprise, by late afternoon I reached the ocean. I’d had no water all day and was feeling awful, so I drank some seawater. Of course, following the coastline south, the next thing I came upon was a rock quarry where fresh water had collected in the bottom levels. I drank up all I could.

It was dark by the time I came to a small cove with an unattended boat. I swam out, untied it, and quietly rowed to sea. I was already exhausted, but I knew night would be the safest time to travel, so I followed the shore for hours and hours.

Based on how long we’d been flying since Munich, I expected to be just northwest of San Marino—but the coast was turning southwest, which didn’t resemble anything in that part of the map. So where was I?

The moon was just a tiny sliver. In the darkness, the water at the stern glowed softly green—phosphorescent algae, churned up by the oars. By the time dawn approached, I couldn’t row any longer. I returned to shore, found the nearest shelter from the wind, and fell right to sleep.

Saved by a Song

I walked along the coast for days, eating what I could from the fields I passed through. Eventually it became clear that I wasn’t going to just stumble upon friendly troops—I’d have to risk turning west, toward the village centers, and asking someone for help.

On the sixth day after bailing out, I spotted a well behind a farmhouse. I was so excited by the thought of fresh water I went straight for it—and didn’t notice the farmer and his dog coming out to meet me there.

We got to the well at the same time. His wife and daughter were standing in the doorway, watching us. I gestured asking for water, and the farmer asked, “Parla italiano?”

I shook my head no.

Then he said, “Sprechen Sie Deutsch?”

I knew I had to fake it somehow. The puppy was tugging on my pant leg, so I knelt down, started playing with him, and sang the only thing I could remember from the German class I’d taken in junior college: “Die Lorelei,” a poem that, incidentally, is about a siren leading a pilot to shipwreck.

When I looked up, the farmer was smiling. He probably thought I was some harmless nut. The family brought out some bread, and when they drew up the bucket from the well, it was full of beer!

A half mile down the road I stopped and turned back. They were all still watching me. They waved, and I waved. I spent that night in a haystack.

Clockwise from top left: Notes Denison took while in Pula; women of the Yugoslavian Partisans; the Istrian countryside; an Italian cruiser docked in Pula Harbor; a clipping from Denison’s hometown newspaper; Pula Amphitheatre. Center: A letter Denison’s father received while he was missing.

The City and the Colosseum

I set off at sunrise the next day. It was now July 24, and right away I saw a church steeple in the distance. I’d arrived at a major city. The street signs were in Italian, which clued me in a little—but the Italian Empire had also extended deep into Yugoslavia for years. I needed more concrete information.

Wearing a nondescript gray sweatshirt and khaki pants, I must have blended in somewhat with the Italian workforce—lucky for me, since there were so many German soldiers on the sidewalks, I had to walk in the middle of the street.

I went toward the center of town. It had seen a lot of damage, and recently. Radar installations and fuel depots lay in ruins; the aftermath of those British bombers that had awakened me the first night.

I came to the city seaport, where about a dozen torpedo boats were docked one right after the other, flying swastika flags. Painted on the conning tower of each one were red silhouettes of American ships—their kills.

My spirits fell. That really got to me. Those were my people.

I left the seaport in a daze, and there looming overhead, I could’ve sworn, was the Roman Colosseum. I thought, There’s no way I’m in Rome—am I?

I sat on a park bench and watched the German troops marching past those ancient arches. They were all such young men, and for over an hour there was no end to them. Yet performances were still happening in that amphitheater; posters all around it advertised the evening opera.

Finally I shook myself back to my senses. I had to get out of here.

The Wrong Country

On my way out of the city, I saw a girl about my age lean her bicycle against her house as she went in. It was a quieter neighborhood, and I thought, A bicycle would be much faster, and easier on my ankles.

I looked around, saw no one else, and right as I was reaching for the bike, the girl came back outside. My hands were already outstretched, so I had to do something—I mimed asking for food and water.

She gave me a suspicious look, but after a minute she nodded and opened the door. Two other women were inside—her mother and grandmother, I assumed—speaking Italian and preparing lunch. They invited me to join them.

Then the mother asked me, “Chi sei, ragazzo?”

I must’ve felt safer there because they were women. So I answered in English, “I’m an American flyer.”

The mother’s face turned white. She quickly stood up and closed the front door. Hanging on the inside of the door was a fascist uniform.

