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June 20, 2001

It's me.  It's just me.  I wanted to be alone tonight, I never thought I'd  ever say that.  I wanted to be alone tonight.

If I ever thought I'd hear myself saying that, I'd guess I'd take it to mean I'd be alone for a little bit, and then end up drunk with Ash somewhere.  But she's off herding sheep in Australia, so I'm alone.  Really really alone.

And what does one do when one is really really really alone?  Go find somebody to hang out with!  No, no.  Not only do I want to be alone, but I want to be reflective.  Melancholy.  Okay, I already am those things, but I want to be in a place where my outsides matches my insides.  Where is the most melancholy place in L.A. that I can come up with?  The La Brea Tar Pits.  Have you ever been down there?  It's not too far from my house, and yet I've never been, primarily because I am not a fifth grader on a science field trip.  And yet, there's something about those wooly mammoths.


There's a handy dandy description on a plaque nearby that says something like "The father and son mammoth watch in terror as their mother is stuck in the tar."  Why ANYONE thought that'd be a good idea to depict right smack in the middle of L.A. is truly truly beyond me.  Look at 'em.

That baby mammoth is gonna be traumatized for life.  I'M traumatized for life just looking at him.  Staring for all eternity at his stuck Mommy Mammoth in the tar pit.  Mommy Mammoth is frozen in pain and agony for all eternity.  And why is the Mommy Mammoth the one stuck?