Cars Are More Our Speed

In other news, tonight while watching Hal's favorite show, The Hills (wtf, right?), Archer pointed at the clips of Hollywood in the end montage and said, "Iz home! Home! Yay!" before clapping his little hands. I was surprised, impressed and in agreement. Los Angeles iz home and when I'm away for long enough I realize how happy I am living in such a wacko town. Everywhere else seems so normal. So quiet. And clean.

Looking forward to hitting the skies tomorrow morning for what I'm hoping is a much more pleasant round two of airplane travel. And falling into a heap of dirty laundry bed tomorrow afternoon.

Ah, yes. There's no place like ghetto bird nests, hooker-ville with plastic blondes driving Escalades, homeless dudes with laptops for boom boxes, nudist neighbors, porn-star pool parties, dudes who have tattoos under their eyelids, Santa Ana firestorms, drunk-naked drug-addicts, motorized-cart shopping sprees, actors acting even when the cameras aren't rolling home.

GGC