I was the enemy. But I was also their guest. I could barely breathe; I had no idea what was coming next.

Then the girl asked me in English, “How long until the war is over?”

I said, “I don’t know. ’46, maybe.”

Her family waited for her to translate, and when she did, none of them were happy about it.

“Please, can you help me?” I asked. “I don’t know where I am.”

The girl got up and came back with an atlas. She pointed to Pula, the largest city on the Istrian Peninsula.

I was shocked. The entire Adriatic Sea lay between me and friendly territory. But then I remembered our briefings on the political situation there. Istria was close to the borders of Croatia and Slovenia. All of this land was still occupied by the Germans, but it had just been reclaimed as united Yugoslavia the previous November by the Communist National Liberation Army, better known as the Partisans. If we landed anywhere in Yugoslavia, we were supposed to seek them out for help.

I asked the girl how I could contact the Partisans. She glanced at her family, then traced a line northeast out of the city. “Follow this road and they will find you.”

Then she closed the atlas and said, “My father will be home soon.”

Veterans Day / Bob’s Hike Map

Nowhere Left to Run

The only way out of Pula was through a gated checkpoint. By the time I saw the German guards, the pedestrian crowd had drawn down to single file, and turning back would only look more suspicious.

My turn. A Wehrmacht officer pointed his finger at me and I stopped. We sized each other up at the same time. I glanced over his immaculate green uniform, his jackboots, jodhpurs, his black-visor cap with the Nazi eagle dead center. He seemed disgusted by my seven-day unwashed clothes—and he squinted at my boots.

Then it hit me. Even the dirt couldn’t hide that my boots were brand-new leather. And the dead giveaway: stamped in large font right across the soles were the initials “U.S.”

The moment stretched on forever. But then he waved me through.

My knees went weak and as soon as I was out of sight I sat down at the side of the road. I didn’t know how I was still alive and walking free.

I followed the road northeast like the girl had told me, and made much faster progress than in the fields. Toward evening I came across a woman chopping wood near a small group of cabins. I greeted her with gestures as I had the others, but she backed away, gripping the ax tighter.

Without thinking, I said, “It’s okay! Me Americano!”

She nodded as if to say, So what? And when I kept advancing, she turned and ran.

The path led up a steep hill and I started up it as quickly as I could. Someone shouted—a crowd of people had come out of the cabins, and three armed soldiers were coming up the road toward me.

I started running, and they started running. If I could just make it over the top of the hill first, they would lose sight of me and I could hide. But I was exhausted, hungry, my ankles in agony; before I knew it they’d all caught up.

There was no way out.

I turned to face the soldiers. One approached me and said, “Tu americano?”

I nodded.

Then he grabbed my shoulders—and kissed both my cheeks. The other two did the same.

At the bottom of the hill, everyone who’d been watching the chase started cheering.

The Partisans had found me.

The Partisans on a long march through the mountains.

Reunited

When I told my story to the person back at the cabins who spoke the most English, he said his comrades had picked up some Americans a few days ago and taken them north, to one of their secret headquarters in the mountains. He offered to take me there.

We set out at dusk and hiked all night long, until finally we arrived at a farmhouse just before dawn. The inside was filled with people hard at work on typewriters, decoding messages by lamplight. My guide checked in with them, and then showed me out back to a tall barn.

Sleeping in the hayloft, above the cows, were all nine of my crewmates safe and sound.

It was a joyous reunion. I couldn’t believe their story, and they couldn’t believe mine. A Partisan happened to be in the field where the copilot and top turret gunner landed, so they were rescued immediately. Six more joined them at their camp by evening, so except for the pilot, who caught up to them the next day, everyone except me had been reunited within four hours of bailing out!

That first night, while I’d been hiding in a ditch next to a German cannon, my crew was drinking wine, eating lettuce and black bread with strawberry jam, and dancing with the locals in Krnica, the very first village I would pass the next morning.

My spirits were soaring at seeing their faces again after an entire week alone. But our journey home was just beginning. The Partisans were taking us north, on a sort of “underground railroad” to the closest friendly airstrip—350 miles across the southeastern Alps, in Slovenia.

Copilot John Rucigay reunites with one of their rescuers, Marija Benčina, in 1971.

