Hotel Introspections IV

SANTA CLARITA

07/2017

Had no idea there were so many saints; the Pope has been generously busy. Tonight I had the best beer of the trip; a European brew known as Stella Artois. The problem the hipster tyranny has is that beer is meant to be mass-produced and egalitarian, not hoppy and beardy. Mark my words, in a few years time IPA will mean nothing more than Immigrant Punishment Act or some such thing. I drank into the night while they slept in the light of the gargantuan TV. Forensic Files, my show of choice. But the introspections were triggered by the adverts. If advertisers are to be believed they are highly intelligent and creative people; when it comes to selling (rather than just informing) I am not so sure. Out here these creatives are pushing an interesting ‘you don’t have to be sick, you can live forever, but there may be side-effects’ kind of a trip. Possible cures for Ulcerative Colitis and Crohns and eczema (aided by Cindi Lauper – wtaf?) and sick pets and kids that don’t grow properly. I hope my scepticism about the advertising community is healthier than the image it is peddling on USTV. If it is to be believed the USA is full of anxious people who are unable to accept that life is, even if you are an American, painful, unfair and likely to end in death. And further that those feelings can be quelled by spending money on stuff that may not work but could cause respiratory failure or the growth of a third nipple.

More evidence of the expense of everything out here – earlier in the evening we went to Ralph’s (later WalMart, disappointing). Candy and chocolate, so exorbitant, how do the kids get fat? Having surveyed the liquor (sprits), of particular irony, I assessed that it would be cheaper to get utterly shit-faced than it would to cook yourself a healthy meal. And you can’t blame Trump for any of that; there was this try-hard cool guy in the palace for the previous eight years. I watch the talking head of a retired detective, a face that literally has seen everything. The face tells me, tells America, that the Presidency is a study in bluster. Whether it is fictional walls to keep out the Mexicans (who are already here and carry their excess weight as one would an injured child) or an inability to prevent the fast food chains from giving kids limitless Dr. Pepper; or to protect them from an assault rifle whilst they drag their podgy butts through the Mall, the Prez can actually do squat.