Yesterday I stayed in downtown LA. I saw the wig department of the LA Opera and listened to the Art Deco collection 'Can't Help Lovin That Man' -- gay songs from the late 1920s-early 1930s sung by men -- and just missing the Jerry Springer Opera. I walked to Chinatown and Little Tokyo, which would have been fun if it wasn't 101 degrees outside. I still got lost in hidden malls and exotic pet shops. There was the Museum of Contemporary Art which had an exhibit of minimalist art from the 1960s. It reminded me of childhood when things like wood and paint and parachutes and ice were really fascinating. I walked around and looked at architecture and Andy Warhol's death art. I ate veggie sandwiches with avocado. I looked at childhood pictures of Elvis. I watched my sister make wigs. We were rear-ended on Hollywood Boulevard on the way home. Of course, since we were in a new car. But apparently new cars have magical bouncy bumpers that take no damage. Drive Toyota! Everything reminds me of Cary Grant and Randy Scott. The sun makes me too happy to write. I feel like being lazy forever.