travelogue

James and I decided that instead of driving down the I-5 to Los Angeles for Thanksgiving week, we'd take two days for a leisurely drive down California Route 1. We spent the night in San Simeon, which is right next door to Cambria.




Cambria has some nice beaches, where you can view lovely sunsets and all that crap, but the town itself is what we now lovingly refer to as "White Trash Ashland." The shops in Ashland (Oregon), while clearly aimed primarily at tourists, at least have things you might want to purchase--for someone you like, even. In Cambria you are confronted with tacky shoppes [sic] with holiday-themed baby clothes, amateurish seascape paintings, Australian dry goods (apparently to make something Australian you just have to glue some shearling on it somewhere), and cutesy tee shirts. One store prides itself on being rubber ducky headquarters for the entire USA. Do they carry Hanukkah rubber ducks, complete with yarmulkes, you ask? Zikher, I say:



I couldn't even bear to look at, much less photograph, the rubber "celebriducks." These were kind of like centaurs, except with a rubber duck's ass where the horse part should be and an elaborately detailed famous person's head and torso up front (Queen Elizabeth, George Washington, etc.). I am all for animals disguised as other animals, and while technically a historical figure in the form of a duck would fall into that category, I think we can all agree that that is just stupid and disturbing.

Speaking of disturbing animals, this morning we got in the car to go to Whole Foods and James noticed a dog that was off leash and became concerned. "My neighborhood isn't very safe for loose dogs these days," he said, in a way that made me realize he regretted saying it as it was still coming out of his mouth. "Um, what do you mean?" I asked suspiciously. "Does this have something to do with mountain lions?" And indeed it turns out that several dogs recently have been killed by a mountain lion in his neighborhood, in areas further away from the foothills than his own house.

James hadn't mentioned this sooner because he knows I am already a little concerned about the occasional bear that wanders down the street or parks itself in a hot tub, so naturally I had to make fun of him for thinking I was too delicate to handle this latest bit of news. "I CAN'T BELIEVE you didn't tell me that a mountain lion had been eating babies in your neighborhood," I said. (Pause.) "I can't believe you didn't tell me that a mountain lion had killed your next door neighbor Mike...and his wife."

Anyway, the police have killed the mountain lion in the meantime, which kind of sucks in theory but probably seems like a great idea as you watch a giant feline dragging away your Labrador. Personally, though, I am more of a cat person.