19 November 2007 - Santa Monica Boulevard? We love it!

I was entirely content upon putting ye olde blog on hiatus for a while as I get over my jet lag and get accustomed to seeing Joe Torre in Dodger blue.
But apparently I've garnered a small yet loyal fan base and the wait between blog posts is equivalent to waiting for the next Salinger novel or Guns n' Roses CD. Normally peer pressure doesn't work on me, yet I'm afraid that some of these "fans" might go Misery on me and break my legs and keep me trapped in a cabin until I finish the next post.
So duty calls and I'm forced to cathartically type up some of my trademark allusion-filled angst.

And it has also been brought to my attention that people think that I "use up all my material" in this blog and have nothing else to talk about. I'm an open book, easier to read than "Goodnight Moon" (which, incidentally, touches upon some very deep questions about Benthamite utilitarianism). All you have to do is read these little updates and there's no need to talk to the real deal.
Well I hate to ruin the party, but like onions and Patrick Dempsey's hair, I have layers. My approachable yet rugged exterior doesn't show you everything that's going on inside. You have no idea how many details I'm leaving out. Like my script about an MLB umpire. Or how I met Cheryl from the Clue Crew. Or how sick I've gotten of the Claremont Independent. Or that I mistakenly voted for Nader in 2004. Or how I occasionally dress up like a spider and fight crime at night. Or that one poker game that got way too intense and ended with a dead hooker, two kilos of blow and a life long pact to never talk about that night again.

So yeah. The big, recent news is that I'm back home in LA. After four and a half months, it felt good to sleep in my own bed. And even though the sky is grey and the freeways are more congested than Chuckie Finster, it feels like home. I've taken the past week off to reacquaint myself with my old friends Tyler Florence and Jim Rome.
I also had to reorient myself with those little differences between NZ and LA. The most important of which is driving on the other side of the road. You see, it's not safe for me to get behind the wheel of a car after playing Grand Theft Auto. So you can imagine how dangerous I'd be after driving on the left side of the road for four months. I've literally had to mark my left hand with an X to remind me which side is the driver's. Too many times have I sat down in the passenger's seat and wondered where the steering wheel was.

My first meal was something that I couldn't get in Auckland: authentic Mexican food. Yup. Tacos so fresh that even the guacamole didn't have a green card. Apparently you just can't find any good Mexicans in New Zealand. Maybe this has something to do with the fact that instead of a poorly patrolled fence, there's an entire ocean separating the two countries. It all goes back to my new plan for border patrol: turn Mexico into an island. We'd see fewer illegals entering the country and co-eds would have a new beach for spring break. And it would also stop any debate on the issue, like when Obama went on about supporting drivers licenses for illegal immigrants or when Kucinich takes it one step further and wants every illegal to own a hybrid car powered by aborted fetuses.
But I digress...

Then you had the recent weekend I spent at CMC. Mind you, it was a classic Claremont weekend. Underwhelming parties with themes that no one seems to care about. Hours of video games. Finding someone who's sober enough to drive to Carl's Jr. Disappointing Friday nights at Collins.
But oddly enough, it felt right. It brought back smells and feelings and memories. It felt like home. And for someone who's been gone far too long, that's exactly what I needed.

Death to the infidels,
-MGD

Also due to popular demand, I'm bringing back *drumroll please*
That's what she said of the day:
"Beller, what the hell are you doing down there?"