For such a cheery, balmy, pastel time of year, this certainly was a black and white weekend. Events unfolded in two modes and two modes only: fantastic, and jab-your-eyes-out awful.

I met my friend D down in Anza-Borrego Desert State Park, a lovely place that was at the absolute peak of springtime flower bloomination. Throughout this post, I shall insert beautiful pictures that I took there, so that my whining will be a little more palatable.

I made a big fat mistake right out of the gate: I Mapquested directions to the park, printed them out, and got on the road without reviewing them. Mapquest was on crack. I had to navigate no fewer then ten freeways/highways to get there. 101 to 132 to 210 to 57 to 71 to 91 to 15 to 79 to S2 to S22?  I wasn’t even leaving Southern California. Really, Mapquest? Jerk.

A trip that should have taken about 3.5 hours took 6.5, thanks to the Saturday stop-and-go traffic the whole way down. My newly “fixed” car didn’t like the situation, and was on the verge of overheating the entire time. A trick to lower your engine’s temperature while driving? Blast the heat! Which I did, throughout 6.5 hours of 80+ degree weather.

Thank heavens D had a really good bottle of wine waiting in our nicely appointed hotel room. A little drinky in the cool evening desert air on our balcony, some food, some gabbing, some hot-tubbing — things were looking up.

D’s passion is photography, so our next day was spent outside taking pictures. Bliss. It was a mob scene in the valley, which led to a couple fantasies revolving around me setting cars on fire. But hey. The air was heavy with the perfume of blossoms, the weather delicious.

We ventured out to the nearby Salton Sea, one of the weirdest places I’ve ever been. Vast, creepy, deserted, dying.

As we approached the murky shore, the “sand” crunched beneath our feet. Wait, that’s not sand — that’s tens of thousands of mummified fish bodies we’re stepping on!

The apocalyptic, polluted landscape (not to mention what we were walking on) led to some serious heebie-jeebies. Turns out, fully justified heebie-jeebs — I found out that a mummified human corpse was found at the Salton Sea, a mere 24 hours before we were there! Holy god.

I loved every minute of it.

Next morning, I took off in the direction of Escondido, to meet my friend T for a quick visit. I wish I had the time to take pictures as I went past the pastoral splendor in the areas around Julian and Ramona. There were wide swaths of daffodils! Black and white cows grazing in flowery fields! Ridiculous.

T and I met at a French bakery for breakfast. Why aren’t there more high-quality almond croissants in my life?

Ceci n’est-ce pas un croissant.

Then, the driving. Oh, god, the driving. Again with the stop-and-go, again with the heat blast. I couldn’t even get excited to spy a glimpse of the Matterhorn as I passed Disneyland, since the 5 was down to two freaking lanes.

I lurched up to the Los Angeles Fashion District, to meet S and D for some fabric consultation. Once they pulled me back from the brink of heatstroke with some beverage and fro-yo, I enjoyed myself completely.

The District, a bazaar in the truest sense, is a total kaleidoscopic fah-reakout. Everything, absolutely everything is for sale. And it’s all in excess. Not just one bacon hotdog stand per block: two! Zoot suits? Plenty of stores specialize in them! Gladiator sandals, corn-on-a-stick, real birds in cages, parking lot flag-wavers, pillow forms, 99 cent/yard fabric, barking mechanized dogs, agua fresca, sunglasses, quinceañera supplies … the District has it all, times a kajillion.

Then: you guessed it. More stop-n-go on the Heatstroke Express. I collapsed upon entering my home and slept for 11 hours.

So, you get the point: the driving was bad — like, “I want to move away from Southern California” bad.

But you may also get the point: what a fucking surreally fabulous weekend.

See all the photos in my flickr photoset.