"...that you don't know what you got 'til it's gone." How true this is, especially when dealing with the stupidest little things in life. Like bandwidth. Lord knows I knew going from a cable modem to dialup was going to put a crimp in my Internet-based rock 'n' roll lifestyle, but I didn't think it would be this much of a deterrent.

There were several reasons I was reticent to move back to Connecticut, and today I was forced to face up to one of them.

Yes, it's true -- I ran into an ex-girlfriend from high school.

I guess in some ways, it was embarrassing for the both of us. I was obviously sick and not looking my best. She was on the other side of the cash register, bagging my groceries. Truth be told, I'm glad our positions weren't reversed, though it was kind of hard for both of us (we didn't part on the best of terms). We both kind of quickly smiled at each other and gave each other cursory updates on our lives. My tales of leaving for Los Angeles sound so grandiose in this small town -- it's like in those movies where the kid leaves his parents' farm to go to the Big City for college or something.

Truth be told, I don't think I've ever broken up with someone on good terms. It's always been uncomfortable. I'm not really on speaking terms with most of my exes, and there was one who I even ran into at a SpeedDating event. How embarrassing was that, you ask? Well, it was damn embarrassing.

There are times when I really do believe in the When Harry Met Sally principle that Men and Women Cannot Be Friends. It's kind of odd for me to say that, since those who know me know that there are times in my life when my closest friends have been women. However, in those cases, gender seems to have been lost and it's just two close friends -- as one of my best friends (who is female) says, "Hell, you're just one of the girls." At first, I freaked out when she said that, but she clarified it to mean that I'm as close to her friend-wise as her Inner Circle of Girlfriends and I'm just another member despite my physical "condition." But I've never been able to understand how people can maintain friendly relations after they've broken up.

Despite what we say, men really can be vindictive assholes sometimes. Yes, we do hold grudges and yes, we are basic enough to want revenge if we're wronged. And despite what they say, I firmly believe that women can definitely be the same way. With all this craziness around, it's a wonder the human race is ever able to perpetuate itself. I get the feeling that if humans ever die out, it won't be because of war -- it'll be because we both killed all the members of the opposite sex.

Raised ranch, that is. I knew that moving back in with my parents would be problematic. This morning, my father's garage door opener woke me up from a great dream just as I was about to buy a drink for the gorgeous Ms. Natasha Henstridge.

In other news, I've pretty much lost all concept of time. Between my crazy sleeping schedule due to my taking the red-eye back from Los Angeles and the fact that my internal clock is still badly scrambled based on the time changes, you could probably convince me it's an idle Tuesday in October and I'd be hard-pressed to believe otherwise. Every day may be Saturday when you're unemployed, but several months of Saturdays gets a little monotonous after a while.

I suppose I should get myself cleaned up a little so I can go grocery shopping at some point today. I haven't shaved in almost 48 hours, which will make things interesting when I do it this morning because not shaving for over a day tends to make it hurt when I do finally shave again. I grow facial hair at a rather rapid rate, so I get 5:00 shadow around 2 or 3PM.

So all of the items on my list of Things to Experience in California are complete, having been through a minor earthquake on Monday night. It was a mild one, only a 2.7, and it almost felt natural -- kind of like I was sitting in a massage chair. If the people I was staying with hadn't brought it to my attention, I probably wouldn't have even realized that's what it was.

The interview took only 15 minutes -- I can't believe I trekked all the way across the country and back for a 15 minute interview, though the lunch was productive so I can't complain -- and I thought I kind of stumbled through it. I've never worked in civil service before, so my answers based on my private-sector experience probably were not what they were looking for.

So I'm back in my parents' house in Connecticut for a little while, using a measly 28.8k dialup to check my e-mail and surf the web. Argh. Bad cable, too. Man, broadband spoiled me. Either way, I'm still fairly sick, so I'm going to crash in front of the TV and watch the episodes of "Sports Night" that I taped while I was away. More after these commercials...

For once, my horoscope is almost dead on.

Today could represent a positive turning point in your life, dear Sagittarius. Sudden and unforeseen advancement in life, perhaps careerwise, perhaps financial, could come your way. Your awareness of new and revolutionary ideas could propel you into the position of a leader over those who share your interests. You are probably also feeling incredibly passionate and sexy! All this could come together to make you feel in control of your life. Good luck!

Considering that I had lunch today with a couple of people who can make the Dream Job come true, it's fairly eerily accurate. Except for the part about feeling incredibly passionate and sexy. I'm getting a cold and I've been eating everything in sight for the past 3 weeks, it would take liposuction and someone sticking a vacuum into my sinuses to make me feel passionate and sexy.

