Runaway Production

The first sign I was heading back from whence I came was how hungry I was on the Air Canada flight, on account of how they don't feed you anything. Yeah, sure, it's a two and change hour flight, and they did give me the whole can of pop (yes, pop) and not just the little plastic cupful, but come on, food and movies are the soma that makes you forget about how little leg room you have.

From the plane, Vancouver looked the way it almost always does in the winter: wet, dark, overcast, dour. God, it's great to be back. I never feel quite right about dry pavement.

I've never been away somewhere and come home for the holidays, so despite the elite training I have received on the topic from countless movies about this rite of passage, I'm ill-prepared for just how sweet it feels. So much happiness and joy to be home, to see everyone, to go to all the parties.

And how I love Vancouver. Really, it's a great place. It's a city, but a small city, so really, it feels like a town. I can walk down the street and see people I know, I can find common ground with strangers, I can watch the news and the story after the leading story (salvation army volunteers getting robbed of their donation buckets in malls) is about a good samaritan returning a wad of cash she found in the gutter. I love Vancouverites too. They are so unselfconsciously weird. There's a certain kind of average non-conformity that you sometimes see around here that I have never seen in a similar way in LA.

So yeah, I'm home for a bit. If you want to call me, I'm at my parents' house in WV. Let's hang out.