Since Sunday, I've had swimmer's ear. That was the day I went to the ocean, sunburned my feet, swallowed saltwater, and had the elastic break on my shorts when I was hit by a rather large wave, effectively ending my volleyball career. All that aside, I can only hear at about 80% out of my left ear.

Today, this caused me to mishear someone who was talking to me from the next table over and say, in response to whatever it was they said: "George Clooney's Romanian website?"

So, it occurs to me I've been a bit remiss about describing my current school and living situation. This is due to a situation I refer to as my 'hellish schedule.' Let me take a few steps to rectify that now.

I'm taking classes at the CBS Studio Lot over at Radford and Ventura. That much, I think I can tell you. What I know I cannot do is take any pictures of anything over at the studio lot. Any frame of film that is snapped over there at that lot is the "intellectual property" of CBS.

Yep, really.

So that means no pictures of the things I pass every day. Things like all of the streets and sets inside the studio. You see, each of the little streets in between the gigantic sound stages where they shoot their shows are named.

Every day, I walk past Gunsmoke Avenue and Mary Tyler Moore way.

I love doing that.

Oh, and the sound stages. Shows that shoot on that particular CBS lot include: Will & Grace, Passions, That 70's Show, Grounded For Life, Just Shoot Me, Big Brother 3, and, in the past, Titus and (much, much better) Seinfeld.

The outside school yard where Malcolm and his little buddies do their thing? Sat in those benches.

The bench where George Costanza had the fantasy about kissing Marissa Tomei? Touched it.

The New York streets where innumerable episodes of Seinfeld have taken place? Walked down them.

Debra Messing's lips? Well...I haven't done anything involving those yet.

Actually, none of the celebrities are on the lot, as each of the shows are on summer hiatus. The celebrities from Passions are there. "Celebrities."

Whenever someone comes back to the classroom and says they saw someone from Passions walking around, all I want to know is one thing:

Was it the midget?

Sadly, the answer is always 'no.'

My roommate, though, has a couple of good stories about standing next to David Spade in line at the lot lunchroom and watching him mess with the heads of the staff there.

Which brings me to my roommate situation. Joe is my roommate, and that's his real name, and not a fake, because, well...his name is Joe.

Joe is a good roommate. He's a good guy, a guy's guy. He likes his sports, he likes his strippers, he likes his Sinatra and Elvis, and he likes his barbecue.

Our interests may overlap on one or two of those things.

Joe and I are never going to become bosom buddies, but he's a good guy to live with. I like that he's fair with money, I like that he keeps driving me around, and I like that he keeps a clean apartment.

My apartment is great. It's a large two bedroom. We've each got our own full bathroom. We have a deck with a little grill. We have central air, a large fridge (they don't come with apartments out here, strangely...you have to buy them when you move), laundry directly across the hall, and a dishwasher.

The best part: Third floor outdoor jacuzzi. Since Saturday, I've spent one hour a day up there just soaking in the sun and bubbly goodness.

"I'll be up in the jacuzzi," one can often hear me saying as I head for the door, towel over my shoulder.

I love saying that.

For some reason, I can think about my writing a lot more clearly when I'm near water. I have to admit, though, that's not all of it. I figure, if my arms are going to be this dark, the rest of me might as well be, too.

If the lack of a tan is some kind of street cred status symbol out here, I am hellbent to be less cool than ever.

I live in a part of Los Angeles called the valley. It is very cool to go outside and see mountains in every direction. What is not cool is the valley itself. The valley can often be 20 to 30 degrees warmer than the rest of Los Angeles. You can find yourself completely mis-dressed after a short car ride.

The valley is also apparently the Hollywood of pornography.

The Los Angeles "river" runs through the valley. Most of the time, it's really just a trickle running through a concrete trough. I'm told that when it rains, though, the thing can almost overflow, to a height of over 12 feet. It acts like an aqueduct, bringing down water from the mountains, and collecting anything else that gets in its way. Like furniture. Garbage cans. Bodies.

Oh, and I'm told that a light rain is enough to make a resident of LA breakdown and unable to function, especially while driving.

Other fun facts about where I'm living:

Subway sandwiches within walking distance. $2.99, no tax (who governs this city?) for a footlong veggie on wheat.

Grocery store around the block. Sushi too.

Palm trees, palm trees, palm trees!

Sure, this city has crap for public transportation, is sunny and warm much more often I tend to enjoy (where am I supposed to put things when I'm not wearing a winter jacket?), and the streets are a smoggy mess of confusing higways that may as well do loop-de-loops for how much I comprehend them, but...I am starting to like it.

It's a city, and like all cities, is at times very beautiful, and for now, it's home.

A home with a goddamn jacuzzi.

I am still steadfastly avoiding soy milk, star fucking, and selling out.