The Long Road to Nadlesk

We had one day to rest. The next evening, the Partisans served beef stew with plum brandy and Charms lollipops. Turns out, they’d tracked down the Little One’s crash site and scavenged everything they could from the wreckage—they were serving us dessert from the survival kits of our own airplane.

From then on it was 11 miles a day at least; the ten of us, plus half as many Partisans who joined or left at certain points to pursue their own missions. Usually that number included a couple civilian women, who carried big flasks of milk from village to village.

We marched, single file, over the mountains every night for almost three weeks, sleeping by day, until we finally entered Slovenia, which was still mostly under German control.

We arrived in a lush valley that the Partisans had recently liberated; they’d driven the Germans back to the head of the valley, just a few miles north. A makeshift landing strip there proved a crucial staging point, and the Partisans suffered heavy losses to maintain control of it.

In the tiny village of Nadlesk, a woman named Marija Benčina let us stay in the hayloft of her barn. Her husband had joined a Slovene anti-communist force, and giving us shelter was her way of subverting his cause. She had two little children, and before we left we gave her all the money we had to support their education.

Other downed Allied troops came into the valley every day, until about 500 of us were all waiting for a spot on the next plane out. A cargo resupply plane came and went on August 19, and another one week later; but so many wounded deserved first priority, we had to wait our turn.

Finally, on August 27, all ten crewmembers of the Little One boarded a British C-47 en route to Southern Italy. We were infested with lice and underweight—I’d lost over 35 pounds—but for the first time in 40 days, we felt safe. Our adventure had come to an end.

John Rucigay, our copilot, was a second-generation Slovene immigrant, so he’d been able to communicate with our rescuers somewhat. He ended up returning decades later to find the village where his parents grew up, and reconnect with the people who saved our lives. Marija Benčina was still living there at her farm. Her children were both well, but her husband never returned from the war.

A Chance Meeting in Yokohama

The story of my service in Europe is filled with unbelievable coincidences, but the greatest of them came years later.

In 1965 I was on R&R in Yokohama, Japan, during the Vietnam War. On our air base there, I met a woman employed in the US Civil Service and invited her to dinner.

I asked her about her German accent. She was about my age, and though she was now an American citizen, she had lived in Munich during the war.

“I bombed Munich during the war,” I admitted.

She didn’t seem surprised. “And I was defending Munich during the war.”

She explained that she’d been a marksman in the German Army; she and two other women were stationed on an anti-aircraft battery. A strange idea popped into my head. “Were you on the guns on July 19, 1944?”

She gave me a funny look. “Yes I was. I remember because we got credit for a possible kill that day.”

“I’ll be god damned.” I burst out laughing. “I think you might’ve shot me down.”

She took another drink. “I bet I did.”

“Aren’t you sorry?” I asked.

“Are you sorry for dropping bombs on my city?”

Well, neither of us would apologize. We were both doing our duty to our country. And now here the two of us were, 21 years later, laughing over drinks and having a great time.

From left: Denison in the 2007 San Diego Veterans Day Parade, and Denison at bombardier school in 1943.

The Distinguished Flying Cross

For our final mission, everyone on my crew was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross—even though we missed our target, destroyed our plane, and had to be rescued by the Partisans. I have always found that ironic. In fact, practically everyone who came to our aid were either Communist soldiers or women (sometimes both) or Black men. Those women helped us at great risk to themselves, because the men in their family had joined the other side.

I think about my experience every single day of the year. The problems we had were amazing, and I can’t help but wonder how we did it. We were all just a bunch of kids. They said go, and we went.

Bob Denison retired from the Air Force in 1970 as a lieutenant colonel and lived in San Diego for the rest of his life. When he passed away in 2017, he was the last surviving crewmember of the Little One.

The post “We Flew Out and Walked Back” appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

Wednesday night, March 4, the staff of San Diego Magazine sent our April issue to press. Earlier that day, California’s governor had declared a state of emergency, and while reviewing page proofs I was texting my mother to make sure she had enough groceries for a two-week quarantine.

Planning for the next issue, I leapt at the chance to interview Hershey Felder, who would be at the San Diego Repertory Theatre in May. Every day, more staff members started working from home. My last day in the office was March 17, and early the next morning I called Mr. Felder in Paris from my kitchen table, where—I remembered too late—I’m lucky to get a single reception bar. Our connection was so bad he could barely hear me, and I had to restart my first question three times before dragging my chair, phone, and computer out into the rain.

