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And I'm changing the subject more than Bush when asked to name a mistake he's made...

Where was I? Oh right. Vacation.

It was awesome. I spent the last week with my father in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. We did a 100 mile snowmobile tour of Yellowstone one day, and skied every other. It was fantastic. Not only the time I got to spend with my father (I don't know if I've spent that much uninterrupted time with my dad since before my parents divorce (21 years ago)) but also the fact that I was away from my job, my life, my... warm weather. But I got to ski. Which I haven't gotten to do much of here in Southern California.

There are too many details to go into, but suffice it to say that I skied hard, I skied well, and I didn't break a single bone. I saw wildlife. I heard wolves howl. I drank in front of my dad.

I'm now back in the office. Mores the pity. But I will say this: I missed LA. When that shit started happening, I have no idea. Mister Zero pointed out the other day that I've started referring to California as home instead of Michigan. Which is totally weird. But good, I think.

As far as the title of this entry and the reference to The Juice... I had a twenty minute layover in Denver. If you think I had to haul ass between terminals and jump over airport chairs, etc... you thought right. I made it. My luggage didn't.

Sorry for the schizoid entry -- let's see if my next entry can make less sense than this one. I doubt it.