(Before I get started, I'm writing this blog post from a Starbucks, and am very glad they now have a "blond roast," simply because I can finally make that incredibly dumb joke about liking my coffee like I like my women. Cross another thing off the bucket list. Dream big.)
Anyway, this weekend, a writers conference brought me to my exotic neighbor to the south...Sannnnnn Diego. A blog post about a writers conference probably isn't all that interesting, so I can basically sum it up in a few words: Seminars, keynotes, bad food, worse haircuts, but at least, free coffee. And, somehow, it seemed like every discussion I went to, I sat next to a kind old lady and her breathing machine that would emit these odd gasping sounds that tricked me into thinking it was constantly breaking. Thankfully, it didn't, and she seemed comfortable.
But above all else, my brief stay in San Diego meant one thing: I got to stay in a hotel.
Oh, I fucking love hotels. Nice hotels, shitty motels, it doesn't matter. There's something about unlocking a door to a freshly made bed (that always seems more comfortable than the one I have at home) and the hopes that the television has HBO. When I used to watch 90210, Dylan's friends and teachers felt bad that he had to live in a luxury hotel instead of a house. I was the one guy who thought that was the coolest thing in the world and never understood why someone WOULDN'T want to have the opportunity to live in a hotel. Seriously, every time I open a hotel room door, I want to jump on the bed for a while like I probably did when I was five years old.
But there are some oddities that still exist within the hotel world, as if they are stuck in the past. Well, at least for the Hilton I was staying at this weekend. On a side note, the lobby music upon check in was "Don't Stop Believing," and on the way out, it was "Living On A Prayer." I dunno why, but it just all seemed like a good metaphor for my life lately.
The Long Distance Phone Call
Hey, Hilton, we aren't in the 80's anymore. I would love to know how many idiots actually use their hotel phone to call long distance when the rate is north of 4 dollars a minute. Yes, you read that right: FOUR DOLLARS A MINUTE. Hell, if I'm making a phone call for 4 dollars a minute, there BEST be a sexy lady on the other end talking dirty to me. Hell, fuck that, for 4 dollars a minute, that person at the other end better be telling me the future. Seriously, are people transcribing the outgoing conversation and sending homing pigeons to deliver it? Why does it cost so much to make a long distance phone call in a hotel?
That Stupid USA TODAY they shove under your door.
I once read a blog somewhere that suggested this USA TODAY isn't, in fact, complimentary, and if you do so much as TOUCH it, they charge you like a year's subscription or your first born. I'm probably exaggerating, but that blogpost stuck with me, so when I noticed it slipped under my door this morning, I poked at it like a dead rat until it was clear in the hallway. Also, does anyone even read USA TODAY anymore? Its sole purpose seems to be to give an impatient 5th grader an idea of current events...if that.
The Breakfast Buffet
If you visit my Facebook page, you'll notice that one of my "likes" is eating. Which is a good thing because its necessary for survival. And as a fan of eating and variety, I love the buffet. And, no, I don't shovel crappy food in my mouth until I'm ready to burst just so "I can get mah moneeez worf." I just like the idea of scooping out a bunch of foods that don't necessarily mix on to one plate. By the way, I don't know if this is an American thing, but what's with people who eat themselves sick at buffets simply because they can. It's like these people do this simply because they feel they are getting one over on the restaurant. Guess what? If the restaurant is a buffet, their food is ass cheap. They've won, trust me. They always win. And you making yourself sick in the name of gluttony just means you lose. Both in the bathroom and in life.
Anyway, one question I have for these buffets is what Frisbee store they buy their pancakes from? I think I chipped a tooth on one of them this morning.
I'm not a complete asshole, so I always tip the valet, but I do so begrudgingly when my car is literally parked 20 feet away. I could have done that myself, thanks.
OK, there's a lady talking quickly to herself and looking over in my direction. I suppose it's time for me to go.
Have a great week.