That's me taking a photo out of my hotel room window.
So, after a nine hour drive along the "one", AKA the PCH, AKA the Pacific Coast Highway, we are back in LA, in Jeff's darling wee house. Jeff is watching Saturday Night Live, which I usually find dire, but it is quite funny today. It is hard to escape TV in this US of A, you know. My mother is concerned.
"Considering I did my best to keep you away from the evils of TV as a little one," writes she, "and you don't have a set of your own, you seem to watch more TV than anyone I know!! Read a book or listen to a pod cast in your hotel room! Learn Swahili or something. Leeches indeed! Your brain will rot! "
Pod Cast! See, I am all futurey, but I haven't sussed out Pod Casts. I haven't sussed out the iPod Jeff gave me, to be honest. It still has his stuff on it. Which is mainly Journey and Peter Frampton and Wu-Tang, which is fine, actually. But anyway.
That's the view down from my hotel room, that is
Yeah, mam, it is true, the very little of this TV I am getting is far too much. Last night, prior to peeling the contacts from my bloodied eyeballs, I happened upon this thing, of which I have heard a very little, called Catching A Predator, in which a "news" programme called Dateline sets up dudes on the internet and shames them on national TV. Basically, these dudes sit at home, talking to what they think are teenagers on the internet, then they arrange to meet these teenagers, then they go to a house, wherein waits this Dateline dude, who grills them creepishly and confronts them with their predicament. They tend to make bizarre excuses for being there ("I was here to sell a house"), and for the viagra/cameras/magazines/outfits they are carrying (I was gon my way to a fancy dress party and thought I met get lucky"). Then they go outside, and the coppers arrest them. It is quite gross. Public hangings will be back soon, I suspect.
Still. That drive back was awesome. We saw the biggest waves ever, then we went through Big Sur, which is just like I imagined it, but bigger, and full of tiny black sparrows that walk right up to you and make a devilish noise. And an eagle! I also saw lots of really sick mountains, like the one below, but I only remembered Jeff's camera at the end, plus that photo totally refused to capture the big sick moun tains big sickness. Pretty sky though, hmm? Indeed.
Totally sick mountain.
So, World War III has been boiling away for a while now. But could a cartoon of the Prophet Mohhamed be the trigger that sets it all off officially? One hopes not, obviously, but one supposes it would be befitting of these retarded days in which we live. Incidentally, Merete Eldrup, Managing Director of JP/Politikens Hus A/S, the company that published those unfunny and entirely Skygoshdarned incendiary cartoons in Denmark, is married to Anders Eldrup. That there man is a big Bush Buddy, and attendee of the last five Bilderberger meetings. Not that means anything of course.