Palm Springs & the PSIFF

8:45AM and the Airport Express leaves STS on time headed to SFO and then Alaska Airlines to PSP for 5 nights and the Palm Springs International Film Festival.
As we were boarding the bus we were told very succinctly that if we were going to OAK that once we reached Petaluma we were to exit the bus and board the bus that would be right behind us. That would take you to OAK. There were several passengers already on their computers and phones by this time and of course they had to ask the driver “What do I do if I’m going to Oakland?” Then one guy who was not paying attention got up to exit the bus looking for the bus behind us. We were on our way listening to a cacophony of oh-so-important phone calls by a half dozen oh-so-important passengers. We stopped for additional passengers at Days Inn and Double Tree and pulled into Petaluma about an hour later. We arrived at SFO in another hour,
Having packed only a carry-on I proceeded to the security line, which took about 20 minutes.
I took a cue from the Clooney character in “Up In The Air” and dressed and packed for security. Slip on shoes, no metal jewelry, bag of liquids in a front pocket of my bag, computer out, money [change] and anything metal in my jacket, which was removed, made the passage through the gauntlet pain-free. I must research non-metal belt buckles or find comfortable trousers that don’t need a belt. Of course with my round-in-the-middle physique that is not going to be easy. I keep so much crap in my pockets that a belt is the only solution.
At the gate we learned that the plane from Seattle was going to be a hour late. When it did arrive at about 1:15PM the turn-around was fast and efficient. We were in the air in a half hour. We arrived at PSP at 3PM. It is a lovely modern if artsy airport and I found my way to the curb without a hitch. There was Gary in the red Jag convertible.
We stopped at the Festival will-call to pick up the tickets that I had purchased on-line. There appears to be an unending supply of clueless 20-somethings who are so-o-o sure that they are the only people on the planet. The young woman I had to deal with could not read; I mean she simply could not read. I had the computer receipts and correspondences instructing me in the proper retrieval of my tickets and she could not read them. I had to do it for her with numerous “Could you spell that,” “huh?’ and “let me ask someone else.”
We took the scenic ride back to “The Lakes” passing all the Rolls Royce and Maserati dealers, the celebrity street names and wall-to-wall very up-scale strip malls. It is truly a different world down here. Not unlike the visual impact of Monte Carlo, not the architectural or natural setting, simply the display of wealth.
Diane and I took Cali for a walk so I could see where one deposits the poop bags. There are deposit stations throughout the compound and each one as extra bags for pickups on the return. Everyone has a golf cart and every home has a golf cart garage. The fronts of the homes are very much the same; there are only minor architectural differences. The landscaping is identical throughout. There are community swimming pools on about every other block; they are heated on a rotating schedule, half on odd numbered months, half on even numbered months. The backs of the houses [they are constructed in blocks of 4 usually with two larger and two smaller units] have small patios that open onto the golf course. As far as you can see there are palm trees and green grass… and homes, many, many homes.