Outside, a second bar meant he could now hear my questions, but in the rain and wind neither I, nor my voice memo app, could pick up more than an occasional suggestion of his answers. Later, transcribing our conversation felt like searching for alien signals in a sea of cosmic white noise.

Anyway, it all became moot one week later, when our May issue was canceled.

Hershey Felder is inexhaustible, his memory a seemingly infinite library. While most concert pianists are content to simply play the masterworks of classical music for you (the lazy slobs!), Felder creates one-man biographical stage plays where he captures each composer’s life story, setting their music in the context of its time and creation.

A Paris Love Story, about Claude Debussy, is his eighth such work, and he’s been performing all of them, in rotation, thousands of times, 10 months a year, for decades. He’s already finished his ninth, about Sergei Rachmaninoff.

The Rep’s production was postponed till November, and as of press time, my guess is that it will most likely be streamed live from the City of Lights. Because of course Felder didn’t take the summer off just because every theater on earth was closed—instead he created his own arts broadcasting company, Live from Florence, and streamed three of his other plays: on Irving Berlin in May, on Beethoven in July, and on Gershwin in September. A portion of the proceeds from each went to support the Rep and a dozen other theaters where he frequently performs.

The streaming format suits him just fine; his welcoming manner is more suited to the intimate theater than the concert hall, anyway: Eager to tell the story behind the music, he draws you in, as if sharing a secret, and teases out expressions you’ve never heard before in even the most popular tunes.

At the end of his live broadcast of George Gershwin Alone, once he’d finished “Rhapsody in Blue” and you were positive you couldn’t be any more impressed, he took viewer questions by email. When one surprisingly entitled fan complained that their favorite Gershwin concerto wasn’t part of the program, Felder asked the stage manager for his iPad, downloaded the sheet music, and sight-read it on the spot.

My 2019 New Year’s resolution was to secretly begin practicing piano for the first time since childhood. My plan was to surprise my dad by playing his favorite song, Debussy’s “Clair de Lune,” for him on his birthday. On the page, some sections looked impossible. But I learned that if I just practiced one measure at a time—even just a couple notes at a time—eventually it would click. Suddenly I’d feel the pattern, and I smiled to myself, because it felt like Debussy had reached through time to let me in on his secret.

Then on the morning of my dad’s birthday, he died.

So it goes. Debussy himself died at age 55, while the First World War raged around him. Gershwin died at 38, in the depths of the Great Depression.

Don’t withhold your gifts. Give them freely as soon as you can. Be they material, a talent, or simply a kind word. If there’s anything you’ve been meaning to do, know there will never be a perfect time, and that everything can change in a day. You can’t wait for inspiration to strike. Just get up and start doing the work.

Hershey Felder’s A Paris Love Story is scheduled to play in November streamed live from Florence. Check sdrep.org and hersheyfelder.net for the most up-to-date info on how to see it.

Hershey Felder Claude Debussy

Photo courtesy of Hershey Felder Presents

The post World-Renowned Pianist Hershey Felder Brings Claude Debussy to San Diego appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

Just as the first dinosaurs were evolving in the Triassic period, the world’s one supercontinent started breaking up, and future North America drifted west. The oldest rock in this area is from the Jurassic: seabed with tiny ammonite fossils formed the Cuyamaca Mountains.

What created those mountains? The brand-new coastline that collided with the continent in the middle Cretaceous period. Southern California and Western Mexico began as a fresh volcanic arc offshore, a pushy neighbor from the next tectonic plate over.

The world’s last dinosaurs enjoyed this new coast for a good 40 million years. The pompadour-crested herbivore Lambeosaurus lived here, as did a smaller tyrannosaur, the nine-meter Albertosaurus. One species, the stout, armored Aletopelta coombsi, is found only here—nicknamed the Carlsbad Ankylosaurus after where it was discovered.

The Cretaceous gave way to the Paleogene, the dinosaurs to mammals and birds. For 64 million years, woolly rhinos, giant armadillos, titanic bears, and over a dozen species of ancestral horse roamed this land. In the next period, the Neogene, a new peninsula ripped away from the West Coast to become Baja California.

