So in case any of you were wondering where I am -- yes, I know, THRONGS of you, armed with cameras and a chance at a lock of my hair! -- I *am* in fact back in Los Angeles, "workin' it" and continuing in my attempt to wrestle this city to the ground, throttle it, and then tongue-kiss its corpse. Today, in a freak of nature that has the hale and hearty Angeleans scattering like cockroaches into their million-dollar abodes, it is raining. What's so frickin' big about rain, you ask? I didn't know either, but when they shut my work down a couple hours earlyyesterday it struck me that the rain in Los Angeles is a lot like the Oobleck in the Dr. Seuss book "Bartholomew and the Oobleck," in which a bunch of wizards summon forth green gloppy stuff from the skies to please a bored king. In other words: they ain't got a clue how to deal with it. It's kind of funny. I stood up at work and screamed at the top of my lungs "YOU ARE ALL A BUNCH OF PUSSIES." My co-workers looked genuinely hurt. "Hey -- I'm not a pussy," one of them said, with a slightly hangdog expression. Note to self: do not call the workers at your new job "pussies." Even if its true. YOU ARE ALL PUSSIES, LOS ANGELES.
Listening to: the sound of rain.
Watching: rain. Pissing down from all angles. I moved here to escape this nonsense.
Reading: these words as I'm typing them to you. If I could read "rain," I probably would have to.