Roots

There is something prehistoric about Palm Springs: slow moving, dreamy, dark and powerful below the surface. It would not be odd to see a Brontosaurus sauntering through this landscape. Or a male Neanderthal carrying a club and dragging his wife by the hair. The closest thing to a dinosaur I saw was a darkly tanned woman in a bikini. And I’m not making a reference to her age because it was impossible to tell if she was 45 or 75, but her ass hung down like a hemmed curtain, just two empty flaps of skin. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. I don’t know if it is a reflection of my maturity level or the fact that I am usually the odd one out but I can’t relax in a place where there’s nothing to do but sit in the heat, shop or play golf.

I read that it was recently discovered that Neanderthal DNA has been found on the human genome. Neanderthals are similar to humans in that they could control fire (air conditioning), construct complex shelters (condo developments), skin animals to make clothing (outlets) and ritually bury their dead (retirement communities). Maybe vacationing in Palm Springs is a retreat to the past. And the cause of my uneasiness.