Piece Of Press Management.

I did indeed take the Jeter Ford Challenge this weekend. My rental agency handed me the keys to a pristine white Ford Focus, or Ford Mondeo if you're an Arctic Monkey's song or in the United Kingdom. I had a lot of shopping to get done this weekend, and I needed a peppy commuter to help me on my way.

Friday night Compadre and I had some rather mediocre Indian food at a place called Agro. Not kidding. We just had to watch Sweet Home Alabama because it's one of Compadre's favorite movies ever, and then we had a bit of a tussle, and it's best just to leave it at that. I did make out quite well though.

Saturday morning I drove all the way to Beverly Hills. Six miles, and 40 minutes later I was pulling into the surprisingly reasonable public parking off Rodeo drive. Rodeo was simply delicious. Everyone who wasn't a tourist (both of them) were rocking some seriously make believe tans, standing on corners, dressed to the nines, talking loudly on cell phones, and looking around wildly as if they had a function or somewhere to be on a Saturday morning. The tourists were simply hysterical. Positioning themselves so they could have their pictures taken in front of Dolce & Gabanna. Right...

The lady at YvesSaintLaurent was nice enough. She was actually oppressively nice. She would not shut up about the sale at Williams-Sonoma. You know in case I had any foodies on my list. Which I do but I hardly think I'm going to walk right on past the Beverly Hills Cheese Shop just so I can pick up some discounted pumpkin pancake mix at Williams-Fucking-Sonoma. The ladies at Hermes were cool and detached, but helpful as ever. The nancy girls upstairs couldn't help but talk about their "celebrity" clients really loudly. Luckily it was a surgical strike and I was in and out and on my way back to the east-side after paying nothing to park for over an hour.

While back on the east-side I had yet another weird Scientology Psycho-Terrorism episode. I was in my corner shop buying some odds and ends and a six pack. It seems that since their political attempts to attack local liquor stores went nowhere, The church of Scientology has taken to conscripting young children, dressing them up in sailor uniforms and having them raise chaos in the local corner shops. One of the boys who has obviously eaten food laced with Bovine Growth Hormone for most of his life was actually trying to keep me from the counter, but I'm a regular and it was no biggie. But seriously! It was genius! Surreal! Duchamp couldn't have done better! Bravo!

Sunday morning I had to go into the office, however, there was some type of 5K foot race that had something to say about it. It was actually some police officer that told me I could only turn right at Flower. I informed her that like it or not I was going to be turning left and it was up to her to make sure no one was injured or damaged. She proved quite helpful and guided me toward a safe left-turning route. Had a nice visit to China Town and walked through some shops. I paid $4 to park for 15 minutes, and picked up some nice costume jewelery.

It was a mindscramble of a weekend, but we made it and all of my corporeal holiday shopping obligations have been satisfied. As promised...