Live Long and Prosper

I'm here in San Diego, where we are temporarily staying at the Hard Rock Hotel. I love the whole concept of the Hard Rock: the art is great, the decor is wonderful. It has that mini-suite feature that I admire for business digs, wherein there is a physical separation between the bedroom and the front room, so if you do run across a long-lost half brother from near Baljennie, or if your convention is maxed out, it is still vaguely possible for 2-3 pepole to share a room. Very efficient.

The Hard Rock does not have what I consider the minimum requirements for a place to sleep: it doe not sport free wi-fi, so I don't know if I'd come here if I were on my own dime. It is obnoxious enough when they charge a girl for water. But when they charge me for an internet connection, I start to feel that civilization is crumbling around me, and I ought to watch Escape from New York for tips on how to handle the coming catastrophe.

Here is my other issue with the Hard Rock Hotel, and you are going to laugh: it's noisy. I mean, one can turn off the music in the rooms and so forth, but in the lobby, and in the restaurants and bars, there is all kinds of . . . well, . . . music playing.

Terrific photos from the rock 'n' roll greats. But, in the background, while one is tying to talk . . . all kinds of noise.

Which leads me to the conclusion that when I argue with my nieces and nephews about the music versus noise issue, and maintain that the stuff they listen to is noise, whereas my favorites constitute music, I'm skating on paper-thin ice, logically speaking.

Of course, most of what I'm worried about right now has to do with the fact that we don't have anything appropriate to wear here: I do not possess Vulcan ears, or a Klingon costume. I will be running around San Diego in shorts and a T-Shirt. This gives me pause, under the circumstances.

But, here I am. tomorrow will be consumed with an attempt to figure out and document what the worker bees are up to; over the weekend, we shall probably party a bit.

And, if we're smart, figure out how to make a bit of money.

After all, next time I stay in the Gas Lamp District of San Diego, I'd like it to be on my own dime. Just to say I did it once.

The murder mystery-graphic novel/cartoon contest continues in my household. If I'm the next person around my condo to get a film option, that's really good: after all, it means I won. Winning is excellent, because it can be exchanged for dinner out and sexual favors from my husband. This leads to happiness and shit like that.