Still kind of like it here.
It looks and feels as if I've lost weight.
I'm drinking less.
Sleeping more.
Walking, biking.
Rode across the Shakespeare Bridge.
With its SF hills.

There's this pesky drought.
The occasional red flag warning.
"Fire weather" they call it.
Sounds like hell on earth, but it's fine as long as you keep your showers to 5 minutes.

So many friends!
Met Timmy for happy hour in Silver Lake.
He had encouraging words for me.
Old fashions for the soul.

Caught up with my ship bunkmate Ross.
Ross remains cursed with talent.
He freestyles for MTV at the moment.

Mike and I noshed in a restaurant shaped like a barrel.
He and his wife turned their garage into an improv teaching and rehearsal space.
They've been here long enough to accrue things like a house, a yard and a child.

At the House of Pies, Dunbar and I spitballed music video concepts for The French Goodbye.

Ended up on stage briefly at Singles Motel.
I won a tube of toothpaste.
So much Chicago in the crowd, now employed in various facets of Comedy.

The lack of seasons make time blend into one long blob.
My pal Mike B said that in West Hollywood.
It's true.
Today I got a street cleaning ticket.
Parked on a Wednesday street.
Thought it was still Tuesday.

I felt cold the other night.
It was in the 40s.
I don't care what you think.

So far the kool-aid here is quite tasty.
I'm prepared for the inevitable earthquake that will most certainly kill me.
I've decided I'm okay with that.