Imaginary Conversations and Random Thoughts

I had to get this in under the wire, because there is an urgent warning I must bring to you. According to the stalls in the men's room at the Santa Monica Pier, Something big will be happening on April 20, 2006. Something big other than stoners getting high, I mean. The radicals are going to rise up, man. I didn't copy any of the messages, but one typical missive urged our corporate overlords to stop worrying about making money, and start showing some concern for lives being lost in Iraq. You know, sort of an informal, Luddite version of Daily Kos. But what was I even doing in Santa Monica, which must be 275 or 300 miles from Bunktown?

Miss Tori and I took a few days of vacation to visit Kid S, her little sister who attends a southern California college in a town whose name, when translated, means a whale's vagina. It's science.

We stopped at Santa Monica because Miss Tori's grandfather ran a hamburger stand down there once upon a time, which has since been turned into a bicycle rental stand. It's a sentimental place for her to visit. Plus they had all this cool equipment on the beach: parallel bars, climbing ropes, swinging rings, etc. Naturally, I had to stop and show what I could do. There may be a chance of some photos, but they're on her phone. Also on her phone is a pic of a boy teaching his sister the woman's proper place in the world (I learned of Miss Tori's disenchantment with that particular notion when she sent me the pic with "Degrading 2 Women" in the subject line. Little did she know that there was no way I'd delete anything with a subject like that!). At least, that's the way I interpreted the situation. Miss Tori is not likely to agree, but what can I tell you? I'm in love with a Democrat. Shes in love with a Republican (which means me, you wise guys!), and we're both good enough people that we're able to overlook each other's flaws.

In any event, we continued down south and finally made it to our hotel. An ok drive, somewhere between seven and ten hours. It was a Comfort Inn, and in at least one way, it was actually comfortable. I am a terrible complainer about things. I am an even worse complainer about hotel rooms. However, the one problem I have with practically every hotel I've ever stayed in is the shower. More specifically, I have a problem with the shower head. Ultimate specificity: they're always so low that unless you're one of the Munchkins, you've got to be a contortionist to use them. I'm no NBA player. I'm not freakishly tall, but the vast majority of hotel shower heads are way to low for me.

So give this particular Comfort Inn good marks for shower head placement. The air conditioning was adequate. The TV was adequate. The bed was inadequate. Please tell me, any of the six of you, is there a hotel anywhere that uses actual fitted sheets? When I see a bed on which the bottom sheet is simply laying loose on top of the mattress, all I can think is "Hella weak." I mean, really, what's up with that? Think about it for a moment. A fitted sheet conforms to the surface area, and the depth, of a mattress, and it holds on tight. A non-fitted sheet, if it is to perform similarly, needs much more material to tuck under the mattress on all sides. I don't know why hotels make that choice, but it is annoying. Almost as annoying as the whole shower head thing. What you end up with is a sheet that, if you're lucky, will cover the surface of the bed. The sides? Forget it. Hella weak. I will say that I liked the Do It Blanket. It had a nice color and pattern.

What's a Do It Blanket, you're wondering? Join the club. Kid S came by the hotel to greet us, and it was from her that I got the term. The Do It Blanket (or as I started calling it, the Do Me Blanket) is the bedspread on a hotel bed. It gets the name because apparently people like to have sex on top of the hotel bed and can't take the time to pull back the blankets and sheet and get into the bed. The problem is compounded because hotels rarely wash the bedspread. The end results is a 60 Minutes report, showing just how much human gunk gets left behind on top of the bed. Kid S makes it a practice to remove the Do It Blanket as soon as she gets into a room. Miss Tori and I had no comment.

I see now that Blogger is about to cut out on me, so more later, including the lousiest dinner I've ever had at a beautiful restaurant.