In the past year, a year summarily characterized by the word inconvenience, I had managed to forget something I re-discovered today on my home upon merging onto the 23 from the 101: the beauty of the California sky as the sun relents to the horizon. Such a sunset drapes the Conejo Valley like a pink bedspread, in layers, in blues and grays and whisps of white, soft shades of purple and stratified gray. These are the things you don't see in a bus, or in a cab, or on street whether walking or on a bike. Only from the vantage of an onramp can we see the backdrop of day to day life. I love the juxtaposition of ants marching and metal rolling while a canvas stands vanguard over us all. One of my favorite early memories of Los Angeles comes from the freeway going to LAX from Pasadena, taking the 110 onto the 105 by way of the carpool skyway. On some days, after a nice rain, for example, the sky in LA is so clear that you can see the whole basin from that ramp. You can see the Hollywood sign and the channels of east LA, to the skyscrapers in Westwood and Century City to the beaches of the South Bay. Lots of people commit suicide up there on that skyway. At least the background is nice. Think placid thoughts think placid thoughts.

I still get a few hits to the blog by way of people searching for "24 hour starbucks los angeles". I go to the one in Sherman Oaks, near the corner of Sepulveda and Noble. And it's always crowded, but the baristas are real pros, so the line moves quickly. Expect to see a good mix of smokers, artists, wifi surfers, cops, and other denizens of the evening, all searching for a caffeine fix.

But I'm enjoying the freedom of driving again. It's hard to live in this town without a car, though I will admit that after a while I did get accustomed to my unique transportational situation. It meant, though, that I couldn't spend a lot of overtime at work, leading to a bit of an identity crisis and the accompanying nervous breakdown.

Once I finally merged onto the 23, a beat up old Integra came barreling up the freeway at speeds in excess of 100mph. He ducked and dodged through traffic, through cars accelerating and changing lanes as they merged. He's probably sober and will wake up tomorrow driving the same way. My interlock beeps at me to refresh its memory as to whether or not I've had a sip of alcohol since starting the car ten minutes ago. I oblige and think placid thoughts.