We visited the home of our deceased King of Pop. It was sad. Flowers, laminated letters hanging from his mailbox, and a curb covered in wax from all the melted down candles. These were two of the posters kids had made for him and left by the curb.

They closed the bay bridge over labor day weekend, beginning on Thursday evening. I work off of the bridge, so I had an access pass to get to and from Treasure Island (which carries you over the scenic part). Friday night when I left work, there was only a single lane open and not any cars in sight... except for the huge van right behind me keeping me from pulling over. I told myself I would get back from Los Angeles in time to pull over into the blocked off area and see the sunset behind the skyline, Alcatraz, and the Golden Gate bridge - it seemed like a rare opportunity. Then, I heard on the radio that the bridge would be closed until Wednesday morning, so I went home to relax after my exhausting weekend instead of hurrying myself to the other end of the city. When I pulled onto the freeway this morning on the way to work, I saw a sign that said, "Bay Bridge Now Open!" Apparently they hurried through the night and got everything in working order.

The only documentation I have of the bridge being closed is a photograph through the windshield on Friday. Yet another lesson in never passing on opportunity.

I am ashamed that I am incapable of doing something without developing the slightest expectations. Friday night I was leaving for Los Angeles for the first time and expected to hate it. And had circumstances been different, maybe I would have. But everything was perfect and I fell in love with yet another city on the west coast.

Went to LACMA and saw some amazing work. Original Warhol prints, a really awesome elevator shaft done by Barbara Kruger, a crazy intricate sculpture of a busted up apartment building by Do Ho Suh... but what blew me away was the work of John Baldessari. This guy is up to some good.

Last night I had what was essentially a borrowed dream that fortunately incorporated the rightful owner. I sold almost everything I own, bought a beige 1983 Cadillac El Dorado and began what was sure to be a destinationless adventure throughout North and South America with Heather Parsons.

Though the adventures were only beginning when I woke up, it was still a great dream and a much needed improvement from the night prior. Two nights ago I dreamed that I applied to be a nanny, and the parents of the child sent me a small box filled with seamen and broken glass and a note that read, "Dear hippy faggot." Brutal.

This is the welcoming committee at the Tennessee Grill. Instead of actually being in Tennessee, it is a few blocks from my apartment. But I am pretty sure it is authentic Tennessee cuisine (salad bar, eggs, hashbrowns, toast, etc).