Today I said goodbye for the last time to Burbank and Glendale, as well as my shirtless-and-red-shorts-wearing slavedriver*. I got on the plane in perfect, sunny but cool weather and after a short, uneventful ride, got dumped out into a cold, sharp wind and an impenetrable wall of fog and traffic.
And it made me as giddy as I can get when not on Space Mountain. I would’ve even done a hop in the air and clicked my heels together if I weren’t so fat.
Get me back in my apartment and in front of my keyboard again, and it’s like giving a pacifier to a fussy baby. I still can’t remember when San Francisco turned from “that annoying, expensive place over-filled with smug hipsters” into “home,” but it’s locked into place now. Maybe it just requires a southern Californian hotel to make me realize it.
* Used as poetic license only. The Disney people I’ve worked with are friendly, easygoing, and unpretentious to a degree completely unbecoming for a gigantic multinational entertainment corporation.