is the word 'diary' better than the word 'blog'? probably not.
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Oh, Mexico.
I just got to San Francisco from MEXICO. Gus and I went to Puerto Vallarta for four glorious days. He had a conference for a couple of those days, but for me it was ALL VACATION.
I did go to two panels at his conference. One was the one he was on, and I got to be full of pride at how smart he is. The other one was a performance by someone we met at one of the drinky receptions. It was good, but because I'm not a natural thespian I also had an attack of "where should I be looking right now" syndrome as it was happening.
But the rest of the time was spent sunbathing, pool-swimming, gym/spa-going, sunset-and-ocean gazing, eating, drinking, sleeping and doing whatever it is we wanted to do and nothing else. It felt like a utopia that wasn't threatening to turn into a dystopia any time soon. That's right: RARE.
We also had a butler named Fidel Castro. On our first night there, he brought us champagne and gave us his card and with utter seriousness told me (Gus was out of the room when it happened, so I was thankful FC left the card so I could prove I wasn't making it up) that his name was FIDEL CASTRO and he was there to make my stay luxurious and all that.
I didn't really make use of the butler services, though I did enjoy the free wine and appetizers from 5 to 6 every day, and the free buffet breakfast, and all the glorious food in general. And the POOLS, where you could swim right up to a bar and get food and drink, if you wanted. And there were islands in the middle of the pools, on which large iguanas lived. They were nice to look at but I'm glad they never came swimming with us. And there were many really huge interesting birds flying around all the time. We had a room on one of the top floors with the most glorious view of the ocean and the pools and the beach and the palm trees. And then there was the sound of the ocean. And fireworks displays almost nightly?! Ha.
Everything good!
Now I'm in San Francisco and it's raining like slobbery dogs and bratty cats. The only umbrella I could find to buy in Caroleen's new-old neighborhood is the umbrella most likely to be carried by a crazy latina grandma: ugly ugly red with purple and yellow flowers on it. It makes me look insta-crazy. But it keeps me relatively dry.
Tonight I dine with Evany, Liz, Heidi, Caroleen, and Sunshine. ALL AT ONCE. What a feat of organizing prowess that was. All good.
I'm at Starbucks right now. Caroleen doesn't have the internet yet in her new place, and today's the day that my student's papers were due over email, so I've been here for HOURS using the internet. At first I was serenaded by endless Christmas music. I thought that might be annoying. But then they switched the music and put on a James Taylor album. And that is why I am going to cut this short and get the heeeee-yell out of here. His voice is not pleasant. I don't care what you say. If anything could turn a person into a serial killer, it's a James Taylor album. Even when he's singing about Mexico.
2:40 p.m. - December 18, 2007
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