Jet Lagged

Hello from Pasadena, where the weather is perfect, kind of like in Defending Your Life -- 72 degrees, perfectly clear, all the time. At least the flights were smooth, unlike earlier this month.

The cabbie and I spent the entire ride discussing the housing crisis. He's a cabbie because he had to close his real estate business -- job loss, the housing crash, and the credit squeeze squeezed him just a little too hard.

Damn. Anyway, it was a lively discussion. I gave him a good tip.

Anyway, I got to my room, unpacked, and then walked for a bit to get the lay of Old Pasadena. I walked past the park, admired the view of old city hall, drank in the gorgeous jacarandas, and window shopped. I will have to go back to the Lush store at some point. I fell into a very nice joint called Russell's and had a delish BLT with avocado and a vanilla malt for lunch, then came back to my room and watched a silly movie about ballet students. Peter Gallagher was in it, so that made it palatable, but I didn't buy the plot for an instant.

It's been quite awhile since I was on the west coast. I had forgotten about jet lag and now I am tired to the bone. My knee has called quittin' time and refuses to work. My eyes are practically insisting on closing. My feet are telling me that if I don't cave to their demands, they are going on strike.

Whew.

I was going to see if I could scare up some dinner companions, but I'm so dang tired that I think I'll just take my book to the restaurant downstairs and have a steak.

And then to bed -- we start early tomorrow.