Half Way To Hawaii

I’m in Santa Monica, in my hotel room, watching TNN. At dinner with my friend Matt and his wife Julie-Anne, I looked up and said, “I’m sure this happens all the time to you guys, but that’s Oliver Stone.”

Pretty cool.

Pretty L.A.

I love and hate this town. Driving to MTV’s Santa Monica offices, which basically looks like a Las Vegas mall with MGM, Universal, and Sony logos everywhere, I thought, “Ew, I can’t do this.” In the office, talking with co-workers, I could feel their juice-meters measuring me. In this town, I have none. (Heck, in New York I have none, or very very little.)

In my room, though, looking out over palm trees onto the Pacific, a cool, dry breeze blowing through the curtains, I’m like, “Aaaaah.” And running on the beach certainly competes with running along the Hudson.

Anyway, here I am, half way to Hawaii, exhausted.

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