what is this, jet-setting without the jet?
3.5 miles. Rome was not rebuilt in a day, either.
We picked Mike up and headed out to Redondo Beach. On the 405, right around Westwood, we saw a cool-looking metallic pink Lamborghini (or other suitably sleek looking sports car) heading the opposite direction. Following was a metallic blue Lamborghini. Then a metallic yellow Lamborghini.
"Wow, did you see that?" one of us said.
Followed by a metallic white Lamborghini. A metallic purple Lamborghini. A metallic green Lamborghini.
By the time we got up to Lamborghini #35 we were wondering aloud if perhaps there was some kind of auto show in town (in which case, you don't drive those cars, do you?) or some kind of stunt being perpetrated on the 405 driving public. It took quite a lot of willpower for Darin to keep his eyes on the road and not check out the amazing trail of cars.
If anybody knows what that was, let me know.
We drove to Redondo Beach instead of San Diego because there's an Original Pancake House in Redondo Beach, which is kind of on the way to San Diego. It's on the way to San Diego the way that any point south of our house is on the way to San Diego. Redondo Beach is not per se on the way to San Diego. In fact, we made a hell of a detour to get there.
But it was an Original Pancake House, and therefore totally worth it. We had yummy pancakes. I ordered banana chocolate-chip pancakes, and this OPH wasn't quite as on top of it as the San Jose one--they made chocolate-chip pancakes and put slices of banana over the top. Still very tasty, not quite what I wanted. Darin said that next time I should ask for pancakes made with the banana pancake batter with chocolate chips stirred in.
Next time...
We headed out, got lost--yes, folks, the directions said to "go east" so we immediately headed toward the ocean; I know we were on the East Coast for a while, but honestly, there's no excuse--and eventually made our way back to the 5 Freeway to go to San Diego. It was Thursday morning, nothing could go wrong, right?
That was a rhetorical question.
First of all, there was terrible traffic. Horrible. Unbelievably bad. Hello? I checked my watch: it was 12 noon. Oy.
This stop-and-go traffic made me crazier. What made me crazier was looking in the side-view mirror and realizing that the truck behind us was not going to stop in time.
Which it didn't.
The resulting rear-ender wasn't bad--the bumper on the car got scratched up some (little does the truck driver know that a tiny scratch will be several hundred dollars), the other driver had insurance (hallelujah!), and none of us got hurt. But after my little rear-ending adventure in May, I am now totally paranoid. Every time Darin braked, I looked in the rear-view mirror to see whether the car behind would stop in time. I drove with my hands gripping the door handle for most of the rest of the way.
Not helping my paranoia any was the car that decided it wanted to be in our lane and so decided to move into our lane, plainly unaware of the physical imperative that two objects cannot occupy the same space at the same time. Darin leaned on the horn and braked, but the other car continued on blithely.
"I can't wait until we get to San Diego," I said. "San Diego is always relaxing." I should just stop saying stuff like that; it's not good for luck.
We went to the Hyatt to check in before heading to the convention. We got the most incompetent check-in clerk I think I've ever had. Couldn't find the reservation. Then did find the reservation but our room was gone. Found us another room, but the room wasn't ready yet. And oh yes: one night's accomodation may have been charged to our card, and then again maybe wasn't. She then proceeded to throw away our receipt/reservation confirmation.
"Uh, could I have that back?" Darin said.
We left the bags with the bellman--we had no choice; we had no room and would have to get back in the check-in line to get our room keys when we returned--and headed to the convention center. We walked around the side of the hotel, past the entrance to the parking structure, which is located within the Hyatt building itself, as Darin told us about dealing with the check-in clerk.
As we passed the exit to the parking structure, I noticed a black Escort pull up really close to the swing arm that bars cars from exiting. I thought, "Oh, he thought the arm was going to go up and hit the gas before the arm had a chance to go up. I always think I'm going to do that."
Then the Escort driver hit the gas and drove directly through the swing arm, ripping it off its hinges and nearly taking Darin, Mike, and me with him as he screeched through a 90 degree turn and fled the scene.
Mike got the license plate--4ABJ469, if you're interested--and gave it to one of the many security agents who appeared out of nowhere to chase the car. Another security agent was on the radio to the cops, giving the license plate number and trying to give the car's current location.
I wondered aloud if we'd somehow magically been transported back to Baltimore.
The convention, as always, was loud and packed with people. We went to the dealer floor and began wandering around the hundreds of booths hawking all manner of merchandise: comic books (natch), t-shirts, statuettes, swords, posters, und so weiter.
I noticed I was ravenously thirsty. So I went to one of the food booths and bought a little teeny bottle of water for $2.50. I love the prices you can charge to a captive audience.
I went to Ralph's, bought a couple of liters of water, lugged them back to the convention, drank like a fish. As Rob says, If you don't have to pee all the time, you're not drinking enough water.
I met up with Darin again and headed to a session given by Bryan Talbot, the author who gave us The Tale Of One Bad Rat, a stupendously great graphic novel invoking the themes of Beatrix Potter, rats, and child abuse. (No, I'm serious: totally great. Check it out.) He talked about the use of style in comic books and how his styles of drawing have evolved over the years.
He discussed how he wanted The Tale Of One Bad Rat to be accessible to people who don't read comics regularly, so he dumped a whole bunch of the "comics shorthand" that comics readers take for granted and outsiders think is cliched or silly: thought balloons, any other sort of text that isn't dialogue, motion lines. He also reserved use of the color red for any situation in which Helen, his main character, was threatened, which led to his having to choose how to express some scenes that would naturally have red in them.
We headed up to La Jolla to meet with Allison and Adam, who we would have gone to see at any rate but who were also gracious enough to play host (and hostess, natch) to Mike during the convention.
We went to dinner at the Rock Bottom Brewing Company, a La Jolla brewpub that had good food and lousy service to go with the loud music. Luckily, we sat about as far from the music as we could get. I asked Allison about her PhD program--yup, no stopping at a master's for her, she's going all the way with this Music Composition thing--and we told A&A about our harrowing adventures on the East Coast and, recently, in San Diego.
We watched some Jackie Chan fight clips after dinner, but then decided we were too exhausted to continue, so Darin and I took off for the Hyatt.
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Copyright 1998 Diane Patterson
Send comments and questions to diane@spies.com