And off we go to Napa with a crazy idea of buying a winter home. Are we that old already?
Well we're not as old as the lady walking in front of us as we head down the jet-way. She moves like hot tar on a cold day. In heels.
We had some chatty fucks behind us on the plane. One chick was dead-set on showing all of her surrounding peeps a photo of "What Coachella looks like". It looked like a stupid cow with a blurry smartphone camera.
Finally land at San Francisco and we jump on the futuristic monorail to the car rental office that feels like it is in Daly City (you're on that long).
The (Asian) woman next to me thought it a good idea to video the journey through the front window. Brian De Palma called, he wants his tracking shot back.
Checking in an at Avis and we got an upgrade. But it was my darling Anne who noted that we didn't get an upgrade we just got a bigger car. "It's still a fucking Ford", she stated in her German-centric idea of what an upgrade should be.
Our first view of Napa is that it's rather nice. I've yet to see a man with a sweater jauntily clad around his shoulders. There's time yet.
Our hotel is cool. Wine when we arrived, cocktails on the deck, pine flooring in the room, one of those shower heads that comes down from the ceiling. I'm easily pleased. I even dig the TV that spins around 180° from bed to sofa.