Why Does It Always Rain On Me?

Was it because I lied when I was seventeen?

California, for those of you who care, was fun. But wet. Very wet. The first five days I was in Long Beach, which, because I lacked a car and couldn't go anywhere, reminded me very much of every other convention town I've ever been in. They even had a Bubba Gump Shrimp Co. The conference (Biophysical Society) was long but good, chock full of lipid-y goodness. The National Lecture left something to be desired, although some of the pretty videos of protein synthesis at the atomic level was pretty damn cool. I have no idea what science is going to be like even ten or fifteen years down the road, let alone when I'm an old man.

My poster presentation was long and arduous but I got some good feedback. And yes, for those of you who have never gone to a science conference before, it really is pretty much just like a science fair. Two prominent scientists who'd gotten into a pissing fight over their differing models a few days earlier resumed their battle over my data while I stood by in wonderment, like watching a ping pong match. It was flattering that they chose me to argue over, to say the least.

The Long Beach aquarium was wonderful, mainly because they let you touch stuff. The Queen Mary is a very big boat. The House of Hayden is a very bad goth bar. And the beach, while admittedly long, isn't so much a beach as it is a garbage dump.

And then, it rained. A lot. Just in time for my vacation part. The boy arrived late on Wednesday and after a delicious breakfast of crepes in the "East Village" artsy neighborhood, we rented our car and went to Hollywood! The Ho-Mustang, as I like to call it, was a sweet ride. 2005, less than 400 miles and shiny silver. I felt good driving into Beverly Hills.

I made a few observations while I was there:

1) Smoking isn't as anathema as I had thought it would be in California, although I'm assuming there's a huge difference between the Bay Area and LA. Cigarettes were sold in bars and as far as I could tell, everyone smoked.

2) Celebrity's do exist. In actually real life. I shouldn't be that shocked, considering I live in New York, but I've seen very few since I've moved here, probably because I don't get outside of the Upper East Side all that much. And don't pay attention even when I do. But I had two, genuine, A-list celeb sightings. First, I dined next to Tyne Daly at Lucques. I don't consider that all that exciting because a) I was in an upscale restaurant in West Hollywood and b) she's on Judging Amy. But she's definitely A-list. Second, after a miserable experience at the Museum of Television and Radio which was less of a museum and more of a warehouse of old Apple IIe's, we were driving around the neighborhood, in the rain (which was a running theme) and, stopped at a stop-sign, I spied a well dressed woman walking briskly. "Does that look like Rachel Griffiths to you" I asked the boy. As if on queue, the woman turned and looked at us. And it was most definitely, without a doubt, Rachel Griffiths, which was really exciting because a) she was just, like, walking on the street in the middle of nowhere (relatively speaking) and b) she's like totally on Six Feet Under which is like the totally most awesome show ever!

3) The desert is both beautiful and scary. Saturday we drove out to Palm Springs in search of a Starbucks mug. Needless to say, when it wasn't raining, the dark rolling clouds over the mountains, the vast expanse of white windmills and pink sunset were, um, breathtaking. If I had any semblance of writing ability I would attempt to say something poetic. However, in the dark, in the rain, with massive amounts of flooding and gigantic looming windmills, the desert is, um, terrifying.

4) It is extraordinarily disconcerting to be showering when the only thing separating you from the bedroom and the person watching TV in it is a glass wall which doesn't quite entirely fog over all the way.

That said, rain and all, it was a great trip. Except for the 8 hour airplane fiasco getting back, the landing in the snowstorm (FYI, planes: they land on snow), and the world's scariest taxi-ride back where the cabbie kept stopping to fix his windshield wipers when he should have been stopping to replace his tires.