And now, Keith requires much sleep. Going to the West Coast has certainly taken care of my problem of not being able to get to sleep at a reasonable hour, this three-hour difference is working wonders.

How come Pat Robertson & Jerry Falwell can blame September 11th and all the other bad things that happen to people on the supposed "downfall of society," but when Rush Limbaugh loses his hearing, it's no one's fault? It's never anyone's fault when it's one of your own.

Oddly enough, meeting the son of our family friends was a refreshing experience for me. It made me remember my own perceptions of where I thought I'd be at 25 and the preconceived notions that went along with it. I am apparently recognized universally as an adult, since he called me "the new man" and even addressed me as "sir" at one point (seems he's a bit reticent to call me by name), and peppered me with all sorts of questions like "how old are you?" and "are you married?" and "do you have a girlfriend?" and "do you have a job?" I called up my friend who lives here and when he asked who I was speaking to, I told him one of my best friends and when he asked me his name, I corrected him to say "her" -- so he immediately started singing out the "sittin' in a tree/K-I-S-S-I-N-G" song because he couldn't really conceive of a platonic friendly relationship between two people of the opposite sex. It kind of made me remember that when I was 8 years old, 25 seemed awfully old and I did expect to be fairly settled in life when I hit this age. Now that I'm older and know better, it's kind of amusing to remember how idealistic and strictly defined most kids' views of the world are of older people.

We had dinner last night with some of their family friends -- people I'd never met before -- but they're very nice and apparently rich beyond my imagination and very generous to the point where one of them insisted that I borrow her Mercedes C500 to tool around town today. I'm going to graciously decline, not because I don't want to drive it, but the prospect of being behind the wheel of an $80,000 car in a city that I'm not totally familiar with sounds like a recipe for bad things to happen. The sun is out today so I'll stick with my convertible, but I'll thank her very much and ask her to give me a raincheck on the Mercedes for that time when I finally get that date with Elizabeth Hurley.

The irony is just staggering.

First, after talking about how people would have to run their shoes through the X-ray machines at airports after this shoe-bomber guy came to town, I was stopped at the security checkpoint at Logan today, thoroughly scanned and patted down to the point where the security guard made me take off my shoes so he could inspect them.

Then I got to L.A. after an uneventful flight that I mostly slept through and allowed myself to be talked into renting a Ford Mustang convertible -- I figure I'm in California, I've got to do this at least once -- and it starts raining about 20 minutes after I leave Hertz.

All in all, though, the past few days have been rather interesting. I have, of course, missed you all and am seriously jonesing for an Internet connection -- thankfully, our family friends that I'm staying with have a modem, so here I am. All of my furniture was sold, I got more drunk on Friday night than I have in a very long time (several beers and tequila shots resulted in some serious drunkenness and some rather interesting consequences), and I slept on my own living room couch last night since the new guy had already moved in. So I'm officially no longer a Boston resident. The next chapter may begin now.

Now that the Patriots are going to the Superbowl, next Sunday will definitely be a hell of a party. I'm going back up to Boston for Superbowl Sunday. But first things first. I have to start making plans for the next stage of my life, and I have to start doing this over the next 2 days. Thankfully, from what I've seen here, rents are considerably less expensive than Boston, so it's just a matter of finding a place and getting some income to tide me over until I get what I want.

I'll try to check in at least once more before I get back to Connecticut on Wednesday. But if not, it's because it's sunny and warm out here and I'm terrorizing Southern California in my rented Mustang convertible. Woo hoo!

So it's finally time for me to pack up my computer and just leave myself the bare essentials that I need, plus the stuff that's being sold off in the next few days. It's been a good run and I'll definitely go into Internet withdrawal while I'm on this short trip to Los Angeles, but I'll be back on the East Coast and blogging on Wednesday. It'll just be a little interesting tomorrow and Saturday with nothing to do all day and time to kill.

It's kind of funny how much of my life this computer has become. I've only disassembled it to move it once before, and that was over a year and a half ago. Since then, it's become my creative outlet, my music center, my gateway to meeting new people and my research tool. This machine is dubbed "The Electric Mayhem III" -- The Electric Mayhem was Dr. Teeth's band on "The Muppets" and I thought the name sounded really cool and apropos, 3 because this is the third machine to hold that title.

So, from The Electric Mayhem III, Center of the Known Universe, this is the High Llama signing off until Wednesday the 30th. Wish me luck. It's time to start the journey into the next phase of my life. Peace out, yo.