Soon enough, one species of intelligent hominid eclipsed its great ape cousins in the Quaternary period and spread to every continent. The oldest evidence of human presence in North America was found in San Diego: the “Cerutti Mastodon”, whose bones were unmistakably processed by hand tools. And in the blink of an eye—just 10,000 years, or less than one percent of one percent of the time dinosaurs lived—humans went from isolated hunter-gatherers to a global technological society.

Then, just as fast as they appeared, they vanished. 250 million years later, there’s little sign they were ever here. Most everything they left behind has eroded, drowned, or ground to dust beneath the returning glaciers; their entire history a millimeter of iron-rich soil, sprinkled with radio­active isotopes, midway down a canyon wall.

Miraculously, we’ve found a few exceptions here: fragments of bronze deep underground that, holoforensics shows, were once statues. This durable metal provides our only tangible image of the humans who lived in San Diego.

Where a library once stood, an author reclines beside one of his characters: “Dr. Seuss and The Cat in the Hat.” Amid a concentration of plant species not native to the continent stands “Kate Sessions, Scientist, Horticulturist, Nurserywoman, ‘Mother of Balboa Park.’” And in the ancient urban center, an athlete named Tony Gwynn is inscribed, “If you work hard good things will happen.”

On a geological timescale, border lines and coastlines are equally fleeting. The ocean this city looked upon closed up as the continents joined together again. The land that held the city of Shanghai, once separated from San Diego by 10,000 kilometers of ocean, is now just beyond that mountain ridge. Likewise, an international boundary once ran to the south, but no evidence of it remains. In its place, a vision of unbroken green stretches far away.

An artist’s rendition of the monument Chicano Park, as it might have stood during the Age of Humans.

Illustration by Verónica Gretch

The post What Ancient Creatures Used to Live in San Diego? appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

Portaleza, from La Jolla Playhouse’s Without Walls Festival

Available to experience now through October 4; tickets must be bought before September 26

by David Israel Reynoso / Optika Moderna

This one trades off narrative for an experimental, tactile experience. A mysterious laboratory has unlocked a gateway for sending a message to the great beyond. Who will you make contact with, and what psychedelic dimensions will your message travel through to reach them? The enjoyment of this piece is all about the uncanny eerieness and thrill of broaching the unknown, so without spoiling any of its surprises, I can say that it involves multiple media and viewer participation—starting with an actual letter mailed to your house with specific instructions about how and when to open it. If you go into it with an open mind and an active imagination, you’re in for a touching, unforgettable experience, which changes depending on how you interact with it—with 416 possible permutations, no two viewers are likely to experience the exact same outcome.

Necessary Sacrifices, from North Coast Repertory Theatre

Available to stream anytime, now through October 11

By Richard Hellesen, directed by Peter Ellenstein

Ray Chambers and Hawthorne James in Necessary Sacrifices by North Coast Rep

Aaron Rumley

Following the success of Human Error, their creative Zoom-format show, North Coast Repertory Theatre negotiated a new-media contract with SAG to bring their season 39 opener, Necessary Sacrifices, back to their Solana Beach stage. This West Coast premiere, first commissioned in 2012 for Ford’s Theatre in Washington DC, imagines in fascinating detail the conversations between Abraham Lincoln (Ray Chambers) and Frederick Douglass (Hawthorne James) during their two documented meetings, in August 1863 and August 1864.

Historically, neither man documented what transpired during those meetings in detail, but the issues that the characters raise in the play, and the stances they argue from, are realistically extrapolated from their other writing. Douglass comes to the commander-in-chief, in part, to demand full equality for freed Black men in the Union army, including equal pay and the ability to become commissioned officers. Lincoln, however, believes he musn’t force these radical-for-the-time changes, lest he lose the support of the white men he needs to win the war.

It’s extremely easy to find contemporary parallels to this struggle, between the ideals of the “outsider” vs. the compromises of the “insider” when it comes to social change. And it’s sobering to see that all the core questions Lincoln and Douglass come back to, wrestling over the place that Black people will have in American society, remain in bitter contention today. Director Peter Ellenstein puts it well: “Those who see injustice and those who feel injustice often have a very different sense of urgency.” Still, it’s inspiring to see these leaders exercise their capacity to listen to each other, consider the other’s perspective, and, even slowly, adapt their policies in time.

Chambers and James both mount strong, fascinating performances in this recording, which has all the production value of a traditional play, plus the benefit of professional film editing. Once you buy your ticket and open the link, you have 48 hours to watch.

