From A to B and everything in between.

That's Anaheim to Beverly Hills, for you literalists.

First we checked out of the Hotel California. Note my son's snappy little Trilby. It has skull-and-crossbones going around the band. He thinks he's cool. Goth, even. (I didn't tell him that he bought it in a store devoted to girls' fashions.)


You will have already noticed the California Bungalow/Mission/Arts and Crafts vibe. This place is like a Bungalow on steroids. The Bunganator. It has it all: quarter-sawn oak, mica lampshades, beams, rocks, dark wood all over the place. A lot of art pottery:


which is so hideous I figure it has to be worth a mint of money.

I couldn't even get a good shot of this one. I think I was laughing too hard.

It's like a politically-correct remake of The Maltese Falcon--The Californian Puffin! starring Keanu Reeves in the Humphrey Bogart role, with Winona Ryder as a shoplifter. No Knights Templar, no wheezing fat guys, and no tiny Asian sidekicks.

OK, then we got on the road. That Stud Muffin I Married used his talking GPS. He likes the Australian woman's voice, but she kept telling us to get off the highway then get back on the highway fifty feet further along. It happened three times in a row. I decided she was cute but ditzy, that when she wasn't talking, she was snogging with Dr. Chase from House, M.D. and was getting too distracted to tell north from south.

We saw oil derricks. This close to Los Angeles!


Although gas prices being what they are, it makes sense.

We arrived on legendary Rodeo Drive.


Did you know that in addition to Versace, Chanel, Gucci, Bulgari, Tiffany and Barney's, they have a Target? For some reason they don't mention that.

We checked in to our hotel. There were many lovely cars in the porte-cochere. This is one of the moments in my life where I've felt vaguely chagrined to be driving what I'm driving. Except in this case it's a rental, so my self-esteem remains undamaged.

We checked into our room. They left us a fruit basket.


This is either Poppette auditioning for the role of Eve: Before the Fall or Poppette asking me to take her picture and striking a pose.

See what I mean about the bathroom?


I like to think I'm above snagging hotel toiletries. But I'm totally stealing these.

This is where I'm sitting right now, in superb blogging comfort.

Then it was off to the poolside restaurant for lunch. I am in love with the lemon trees.

Then a stroll through the grounds past the bungalows


Then we walked down Rodeo Drive. But not without a supply of designer water, in case we get dehydrated from the exertion. Because people, it is four full blocks.

At first it's completely residential. Oh my gosh, the landscaping is a DREAM. But the houses look like a remake of a spaghetti western. The good



the bad


and the Gaudi ugly


I didn't take any pictures of the retail district. First of all, because it's very reminiscent of the Mag Mile in Chicago, so why bother? But mostly because I'm a big enough dork to take pictures of bathrooms, and I'm a big enough dork to decide to bring home every bottle of bath gel in our bathroom, but I'm not standing out there in plain sight snapping pictures of where Cher went shopping in Clueless.

Of course, I'll probably get the movie from Netflix.

Again.

OK, I need to get ready to drive to Malibu, darlings. Later!