"50 Ways to Piss Someone Off, the new album from Simon & Garfunkel -- produced by Fred Durst"
There's not too many things that really tweak my melon.

Okay, there are a good number of things that really tweak my melon. The list is slightly longer than a magazine yet shorter than War and Peace. Let's put it that way, shall we?

But one of the definite entries fairly high up on the list is arrogant presumption. I'll be damned if someone's going to dictate terms to me when they're in no position to do so. Some guy e-mailed me today to say that he saw my ad online to sell my furniture, he's moving and "since it's Thursday and you said you need it gone by the weekend, you should be willing to part with all of it for $xxx." Uhh, 'scuse me? What happened to "since it's Thursday and I can take it off your hands by this weekend, would you be willing to sell it for $xxx?" Schmuck.

In any event, I have made arrangements to rent a U-Haul on Saturday morning and take the furniture to a used furniture store, who will purchase it. So whether or not this guy chooses to bargain with me, I at least have a backup.

Oddly enough, I could really go for some meatloaf right now. I think it's been far too long since I've had any meatloaf. And I'm talking about the food, not the singer/actor. Meatloaf is one of those things that everyone secretly likes yet makes fun of and degrades publicly in order to look cool.

As of Thursday afternoon, I'll be on blog hiatus for almost a week. My computer setup will be disassembled and taken back to my parents' house in Connecticut, so I'll be without Internet connection until I return from Los Angeles on Wednesday morning. Just thought I'd warn y'all that I haven't really dropped off the face of the earth.

Mmm... fresh jersey sheets. Nothin' like 'em.

The problem with flying cars is that if something breaks down, you're bound to incur major injuries or possible death from falling out of the sky and your subsequent impact into the earth at a decent speed. At least with a car that's traveling on the ground, if something blows up, you have a chance to get the car over to the side of the road without too much damage to yourself or others.

I'm starting to show the stress. The long-dormant gene that controls my Brooklyn accent is starting to let it slip out. While I was born there, I don't really have the accent, though it is in my genes being a third-generation Brooklynite and my dad still has his accent. Personally, I've been asked many times over the past few months if I'm either from California or Canada because of my accent. But whenever I get really angry or really drunk, the gene starts to activate and I regain the dialect of the old 'hood.

I've heard the expression "one person can make a difference" so many times that I actually started to believe it a little bit. Then I realized that it's not just that. That one person has to be in the right place at the right time with the right connections and spotlight. One person can start a fire, but they can't do it without a match.

So, in the wee hours of the morning, what I'm about to undertake is finally setting in and I'm starting to get apprehensive. I guess it's official now that I've shipped out most of my stuff and I've started dismantling my room (I love that word -- "dismantle"). The subletter moves in on Saturday. I make my final run to Connecticut on Thursday to unload my stuff and I live out of a suitcase for a few days before I fly out to L.A. for a short trip. When I return from Los Angeles on Wednesday morning, I will no longer be a resident of Boston.

It's not that I'm having regrets or second thoughts. I'm not. If anything, I know that this is something I have to do, especially since one of the things I'm most afraid of is being 45, sitting at some dead-end boring-ass job and thinking to myself that I never went after this and I never went for the gusto and I could've had the life I wanted but instead decided to sit back and play it safe. I have to do this. I have to grab life by the balls and yank, especially since this is something I actually want to do rather than just drifting along and doing some job just because it was suggested to me or a personality test said I'd be good at it.

It's just a matter of my apprehension. This is a huge step. This is a big jump. This is leaving behind everything and everyone I've known to travel 3000 miles away to an enormous city I've spent less than a week of my life in and know less than a dozen people. My only consolation is the fact that it's reversible -- if things don't work out, I can always move back here. But for the first time in my life, I'm really going to be on my own.

I'm going to do this. I'm moving to Los Angeles, I'm pursuing something I finally have a burning desire to do. For the first time in almost a decade, I'm pursuing a job that I am not just "eh" about. Now I just have to decide whether the roiling in my stomach is due to my fears that things won't work out or the fact that I had too many Sno-Caps tonight.

I'm seeing a ton more commercials on TV for things like genital wart creams, yeast infection creams, condoms and other things that haven't really been discussed in the past in public. My question is, if you were an actor and just starting out in your career, would you accept a part in a genital wart or yeast infection remedy commercial with the possibility that people might recognize you when you're walking down the street and point and say, "Hey, that's the Monistat chick!" or "Hey, that's that guy from the genital warts commercial!"?