The Niceties, from Moxie Theatre

September 17 through October 4 via Zoom

Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays at 7 p.m.; Sundays at 2 p.m.

By Eleanor Burgess, directed by Delicia Turner-Sonnenberg

Moxie has a reputation for putting out stellar work by women and nonbinary artists, and I can’t wait to see their new season opener, The Niceties, the first full production they’ve done since the pandemic began—especially because Delicia Turner-Sonnenberg, one of the theater’s founding members and director of some of the best San Diego plays of the past few years, is at the helm.

Zoe (Deja Fields) is a young, brilliant Black college junior and Janine (Mouchette van Helsdingen), her equally brilliant white professor. Zoe’s writing a paper on the American Revolution, and when she meets with Janine to discuss its implications, both women quickly find themselves in dangerous territory. Playwright Eleanor Burgess says, “I write to understand things, I write about things that confuse me, I write about things that trouble me, topics where I really thought I knew what I believed and then someone said something that shook me down to my core and all of sudden I realize that maybe I don’t know what I believe.”

The play was recorded on the Moxie stage, but is still streaming at set performance times because it has a live component—plus, there’s pre- and post-show live content, including a meet-and-greet with the artists and a clip from a film the Moxie crew made documenting the novel process of doing theater during the pandemic.

A Weekend with Pablo Picasso, from San Diego Repertory Theatre

Available to stream any time September 17 through October 14

Written and performed by Herbert Siguenza

Directed by Tim Powell and Todd Salovey

A behind-the-scenes look at A Weekend with Pablo Picasso by San Diego Rep

This play by and starring Herbert Siguenza, San Diego Rep’s very funny playwright-in-residence, casts him as the one artist everyone on earth knows by name. Previously staged to rave reviews in San Diego, Los Angeles, and the Bay Area (the San Diego Gay & Lesbian News called it “utterly engaging”), it returns for an encore recording that anyone can enjoy at home. The one-man play invites you into Picasso’s private studio on the southern coast of France in 1957, where he’ll draw and paint in real time, sculpt, dance, joke, confide, and philosophize. Once you buy your ticket, you can stream the performance at any time.

LaMia Dingle in Portaleza by La Jolla Playhouse

The post Quarantine Theater: Four Shows to Enjoy in September appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

The play’s licensor, Dramatist’s Play Service, gave them permission to film a performance for limited-time access. Executive director Jessica John and artistic director Francis Gerke (also two of the play’s actors, along with Tom Zohar) worked with local videographer Stand Up 8 Productions to modify their Tenth Avenue Arts Center set so each of them could maintain proper social distance.

Rehearsing over Zoom was a new challenge, since The Dazzle’s dialogue is fast paced and frequently overlaps. So they secured a warehouse space for three days where, from opposite ends of the room, they could freely talk over one another and work out the physical blocking.

Equipment setup had to be done in shifts. Project manager Anna Younce recalls, “The film crew was there for spacing, but the designers weren’t. Then the designers were there for tech, but the film crew wasn’t. The first time everybody saw it come together was on day one of filming.”

Each actor having a buffer zone worked out, since The Dazzle “literally is a play about isolation,” John says, “about people who can’t connect, who are separated within the same house.” For actions that required them to touch, a narrator character (producing director Anthony Methvin) announced stage directions from the empty seats. Despite these unique obstacles, The Dazzle received so much interest on its sole weekend run that it was granted an extension for a second. The final product was cut together with an editor’s attention to timing and point of view, while retaining its theatricality. Younce says this point was crucial to director Rosina Reynolds: “She was like, ‘I don’t want it to feel like a film. Even though we don’t have an audience, we still need to respect the form.’

She really wanted to see everything empty, that everyone’s got their own space on stage—and that this room is feeling the same thing the world is feeling right now.”

Max Macke, Jacque Wilke, Terrell Donnell Sledge, and Allison Spratt Pearce in Human Error by North Coast Rep.

Aaron Rumley

At the same time up in Solana Beach, North Coast Repertory Theatre was facing a similar dilemma with the Eric Pfeffinger comedy Human Error, when the lockdown stranded one of the five actors, Terrell Donnell Sledge, in Alabama. “I auditioned and submitted a tape,” he says, “but then didn’t get to meet anyone in person at all.”

