I awoke this morning with an urgent desire to touch a Golden Girl, so my personal assistant Geoffrey and I took an afternoon drive down the coast to the charming seaside village of Carmel-by-the-Sea, home of notable figures such as Daytime Emmy winner Jennifer Aniston, National Book Award winner Beverly Cleary, and women's boxing promoter Clint Eastwood.
Not to mention: the lovely and talented Betty White. Wait, I meant this Betty White.
"And did we see Betty White?"
Carmel is, at the same time, absolutely adorable and totally insufferable. The downtown is so cute you could eat it up with a spork: quaint houses, beautiful flowers, and hundreds of art/antique galleries. And dogs! Tons of them, eating on the patios at the delightful restaurants. Wow, what a charming town!
But then you notice the double-parked Mercedes, the Tiffany and Sharper Image storefronts, and the women in pantsuits and sunglasses carrying jumbo Coach shopping bags in each hand... And then, if you're a good liberal, you start to feel a little nauseous. In Carmel, obscenely rich people have managed to create the perfect village for themselves. But should I be enjoying it as much as I am? Isn't it all a bit like, well... Nero?
"Enough of your liberal pieties. Did you see Betty White?"
I had promised a cousin-in-law that I would have lunch at the Hog's Breath Inn, formerly owned by film composer Clint Eastwood. In a way, I'm glad we ate there--it's probably important to get it out of the way so that one move on to the better-looking restaurants in town:
"Damn you, what of Betty White?"
The cottages are in town are actually quite lovely:
And, as far as I can tell (after all, I could only peer into the windows so long before the police arrived), almost no dwarves live inside.
So, while Geoffrey and I were a bit put-off by the conspicuous wealth and whiteness of the town, I expect we will return to try some of the other restaurants--especially if I find a steady boyfriend who might enjoy a romantic dinner...
Oh yeah, we didn't see Betty White.
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