I still have nothing to say -- and everything to say, I suppose. But what I want to tell you is that today I had an appointment in Beverly Hills, and I hate going to Beverly Hills because with a few possible exceptions, it's a freak show over there. Crazy BMW drivers, mustard-colored Rolls-Royces, paparazzi on every corner, fifty year old women who are probably really eighty, slicked-back Porsche-driving metrosexuals -- well -- the list could go on and on and I just hate going there. But I had this appointment, so I drove my car into one of the large parking garages and as I climbed up the ramp in my car, a hot pink Beetle came down. On the side of the car was a large painting of one of those little Japanese dolls -- something like this, but just the head:
And the woman driving the hot pink car with the Japanese doll painted on the side WAS THE JAPANESE DOLL. Exactly. She looked exactly like the doll painted on the side of her hot pink car. I thought I might be hallucinating because I was in Beverly Hills overload, but there she was, driving her car like a normal person, right beside me.
It was fantastic. I have no idea who she was or where she was going, but it was fantastic.
