Long-Awaited, Live Action,  Larger-than-Average, Love 'em and Leave 'em Artists, Late Always, La La Land.

I'm in beautiful Southern California, spending my lazy days watching Happy Gilmore with my windows open, soaking in the sun, going for walks, doing lunch, doing dinner, doing coffee; this is how the Los Angeleans do. 

In NYC I can smell the difference between human piss and dog piss (that's how you know you're a new yorker). City air is profound, sometimes violent; Valley air is different. It's mild, fragranced with honeysuckle and leaves and concrete, with just a hint of smog. On night drives, I roll down my window and let the cool air in, the way I used to when I was in High School driving home late. I swear, as soon as my hair starts flying, I'm 16 again. I'm 16, dreaming about what lies over the mountains, painting my life in my head--the people I would love, the memories I would learn, the person I would be-- as soon as I got to new york city. LA was where I was born; New York was where my life would begin.

Every year when I come back here, I seem to leave looking a little different. Last January, when I came back to LA for winter break, I left freshly inked with a feather on my left foot. 

This year, during my brief visit here for Spring Break I've punctured new holes into my body...ok, I could get pierced in more scandalous places, but still! My ears will never be the same.

I'm beginning to think that I make these marks on my body when I come back here as a sort of commemoration to my hometown. New York has changed me so much on the inside, it has marked and scarred and healed me. Los Angeles was for so long the place I wanted to leave, but lately it's turning into a place I am relearning, reliving, reloving. I want it to leave a mark on me...