Homes.

It was nice to be recuperating from the flu while in my parents' house, in my old bedroom (with orange marmalade-painted walls - I know, delicioso, no?) in the chilly Northeast which I grew up in. The gripes here, then, would be the weather, of course, and the fact that its me, living in my parents house for the week.

There's something about it - being in a house, with family, that has this undeniably genuine feeling of home to it - which LA has never quite created. The dime-a-dozen apartments in LA - well, it was nice to be in a home, and not in a setting which can't help but feel like a few kids thrown together in a vague post-college haze.

Pardon me. My tastebuds are abuzz from an OD of Herr's Salt & Vinegar potato chips. If you know what I'm talking about, you know. Comes in a white bag. And if you're lucky enough, you too may experience how 'America runs on Dunkin'.'. Thank God for Terminal B, PHL.