’Cause you said the brains I had went to my head
Step outside, summertime’s in bloom
Stand up beside the fireplace
Take that look from off your face
You ain’t ever gonna burn my heart out

Oasis, "Don't Look Back In Anger"
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Subpar experience at Joe's in Venice Beach. Definitely knocked down to a solid 2nd place in the list for Best Restaurant In Los Angeles (and, of course, Michael's still reigns supreme). And because I didn't want to ride all the way back, I crashed with David and a slimmed down Fatso.

Looking forward to Vegas, if only to catch up with such luminaries as Martin of Pixar fame and Matt of "Hey, Let's Call Erika At 3AM Her Time" fame.

I cranked up my stereo last night as I was watching a DVD performance of Branford Marsalis' quartet performing the complete Love Supreme suite. At 1am. This is the sort of behavior that will not fly if I moved to attached housing. But for now, encased in double-pane windows and sandwiched between an open street and a convicted child molester, atop a hill and facing a park, I get to make as much noise as I want.

I often fantasize as to how I'd introduce myself in some future far-off cocktail party. It's a little game I like to play as I shake off an attempt to have a cool sounding job and redo the scene in my head with a wilder, successive attempt:

"Hi, I'm Ron, I'm a photographer for National Geographic." Okay, so that won't work since don't know how to spell F-Stop. How about this one:

"Hi, I'm Ron, I'm a producer for ESPN." Hey, now we're getting somewhere. All I have to do now is intern for six years, kiss enough ass, and somehow get the attention of Jeremy Schaap or Bob Ley for OTL Nightly. What about a different network?

"Hi, I'm Ron, I'm a producer on the Food Network." Oooh, that's kind of cool. But it doesn't really tap into the love of epicurean delights that holds me aloft.

"Hi, I'm Ron, I'm a writer for the Food Network." That's just silly.

"Hi, I'm Ron, I'm a food writer for National Geographic." Bingo!