So, that was LA, baby. City of angels and dreams and fucking amazing looking women. It’s a wonder any of them are able to leave the house given the amount of preening and tweezing and plucking that’s required to maintain even a base-line standard. I swear you could count the number of pubic hairs and eyebrows in the town on the fingers of one hand.

I’ve got to be up super-early tomorrow for the next leg of the trip. A jaunt to San Diego for ETech and Graphing Social Patterns. I’m writing a couple of pieces about the event and sent an email over to the lovely Maureen at O’Reilly who is handling my press credentials to say what I was going to be writing about and that I was also hoping to DV film some of the evening events.

Her reply: “There’s lots going on at night, although no hairdressers in togas.”

She’s been reading the blog, then. Hello, Maureen!

So, yes, to bed. Michael has rented us a 1971 Dodge Charger to recreate ‘Vanishing Point’ on the way down the coast which should be a blast. You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t update my Facebook status every ten fucking seconds on the way – I accidentally poured soy sauce into my Blackberry in the half-light of Geisha House and, unless the air conditioning unit I’ve wedged it in to works some magic, I’m going to be phoneless for a few days.

Either way there’s just time to make sure you’re up to speed with the adventure so far, through the medium of video and copyright infringing music…

See you in San Diego.