And so it begins...

As part of my Christmas booty, my wife Bubba got me my first ever, non-$5 pair of bitchin' sunglasses, er, "shades"as they say in the hipper circles. Is this how it starts? Is this the first step in my "Hollywood-ing?" After YEARS without a cell-phone back home, I'm already acting like a local, that 4-inch silver sliver glued to my ear more and more each day. What's next? Botox? Head shots? Keep your eyes on my soul, people. Make sure I don't lose it.

Speaking of botox, Bubba and I hit the Beverly Center mall recently for the first time. Much to my surprise (chagrine?), what did we pass by, but an IN-MALL botox shop. That's right, free poison into your face, while you sip your Starbucks and take the tags off your latest name brand clothing. Plus they validate parking, so you can't beat that with a bat.

I saw something else I never thought I'd see the other day. Coming back home from doing this or that, Bubba and I decided to hit the ol' IHOP. You know, for a little taste of home. I pull in to the parking lot, and what do I see: Valet Parking. Are you f'ing kidding me??? At IHOP?!?!?! I know parking is at a premium around here, but come on. IHOP?!?!? I couldn't justify handing over my keys in the name of a short stack of pancakes and some swine on the side, so I scavanged the mean streets for my own spot. I'd rather go park at home and walk, than use valet parking at IHOP.

Lastly, we took our first trip out to the water recently. We live about 30-45 minutes from Santa Monica, depending on the traffic. The drive itself is fairly uneventful, save for the 5 minute stretch where we pass Beverly Hills. It's remarkable how formally quartered off the haves and the have-nots are in that part of town. I haven't picked up my local maps of the stars houses yet to warrant the trip into the long money, but just passing by, you can see, "from this point to this point, THIS is where the money lives." Anyway, we get to the literal end of the line, the Pacific Ocean. Santa Monica Blvd, aka the famous Route 66, starts right there (well, technically it's like 1 or 2 blocks in from the ocean thanks to the idiots in the city planning dept.). We park the car just off the boardwalk carnival, and make our way to the beach. We wanted to ceremoniously dip our toes in the Pacific, as a sort of Christening for our west coast rebirth. Kind of like Apollonia purifying herself in the waters of Lake Minnetonka in "Purple Rain." It felt good. Cold, but good. And somehow, with seemingly almost diving intervention, as I pulled my size thirteens out of the water, I turned to Bubba and said..."Dude." I knew I was home.