Pala Indian Reservation

The day after Christmas, my grandparents took me to the casino/resort in Pala Indian Reservation. I was unaware of such a law, but apparently minors are not allowed in a casino. I thought Indians didn't have laws. The reservations are self-contained countries with their own legal system, I believe. I do know that marijuana is completely legal on a reservation, or at least this one. Anyway, I didn't have much to do, because the whole place was a casino.

Except, of course, the spa part. The public bathrooms in the spa had stuff you expect in a person's private bathroom, like combs, shaving stuff, hair gel, and the like. It almost made me want to shave right there. But then I remembered my vow to abstain from rubbing a sharp knife against my face for the duration of my trip.



Not a whole lot to say about this. Just a nice Christmas tree in the lobby of the Casino.


Doesn't that look like raisin-bread? Blueberry or blackberry would work, too, but in any case it looks like it has little, sweet chewy things in it. I bit into it with this flavor in mind and was disgusted to have my teeth greeted by tough, leathery hides and my tongue by a salty, bitter taste.

It was olive-bread. I would have liked it just fine if I had known that it had olives in it. I think waiters ought to warn you if they bring you something weird and unexpected like this, disguised under a shroud of normalcy.


It's like those weird assortment boxes of chocolates. Why can't they have some distinguishing mark that warns you that it will be bitter, or salty, or butterscotch, or whatever? Wouldn't it make sense to give them visual characteristics that warn you about the flavor beforehand? I would certainly enjoy them more that way.