The company decided to record the play in Zoom. Luckily, stage manager Aaron Rumley had video editing experience. “The trick was to make it visually interesting,” he says; “more fun than a standard Brady Bunch box.”

So instead of squares, director Jane Page had the idea to vignette the actors against a scenic backdrop. “I had these very vivid dreams about slating locations with postcards,” she says, “contextualizing like a matte on framed artwork.”

North Coast had two weeks each to rehearse, shoot, and edit. One difficult aspect was maintaining eye lines.

“We have to know exactly how the actors are going to be framed in post-production to figure out which way they look,” Page says. Some moments called for looking “at” one another; other times they could simply face their camera, and it was clear through context whom they were speaking to.

The dedication everyone put into the project paid off. As a viewer, you stopped noticing the newness of the format after a while because you were invested in the characters and their story—just like with any good play.

Marci Anne Wuebben, Jason Heil, Antonio TJ Johnson, Salomon Maya, Mondis Vakili, and Sandra Ruiz in Beachtown Live by San Diego Rep.

Courtesy of San Diego Repertory Theatre

San Diego Repertory Theatre put its own spin on the medium with a reprise of Herbert Siguenza’s audience-participation show as Beachtown Live. For nine weekly sessions, the fictional SoCal city’s leaders convened to discuss real-world events, first in a comedic scripted opening, then an improv section when viewers (aka “fellow Beachtonians”) could speak their mind.

Actor Sandra Ruiz says it was one of the scariest things she’s ever done. “The first time we did the breakout rooms, all I could see was someone eating. They don’t want to talk right now!” But she’s glad she stepped out of her comfort zone. “When you talk to the audience afterward, everybody’s really grateful, because they miss theater too.”

When asked if they see potential in further online theater projects, the professional opinions are mixed. Younce hopes people see the medium more as a challenge than a restriction: “There may not be as many ways to make existing theater work in this way, but then that’s an invitation to create new things.”Sledge enjoyed the experience. “It’s still performance. There are a lot of ways to do it. You can trust that if you are in the experience of telling the story, you will also discover the best ways to tell it.”

But for Ruiz, there’s ultimately no replacing the real deal: “It has been a great experience, but I honestly can’t wait to go back to doing live theater.”

What everyone seems to share is a sense of yearning for the aspects of their craft that are lost in translation. “It’s so magical to be in an audience on that day when something unbelievable happens,” Reynolds says. “Actors know if they go looking for that the next day they won’t find it. If you’re lucky enough to be there, you’ll remember it forever.”Likewise, Gerke identifies the live group setting as essential. “In an audience, we recognize implicitly that everything we’re about to see is fake. And somehow, we get to the end and all believe what’s happening. It’s one of the few endeavors where we experience whatever the hell faith is. When you’re all hooked into watching the same thing—I don’t think anyone can recapture that.” He pauses a moment, sighs, and adds, “Yeah. Let’s get a vaccine.”

Tom Zohar in The Dazzle by Backyard Renaissance.

Anna Younce

The post What San Diego Theater Looks Like in the Age of Social Distancing appeared first on San Diego Magazine.

Backyard Renaissance Theatre Company

The Dazzle and Tarrytown

Available to stream any time June 26–28 (this Friday through Sunday) | Tickets $20 per householdThe Dazzle is a quixotic, “almost true” story of two brothers (Francis Gercke and Tom Zohar) living in 1920s Harlem whose lives are suddenly turned upside down by an eccentric socialite (Jessica John). It was part of Backyard Renaissance’s regular season schedule, and the cast, crew, and director Rosina Reynolds soldiered on with it despite the lockdown, conducting production meetings and rehearsals over Zoom, and set design in solo shifts. They used a multi-camera setup to film a socially distanced performance reading, then edited it together into a cohesive production available to stream this weekend only.Plus, make it a double feature with a filmed production of their 2017 San Diego Critics Circle Best New Musical winner, Tarrytown. This modern interpretation of the Legend of Sleepy Hollow stars Bryan Banville, Kay Marian McNellen, and Tom Zohar, directed by Francis Gercke and Anthony Methvin. Gerke says, “We had very limited seating, so very few people got to see it. But those who did come, ended up coming back multiple times. We’ve had a lot of people tell us that they wish they had been able to see it. We couldn’t think of a more perfect show to remind people what artists can do, in the midst of some pretty incredible challenges.”

