My head is all kinds of everywhere lately. I’m afraid to tell people the truth in the great In-N-Out Burger vs. Five Guys dispute. Let’s just say it won’t go over well given my current location.

I’m living like a California king with a queen-sized futon. Angelino women stare awestruck as I pass them on the streets, my radiant Virginian swagger lighting the dark LA county nights. I high-five the checkout guy at 7-11 as I pay for my Slurpee because it’s impossible to be unhappy with a 42-ounce container of sugar water in your hand.

One day soon I will play a game called “Let’s See How Close We Can Get to the Hollywood Sign.” I won’t rest until I can wrap my spaghetti-like arms around the trunk of the Y. Then I will try to jump through one of the O’s like a dog seeking treats.

Mom and Dad sent me this because it absolutely parrots our dialogue at home: