Photo by Joson

I'm sitting in one of my favorite Starbucks, at a prime location in West Hollywood. Sitting in this Starbucks is a different experience than at any other. For one thing, I'm surrounded by people working on their screenplays. Well, it's true I've seen that in New York too, but there the screenwriters look rather nebbishy; here they have huge biceps and wear tight tank-tops and Prada sunglasses. Everybody's chair is turned to the street, in order to watch the passing buff bodies on their way to or from the gym, and each time somebody enters the cafe, all eyes turn. In other respects, it's similar to Starbucks in gay neighborhoods: most people toil alone on their laptop, but with a half-hearted aspect, keeping one eye cocked for making eye contact. I suppose I'm not that much different: I'm ostensibly working (connected to my office via T-Mobile's wireless network), but since I have practically nothing to do at work, I'm really rather bored, which is why I'm writing this journal.

I knew it would happen sooner or later that one of us would get horribly busy at work. We've been blessed, during the long Summer of our romance, that we've both been through light schedules. My workload has all but disappeared since I got back from my trip, and so I have tons of time on my hands. Ben, on the other hand, is stressed out, and overworked. Which is why I'm sitting here at Starbucks, while he tries to get his work done so that he can spend the weekend with me on a clear conscience.

I flew into Burbank early afternoon, and took Supershuttle to Starbucks, with the intention of going to the gym around four, and then waiting for Ben to pick me up at 5.30. The ride in on Supershuttle was amusing: at first I thought we must be on Candid Camera. Neither the driver, nor the coordinator at the airport knew how to get to either Santa Monica Boulevard or Wilshire (the destination of the only other rider). That's like getting to New York and not knowing how to get to Broadway. Moreover, our driver barely spoke English: if I told him to go right, he'd point left. Happily, I more or less knew the way, so we were safe. It wasn't until I talked to Ben that I recalled that his best friend's Dad is the Chairman of Supershuttle, so we're going to have words with him about the driver's cluelessness.

En route, I chatted with my fellow rider, a lovely, rural woman in her fifties from a small town in Oregon. She'd been born in Beverly Hills, but had moved away as a teen, and hadn't been back since. She was coming back for her 36th Grade School reunion, with some trepidation. She'd heard that many of her former friends were in the industry now, and she was sure she was going to feel very out of place. I told her that here, in the world of inauthenticity, they all love it when they come across somebody real, and that they'd be sure to find her fascinating as a result.

Ben's just called me, and he's going to pick me up at 4.15 so we can go to the gym together. Apparently seeing me wasn't enough to get him to leave work early; but as soon as he realized I was going to the gym in West Hollywood without him, he suddenly found room in his schedule. Ah, we're moving into that phase of our relationship.

After the gym, we'll drive downtown to meet Bill and Stefan for dinner, then go together to the new Walt Disney Symphony Hall (architected by Frank Gehri, the same guy who did the Bilbao Guggenheim) to hear a concert that includes "Also Sprach Zarathustra", known to most people because it's the opening theme of "2001 A Space Odyssey". It's hard to know which will be the most spectacular, and hence which I'm most looking forward to: hearing the low, bass growl of the opening chord of Zarathustra, or seeing the swooping, exhilarating forms of the symphony hall. Actually, more than either of those I guess I'm looking forward to kissing Ben. (I hear those groans.)