the ocean

I spent the last week in Los Angeles for work. It was okay. As with most business travel, a lot of it involved the inside of a conference room, and those tend to look the same wherever you are. We did get to go to a good dinner at Craft, the restaurant run by the jolly bald guy from Top Chef. There was a salad with avocado and tomatillos that completely blew my mind, as well as a potato gratin that I would probably trade a week of my life to eat. And they were so nice -- they kept bringing us little complimentary snacks and even gave us packaged scones to go for the next day's breakfast. So I shall be fat but happy, it seems.

I don't think I saw a single fat person in LA, however. Everyone was thin and tan and conspicuously chill. That kind of chill where you feel there's an incredibly monstrous person just waiting to bust out, but still. And people kept randomly interjecting themselves into our conversations, as though we were all good friends and just waiting for them to join. I learned a lot of surprisingly personal information about people I was never even introduced to, let me tell you.

We did have one semi-celebrity sighting. Ryan Murphy was sitting at the table next to us at dinner one night. I completely ignored him, because I'm so cool. Didn't even confront him over his decision to allow Lady Gaga to act. I did try to eavesdrop, but the tables were way too far apart.

Anyway, LA is a strange place. I went there. Now I'm back. Crazy world, this.