Stepped off the bus ...

LOS ANGELES -- Here I am for the next almost two weeks,  in Little Tokyo and covered in a silt of Strawberry Pocky. (My own doing). The vague deets: I'm here with about two dozen strangers for intensive courses in a specific area of word-making, and got here by getting a fellowship from some nice people you've heard of.

My flight was unremarkable until somewhere over the Rocky Mountains when I looked at the gape-mouthed stranger seated next to me, and wondered how to politely taken him from Stage 4 REM to the cruel reality that I had to pee hard. This was awkward for everyone involved. Especially since he fell back to sleep while I was in the bathroom. He got me back with an aural attack: I think he called his wife "Pookie" when he called to tell her the plane had landed. Oye.

I  went to dinner with Cath and J, two former Duluthies I didn't know when they lived in Duluth, but do now. We ate at a Japanese restaurant (tempura veggies), then J showed me how to get to skid row from the hotel.

Remind me to tell you about how Futbol came from Argentina to visit. (In fact, he's still visiting. I'm just not there to see it).