Posthuman Blues

I liked my hotel in Santa Ana. Refreshingly un-Midwestern.





I enjoy the anonymity of hotel rooms. It's like inhabiting a VR construct and not giving a damn what happens in the "real" world.





I always experience a strange voyeuristic compulsion to imagine the room's previous occupants, as if they can be somehow deciphered and brought to life by the inevitable stains on the furniture and other signs of habitation.





There was a suspiciously murky pool on the premises. I sort of regret not taking advantage of it.





One thing I don't regret is failing to blog while away; getting "unwired" was a novel experience in its own right (although my cellphone served as a handy umbilicus to cyberspace).