Friday, November 19, 2004
October 21, 2004: The Trip to Humboldt
Hey bunnies, Just wanted to report that I am here in the mysterious Redwood jungle, dining and sleeping in what is touted by AAA as a "four diamond" bed and breakfast which I engaged for the bargain price of $150 a night. Here's the thing: it is lovely, all hardwood Tudor and sobriety and terrace paths, but I'm in the "lounge" for "hors d'ouevres hour" which is actually brie en croute and some sliced fruit, thank you very much both of which I can prepare quite handily, drinking an $8 glass of wine and thinking, 'what the fuck?' the wine is lovely I'll grant you and yes, the "Spectator' picked this particular place as a "wine lover's paradise..." but sorry folks, what I see is a gravel driveway off the 101, which noise one can indeed hear from one's private "terrace;" there is absolutely no smoking no how no way anywhere ever, and I quote, literally you have to walk off the Benbow Inn's property to smoke or be subject potentially to a $125 "deep cleaning" fee, we're talking at the river's edge, on the golf course, in the swimming hole, it matters not; and the Eel River is so low that there are algae warnings out for pets and swimmers. Pluse spider webs cover everything, not that I'm particularly squeamish. So...would it be the rack of lamb or the tenderloin steak; or the probably-farmed salmon that I'm about to throw down $30 for, which makes this a "four diamond" hotel? All being so endemic to the area.
Have I also mentioned that although the Tudor is four storeys and outlying terraces and cottages etc etc, all albeit quite lovely esp. if one is wearing ankle-length linen and a large tea hat, and carrying a croquet mallet, there are neither elevators nor wheelchair access of any kind, to the Inn or the dining room--even though there is blue-stickered parking everywhere? So...a person would, what, have a kegger in the parking lot or a whatayacallit, tailgater party that thing you have out of the back of your pickup before the game, if one happened to be in a chair as is my gran et al., whilst the rest of your party ate rack of lamb and drank cigar-free merlot? Eh?
what the sheiss, imho. True bullshit back-slapping!!
Nice food, impeccable manners...and pure hype, beyond that. This is not sensitivity-enhanced,/unique quality--this is sort of generic-service elitism at its finest--with hollandaise on the side...
Pretty place. No doubt. But who would I bring here that fit within its narrow margins? I don't, that's for sure...they say the Eleanor Roosevelt and Clark Gable stayed here, Jeannette MacDonald, Nelson Eddy, Lord Halifax...okay which of those most excellent iconoclasts didn't smoke, have pets, or at one point or another, find him/herself with access issues?
They do have a video library and a fireplace...but no ramp, seriously, and since when do I want to sip cognac, bask by the fire in my duck print khakis and pinstripes...then walk 500 yards to the freeway exit to have the smoke?
Christ!! California is idiotic!! this is not "gracious living;" this is positively Orwellian.
Plus the Mets won and shares are down 26 cents from last year.
Ko then, sigining off--I just hope the Pelican Inn, a closer Tudor in Marin and of equal repute vis a vis cuisine, isn't the twin asshole to this persnickety needle's eye P.C. belligerence of a country club thingie.
Off to the thrift stores in Ferndale. I'll let you know what tomorrow's like, here at the edge of the Lost Coast.
Hey bunnies, Just wanted to report that I am here in the mysterious Redwood jungle, dining and sleeping in what is touted by AAA as a "four diamond" bed and breakfast which I engaged for the bargain price of $150 a night. Here's the thing: it is lovely, all hardwood Tudor and sobriety and terrace paths, but I'm in the "lounge" for "hors d'ouevres hour" which is actually brie en croute and some sliced fruit, thank you very much both of which I can prepare quite handily, drinking an $8 glass of wine and thinking, 'what the fuck?' the wine is lovely I'll grant you and yes, the "Spectator' picked this particular place as a "wine lover's paradise..." but sorry folks, what I see is a gravel driveway off the 101, which noise one can indeed hear from one's private "terrace;" there is absolutely no smoking no how no way anywhere ever, and I quote, literally you have to walk off the Benbow Inn's property to smoke or be subject potentially to a $125 "deep cleaning" fee, we're talking at the river's edge, on the golf course, in the swimming hole, it matters not; and the Eel River is so low that there are algae warnings out for pets and swimmers. Pluse spider webs cover everything, not that I'm particularly squeamish. So...would it be the rack of lamb or the tenderloin steak; or the probably-farmed salmon that I'm about to throw down $30 for, which makes this a "four diamond" hotel? All being so endemic to the area.
