A good way to shut me up...

If I'm supposed to write something super eloquent about my time in Los Angeles, or at Homeboy, or at MOVE, or walking amoungst the freaks at Venice Beach I'll surely disappoint. That's all in person stuff, made for actual conversations, not typed nonsense dripping with the inarticulate sludge of Coppertone and Tecate. I can't manage it. It's not that I don't want to be eloquent. I do. It's just that nothing that I could write could fully shed light on the last three days. I saw old friends, practically made a new one in Jesus H. Christ (the H stands for Hosoi), and met a childhood idol. I got to hang out at the Venice Bowl, and I sat down with grieving men so that I could, for the first time in my life, know what a real man is supposed to be. I missed my wife and daughter as though someone took them from me, and I got a little better grip on this thing that I do, both work and life.

You always hear about how your life can change in an instant, but imagine what three days can do.