Trinity Theatre Company

Blackademics

Streaming live on June 27 (this Saturday), 7 p.m. | Tickets free (donations welcome)Trinity artists are holding live play readings via Zoom every other Saturday, and this week it’s Blackademics by Idris Goodwin, directed by Kandace Crystal. It’s a satire about two friends meeting for dinner at a trendy new restaurant to commiserate on their experiences as black women in academia, all while their meal service becomes increasingly surreal. Starring Emily Candia, Jaeonnie Davis-Crawford, and Ashley Graham.

North Coast Repertory Theatre

Human Error

Available to stream anytime through June 29 (this Monday) | Tickets $10This West Coast premiere by Eric Pfeffinger was originally planned to be fully staged in the regular season; instead, North Coast Rep has undertaken their first digital production using advanced Zoom editing technology. It’s a comedy about a liberal couple and a conservative couple who have to strike an unlikely friendship after a medical mixup forces them together. Artistic director David Ellenstein says that “audiences will be experiencing a professionally produced piece, and not simply a staged reading.” Directed by Jane Page, starring Allison Spratt Pearce, Terrell Donnell Sledge, Max Macke, Jacque Wilke, and Martin Kildare.

San Diego Repertory Theatre

Beachtown Live

Streaming live every Wednesday through July 29 at 7 p.m. (next show July 1) | Tickets freeThe fictional Southern California community of Beachtown is facing a pandemic, and you, a resident, are invited to attend a live Zoom meeting of the city’s Road to the Future Task Force as they debate when and how to begin opening back up for business. The “meetings” are free to join, and participation is welcome (but not mandatory). This immersive, interactive, one-of-a-kind experience has been running for a few weeks now, and every week is different, so citizens are encouraged to attend more than once. The project is the brainchild of SD Rep’s very funny playwright-in-residence, Herbert Siguenza, who plays a senator. Sandra Ruiz, Salomon Maya, Mondis Vakili, and Marci Anne Wuebben also star, as various chairpeople, medical experts, and lobbyists who all have their own agendas at work.

La Jolla Playhouse

Digital Without Walls Festival

Some programs available now, with more to come in July and August | Tickets range from free to $25The playhouse’s annual celebration of nontraditional and site-specific performance art is a natural fit for going digital, and they’re rolling out groundbreaking new work to experience in a variety of ways all summer long.Closing July 12 is Binge, by far the most intimate of all the play-enjoying methods on this list: a one-on-one performance “tailor-made to fit the life of each individual audience member,” where your very own artist companion prescribes which television shows to watch. For something a little less personal, check out Ancient, a video installation meditating on the beauty of the routine. If you need to stretch your legs, take a walk around your neighborhood while listening to Blindspot Collective’s Walks of Life, each episode of which imagines what drama might be unfolding inside the houses you pass by. Or, if you can’t get enough Herbert Siguenza, join him, Richard Montoya, and Ricardo Salinas (aka the nation’s premier Latino performance trio) for The Totally Fake Latino News with Culture Clash, ten-minute snippets of social satire; the first of six episodes is available now.

Diversionary Theatre

The Boy Who Danced on Air

Available to stream any time July 6–19 | Tickets $15–35 per householdDiversionary was in the middle of rehearsals for their regular-season production of Plot Points in Our Sexual Development when California’s stay-at-home order hit back in March, but rather than call the whole thing off, they filmed their last rehearsal and released it for home viewing for a limited time. It went over so well that for two weeks in July, they’re bringing back an archived recording of their 2016 Craig Noel Award–winning, world premiere musical The Boy Who Danced on Air. It tells the story of two young men caught up in the illicit Afghan trade of Bacha Bazi, in which poor boys are purchased by wealthy older men and forced to dress as women and dance at parties. The Union-Tribune hailed it as “solid, subtle, sad, and often inspiring work that’s smartly staged by director Tony Speciale with a first-rate cast.” Tickets are available on a sliding scale, with discounts for families who’ve been financially affected by the pandemic.

Troy Iwata and Sittichai Chaiyahat in The Boy Who Danced on Air, streaming soon from Diversionary Theatre

Simpatika

The post 10 San Diego Theater Productions You Can Stream from Home appeared first on San Diego Magazine.