Don't tell me anything else about Nicolas Sarkozy--he's decided to present David Cronenberg with the Medal of Knight to the French National Order of the Legion of Honour. As far as I'm concerned, Sarkozy's just qualified as one of the greatest world leaders ever.
Yesterday I visited the Hotel del Coronado, the famous resort hotel built in 1888 and, according to Wikipedia, it's the place where "L. Frank Baum, author of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, did much of his writing . . . and is said to have based his designs for the Emerald City on the hotel." One of its rooms is supposedly haunted, of course.
It's also featured in Billy Wilder's Some Like It Hot for the exterior shots of the movie's fictional Florida hotel. I took pictures; mine are the ones without Marilyn Monroe, Jack Lemmon, or Tony Curtis;
It hasn't really changed too much. Lots more stuff in front, like a swimming pool and little houses for the ridiculously wealthy to rent. I saw one teenage boy sulking behind the gates, lamenting his terribly privileged lot.
I couldn't quite get the right angle for this shot because there's a cafe standing where Some Like It Hot's cameraman evidently was. Actually, I hadn't watched Some Like It Hot in ages when I took these pictures--that I got comparable shots at all is thanks to luck and the fact that the digital camera takes massive photos with which I have a lot of freedom cropping.
All the fun you can't have on the nearby beach. What's everyone got against nudity, anyway?
A pool on the beach.
A row of rocks were right at the edge of the water.
Some shops underneath the hotel. The interiors for Some Like It Hot were not shot here, which is too bad because the dark wood walls are really gorgeous and sort of intimidating.
The lobby. I was among three other people taking pictures so I didn't feel very out of place, but I wish I could figure out how to tell my camera not to automatically turn the flash back on after I've turned it off.
The lobby chandelier.
Massive trees outside.
I took this actually at Grossmont Centre mall where I stopped for a burrito on the way back. Sunsets always look sort of nice with those hills.
Last night, I watched episode nineteen of Battlestar Galactica's fourth season, and once again, Baltar's gone back to being the most interesting character. There's hardly any competition--I mean, he's trying to find his value as a person after living a life that's made him hate himself--what other character has a conflict going on even close to that? Adama's sad his ship's going away, Starbuck wants to know how she came back from the dead, and Lee . . . I don't know, I guess he had a hard time catching a pigeon that once flew into Starbuck's apartment.
And, gods, I didn't think I could hate Roslin more. I'm convinced Mary McDonnell loathes the role--her performance is like a piano player hitting every sour note possible, all her mugging little "ah"s and "hmm"s that she seems to feel are applicable to any situation. We got to watch her walking into the middle of a public fountain and get really wet. Great. You know--and I'm addressing this to Ronald D. Moore--if you have a thing for milfs or cougars, I'm happy for you, really. You have my blessing. But just because it's unusual to objectify old women, doesn't mean it's not going to be tedious for those of us who don't share your fetish. I didn't mind when the show kept jizzing on Lee's abs, because he was a decent enough character in addition to that, and I liked Jamie Bamber's performance well enough.
I'm looking forward to the last episode, though. I have no predictions, really, except I bet Starbuck dies.
Remember, new Venia's Travels to-day.