So I step out of my domestic terminal in LAX, and after getting some confused looks from various airport staff (I asked how I could walk to the international terminal rather than shuttle, how novel), and all of a sudden there is a big ol' commotion. I think, emergency! Apparently my days of living in LA are too far behind me, because this was really just business as usual: the paparazzi. Yep, about a dozen of them swarming some tiny, glossy-haired starlet in a flurry of flashbulbs.
The Aussies are getting restless here at the V Australia desk. Is it bad that I find it hard to take their anger seriously with that accent? Am I already throwing down and talking smack about Oz?
And now I bid you all a temporary adieu, as I ride this airplane over the sea.
Hobbits, prepare the mead.