Los Angeles Winter

The vibe is so aggressive. In Chicago I get catcalled like one might actually speak to a pet cat. It's obnoxious but at least it is gentle. In LA it was gross. The highway was not only jammed but mad. Tob and I snagged the last tickets for an overpriced comedy show, but the theatre was too small to hold us so we sat in a stairwell. A lot of Yelping even for locals. What to do, what to do, where to go, where to go. How long will it take? (Long.) I don't think I'll ever like it. But that's not the real question. It's "Would I ever even be okay with it?"

I had a great trip. Don't get me wrong. The trip was the trip. But my life is my life. The pros are the pros: the sunshine, the palm trees, the beach. There are many more, but not really. The people, like Yosh, A Jar, a slew of other comedy friends--even Skars. But would I see them? It seems nights are more free there than here, but still. Something is amiss.

The food. Okay, yes, I ate an astounding curry pot pie, one of my top five donuts ever, cashew parfait, a churro waffle. But it's all so far away. I just want to putz around town and come upon things. I don't want to drive an hour for a scone. I would drive an hour for a scone. There are neighborhoods. So, that, I think, I could do. The mornings I ran through Highland Park, trotted about to read in a local coffeeshop--those were okay. I could make that work.

The opportunities. I can't deny those. But I can be denied those.

I believe I can do anything, but do I want to? I am feeling new. Reborn in the crack of November 8th. Recharged and reforming in the afterglow of my solo show. The world is open and the world is an open wound.