Back, back, back, back in the U.S.ofA.

Sunday night in Vancouver. Crazy early flight back to L.A. on Monday morning.

Why fly back to L.A. when that's where Laurel ultimately is heading, anyway? Because I only have one day back there before flying to Connecticut and hanging out a few days before driving back to L.A. with Andrew.

Bring it on!

Vancouver has bridges.

I want this.

I have no freakin' idea.

OK, tiene mi atencion. Now what?

I got back to Los Angeles late Monday morning. Bro Mike, despite being annoyed that the Yanks took two of three from the Mets, picked me up at airport and dropped me off at home. I might have napped, definitely did some errands and hit the gym despite barely being awake (OK, I don't think I napped), contemplated going back to Mike's to do laundry but instead decided to take all of my dirty clothes to mom's house ... in Connecticut. 

Also, Mike's car is kaput, so I drove "my" Lexus over there late Monday night and he took me back home. Then I once again Lyfted it to LAX. And once again, my driver was ... OK, it wasn't awesome/crazy Barry. It was cool/chill/friendly Scott. Who indulged my tales of the origin on Connecticut's unofficial "Nutmeg state" nickname, and actively engaged me in conversations about the Whalers. 

It rocked. 

We also talked about whether relegation could work in the U.S. (I tend to doubt it, but it'd be fun), whether a Dodgers World Series win would put Don Mattingly in the Hall (I tend to think so), and how Scott never has been to the Northeast. He needs to go there. 

I am going there. These things are not related

OK, you want to know the Nutmegger story? People used to trade nutmeg. That's the gist. The interwebs have more. Ask them.