In LA, everyone blows through red lights, even the cops, and the proper response to “Good morning” is “You sure? Just wait, dude.”
Toss these babies on the little grill to meld, weld, fester, ferment, gurgle, kiss, cuddle and waba-waba, till they become the finest beach dessert you ever had.
My takeaway from all the spittle, all the invective, was that we don’t know what we have till it’s taken away – like electricity, for instance.
Like most men, my father had no feeling in his face, so that when he ate ribs and buttery corn, he’d appear to have applied it externally, as you would an aftershave.
I’ve now seen “Top Gun: Maverick” 57 times. Obviously, I don’t just like old stuff. I’m also into new stuff that resembles old stuff.
We’re back in California, that Greek myth, a state that flew too close to the sun.
After Smartacus left, White Fang became an ironic, super-bored princess -- you know the type. Shaggy manes. Legs like palm trees. Look so great climbing out of a pool.
"We're going to the North Pole," I tell her. Actually, we're off to fetch Smartacus, her cheeky sidekick, her partner in grime.
On Zillow, this LA treefort now lists for $1.7 million. “Needs a kitchen and some TLC. Comes with a bobcat.”
Know who I remind myself of? Jimmy Piersall, baseball’s most-famous flake, who once described diapering this way: "Spread the diaper in the position of the diamond. Then fold second base down to home...