Heaven must be a place where the milk is cold and creamy, the movies are 90 minutes long, the wifi never fails, the burgers are three bucks and rosy pink on the inside.
If you have a good dad, you have a super hero.
My dog is a giant werewolf; her dog is a very sophisticated micro-breed of hamster ... a Pixar character.
Post-Scully, baseball -- our most-musical game, a nightly prom -- has become a more-austere experience, almost homework.
On spring days in LA, I feel like I’ve married one of Shakespeare’s dreams (to borrow from the great Ogden Nash).
Tale of two cities: Office workers now turn up three days a week, but my gardener shows up in a cold rain. Plus, other random thoughts...
I had one goal as a kid: To play for the Harlem Globetrotters.
Funny place, the South Bay. It always brings to mind – at least to me -- the Carl Hiaasen novel that opens with a young driver crashing while grooming her bikini line. "But officer..."
I’m hosting a weekend retreat. The guest list: Paul McCartney, Paul Simon, Elton John, Jimmy Webb and (of course) Bob Dylan. Their assignment: One more great song.
How would you sum up L.A.? You can’t. How would you sum up the Bible? How would you explain what the Dodgers mean to you? Or your kids? Or, most of all, your poker buddies?