22 hours

That's about as much time as I have before I'll be in the air on my way to Terminal 5 at Heathrow at the start of a crazy month-long odyssey. I said goodbye to work, drank a big red eye at Chango and have been driving around town all day trying to think of every last little thing I could possibly need. Sadly I haven't really eaten anything to counteract the caffeine and I'm in a bitchy fucking mood. I'm really sick of this dodgy Hollywood net cafe I always come to at Sunset and La Brea -- when I get back I really need to buy a personal computer. In the meantime, I must have missed the memo that bloodshot eyes and bedhead are in style because I've gotten hit on twice in the last 15 minutes and I'm just sitting here trying to check my e-mail.

Guy: "Are you from New York?"
Me: "No I'm from Philly"
Guy: "Well I just want to say, welcome" (grips my hand really tight and scary)
Me: "Let go of my hand I hate you" (that last one I didn't say but thought)

God fuck this net cafe!

What a great way to start. No, really, I'm excited as hell -- I'm going to Europe for the first time and I'm going with a band. Fuck me, that is awesome. But all I can think about right now is the fact that I have five minutes left on this machine, I'm hungry and I need to drop Monkey off at the catsitter's. And did I mention I have yet to pack?

See you after the flight--

m