Returning to work means returning to commuting. As Facebook users can attest, I was completely unprepared for the weight of computer, clothes, and shoes in my pannier. It's a bit heavier than farmers' market produce.
On the way in, I saw no fewer than three drivers with cellphones pressed against their ears. At Fairfax and Venice, I shared a moment of head shaking with one of my motorized two-wheeled brethren as we glared at the guy in the Corolla.
Still, that was nothing compared to the two, count them, two Culver City cops I saw pull out of the station on Duqesne, both of them slowly seeking the sweet release of death via brain cancer. While I can understand how lonely days patrolling the skate park and arresting the children of community leaders would inspire thoughts of suicide, I generally do not think of the police as agents of irony so much.
(Non-Californians may be surprised to know that we have a hands-free law here. Thus the irony.)
The other thing that returning to work means is a return to free lunch. Today, I was treated to "kaiseki" from Hirozen, a favorite of this production crowd and all who work in West Hollywood. I'm not at liberty to publicly talk about the job I'm on, but let's just say that this was a welcome return to something I have known and loved for a couple of years now. Today's example, while shipped in plastic and styrofoam and eaten at my Avid, was as good as any I have had there.
That is not just a case of managed expectations.
In case you're wondering, the other great thing about this job is render time, which is how I've had the time to do this. I don't work for you, so eat me.
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