Have I also mentioned that although the Tudor is four storeys and outlying terraces and cottages etc etc, all albeit quite lovely esp. if one is wearing ankle-length linen and a large tea hat, and carrying a croquet mallet, there are neither elevators nor wheelchair access of any kind, to the Inn or the dining room--even though there is blue-stickered parking everywhere? So...a person would, what, have a kegger in the parking lot or a whatayacallit, tailgater party that thing you have out of the back of your pickup before the game, if one happened to be in a chair as is my gran et al., whilst the rest of your party ate rack of lamb and drank cigar-free merlot? Eh?
what the sheiss, imho. True bullshit back-slapping!!
Nice food, impeccable manners...and pure hype, beyond that. This is not sensitivity-enhanced,/unique quality--this is sort of generic-service elitism at its finest--with hollandaise on the side...
Pretty place. No doubt. But who would I bring here that fit within its narrow margins? I don't, that's for sure...they say the Eleanor Roosevelt and Clark Gable stayed here, Jeannette MacDonald, Nelson Eddy, Lord Halifax...okay which of those most excellent iconoclasts didn't smoke, have pets, or at one point or another, find him/herself with access issues?
They do have a video library and a fireplace...but no ramp, seriously, and since when do I want to sip cognac, bask by the fire in my duck print khakis and pinstripes...then walk 500 yards to the freeway exit to have the smoke?
Christ!! California is idiotic!! this is not "gracious living;" this is positively Orwellian.
Plus the Mets won and shares are down 26 cents from last year.
Ko then, sigining off--I just hope the Pelican Inn, a closer Tudor in Marin and of equal repute vis a vis cuisine, isn't the twin asshole to this persnickety needle's eye P.C. belligerence of a country club thingie.
Off to the thrift stores in Ferndale. I'll let you know what tomorrow's like, here at the edge of the Lost Coast.
Abortion Dream
Had a dream that I was in Italy and had an abortion. Unexpectedly. Well, I guess that's redundant. I don't remember chunks of it now; but it seems like it started out where I didn't know what was wrong with me. At the end, all the family was there including people I didn't recognize. They came after the procedure was over to stare at me while I tried to find my clothes and check out. It was winter, people had on long camel-hair reefer coats and gloves. The atmosphere took on a festive air. There were three big staionless steel tables in the main room covered with sheets and people in my family were pointing at the speculums and other instruments like they were museum artifacts, handling them and murmuring to each other. I told them to stop. The bill came, by that time almost everyone had left; and it was $200. There were two different ways I could be billed, one less expensive. Uncle Steve was there and as he was leaving he was saying something obnoxious, guilt-ridden, in that way he does which to him is love and pain at the same time. I screamed, "Leave me the fuck alone! I'm grown up now!!" and as the swinging doors were closing I heard him say, "grown up, yes; mature, no." Then I woke up.
In the dream the father was never revealed. The setting was "authentic;" no rooms, only curtained cubicles in big cathedral-like main areas. The nurses in little jumpers with nun cloths on their heads. Everything efficient and matter-of-fact in the most Catholic country in the world. And the only person giving me grief was a member of my own, areligious family. There was some anxiety; some just basic excitement because of the exotic locale; and then guilt. But I didn't want to leave, somehow; I wanted to stay, and have those women take care of me.
Had a dream that I was in Italy and had an abortion. Unexpectedly. Well, I guess that's redundant. I don't remember chunks of it now; but it seems like it started out where I didn't know what was wrong with me. At the end, all the family was there including people I didn't recognize. They came after the procedure was over to stare at me while I tried to find my clothes and check out. It was winter, people had on long camel-hair reefer coats and gloves. The atmosphere took on a festive air. There were three big staionless steel tables in the main room covered with sheets and people in my family were pointing at the speculums and other instruments like they were museum artifacts, handling them and murmuring to each other. I told them to stop. The bill came, by that time almost everyone had left; and it was $200. There were two different ways I could be billed, one less expensive. Uncle Steve was there and as he was leaving he was saying something obnoxious, guilt-ridden, in that way he does which to him is love and pain at the same time. I screamed, "Leave me the fuck alone! I'm grown up now!!" and as the swinging doors were closing I heard him say, "grown up, yes; mature, no." Then I woke up.
In the dream the father was never revealed. The setting was "authentic;" no rooms, only curtained cubicles in big cathedral-like main areas. The nurses in little jumpers with nun cloths on their heads. Everything efficient and matter-of-fact in the most Catholic country in the world. And the only person giving me grief was a member of my own, areligious family. There was some anxiety; some just basic excitement because of the exotic locale; and then guilt. But I didn't want to leave, somehow; I wanted to stay, and have those women take care of me.
