…oh yeah, and Palm Springs (Rancho Mirage, to be exact). Have just returned from an eleven-day sojourn out west, part vacation, part work (for Kelly), and nothin’ but sun the entire time. Covered a lot of ground, including a first-time Vegas-to-L.A. drive (which we did twice); further than I thought at 270 miles, but you’re doing 80-90 mph the whole way, it’s not too bad. Counting one hotel change in L.A., we totaled five locales in all…
In L.A., spent a spectacular, clear afternoon at The Getty, highly recommended. We also got to visit with my former BBT band mate Victoria in Santa Monica (drinks at the Hotel Casa Del Mar, and dinner at The Lobster) and my brother Bill, for a drive up the coast to Malibu and Point Dume.
We attended the Grammys—somewhat subdued this year, signaled initially by the “No Alcohol Served At This Event” sign, which greeted us at the first concession area. The smoking terraces were also closed off—they had been great vantage points for watching the red carpet scene. Close encounters with Rob Thomas, and Chris Martin of Coldplay (Record of the Year, damn). I dug watching Jack White play Seven Nation Army on an acoustic (including the “bass” part, with an octaver), and watching Pharrell on drums for the Beatles thing—he wasn’t bad.
Before we left town, a drive up Laurel Canyon (including a stop at the Laurel Canyon Country Store) and onto Mulholland Drive was not to be missed.
We headed out to Palm Springs to visit a family friend for a few days; the drive from L.A. to the desert always puts me in mind of those scenes from Less Than Zero, or The Player, as you drive by the wind farms. Ah, Andrew McCarthy, where have you gone?
Drove back up to Vegas, where we saw opening night of Elton John at the new Caesars Palace Colosseum venue (the Celine Dion theatre); he had laryngitis but still pulled it off like a pro. Gotta love Davey Johnstone, still playing those parts, perfectly…
