"Hello Harley Burger?"

When I was in middle school, maybe high school, I would think to myself that when I came back to town from college, my first stop would be Harley's Burgers.

Located literally right around the corner from my parent's house, Harley's was a staple growing up. While working on the bathroom, redoing my room, or building the garage; we'd always head to Harley's for our quick food needs.

The old-fashioned-looking drive-up diner was owned and run by Harley and his wife, Kim, two wonderful old people who cooked up great burgers and delicious Chinese food. When you'd call to place an order Kim usually answered with the familiar refrain, "Hello Harley Burger?" After telling her what you'd like to order she'd half ask, half instruct you by saying, "OK, you come now."

When I'd walk up to get food she'd hand it to me and ask how my parents were. We'd chat briefly and as I walked away, back toward home, I'd always pop one of the crinkle-cut french fries in my mouth.

But I never went there on weekends home from college. About two years before I moved to L.A., Harley and Kim retired. They were going to spend some time with their daughter's family in Orange County and then drive around the country, visit China for a while and just generally enjoy having more than one day off a week (Sunday) for the first time in as long as I can remember.

They sold the restaurant to a young Asian couple and we gave them a shot. Within a month it was too different. The burgers were round now, not square; the chow mein less noodley somehow; and worst of all, the fries were straight cut.

We stopped going.

But lately I've been wondering. Is it still that bad? After all, the window still has the "Best Burgers in Town" paint displayed blatantly without any source or evidence (I would bet that Best Burgers about a mile away would take particular issue with that declaration). So I called up today for lunch. It was too rainy outside for me to make the sandwich I had been planning on and I've been wanting a quarter-pound hamburger with cheese no mayo no onion and a small fry which is what I told the old woman who answered the phone.

I walked up about four minutes later, said hello to a new old Asian woman and saw no sign of the young couple who shook my world years ago. After paying less than five dollars for my food I walked away holding a white paper bag, reached inside, and pulled out a crinkle-cut fry.

"Did you see where I put that other butterfly?"

There are some things that you can only expect to hear in a flower shop.

After three-and-a-half years I have completed the boomerang that started with my move home and am once again delivering flowers professionally. This is, after all, the busiest time of the year for them, and when my old shop calls for help I am there to help. Assuming I'm in the area and not busy.

So today I cut and cleaned flowers, changed the water, arranged roses in vases, ran arrangements out on delivery and answered phones just like old times. I even went by the grave site of L Young for his wife and dropped off a little arrangement for the vase. I have given this man flowers more often than I have given flowers to any living woman, including my mom (and I used to, and once again, work in a flower shop).

People may think that working in a flower shop is dainty work. To those people I say, think about it. Five gallons of water, plus 4 dozen roses still in bunches weighs about 50 pounds (20 kilos for the international readers). That's a lot of weight to heft around, up and down. Especially when you're dealing with dozens of dozens of roses and other flowers and their fillers including baby's breath and various greens.

Come on guys, go with something original. Don't just get roses.

For now, my hands smell like myrtle and eucalyptus and I get to go back in tomorrow at 6:30.

Happy Valentine's Day. Or, to quote the oft-quoted in my house episode of "30 Rock," "HAPPY VALEN-TIMES!"

One art please

Three guys stole four paintings that someone, somewhere would have paid $163 million for. The job was pulled in Zurich, which is actually not the capital of Switzerland, in a fantastically low-tech fashion consisting of literally grabbing them off the wall and throwing them in a white van. Thanks, NY Times.

The return of the travel sponge

How much do I love staying with Jared and CJ? Quite a bit, actually.

Having never lived with guys before it's a nice preview of what life would be like finally doing so. Nine-foot TV for watching Lost? Check. Saturday morning spent sleeping, playing Guitar Hero on same nine-foot TV and online poker? Check. A little more filth than I'd like? Check.

Getting off the 405 on Wilshire was incredibly familiar. I knew everything there was to see in LA, knew where I needed to go to get where I was going without thinking and knew it would take me a long time because it was 5 pm.

And while it's no secret that I'm a fan of jackets, not using the AC and enjoying scarf weather, it is nice to be back in my traditional uniform of flip flops, t-shirt and jeans. It's been warm and sunny, almost unbearably so given that it's February.

LA is also great for making me feel like I'm super popular. Trying to see everyone you know in three or four days gives the impression that you know a lot of people. And the people are some of my favorite people, and I'm glad to visit them often.

Hot Hot Heat

I have now seen Hot Hot Heat three times and "Talk to Me Dance With Me" will never not be a great song. Part of the reason I came down this weekend vs another was because that band was playing with Louis XIV (one of my favorites) and The Editors (one that I now know is a great live act) for about the cost of a half a tank of gas. I couldn't really think of anyone at home who would want to see them as much as I would but apparently, I know quite a few people that would want to go in LA.

The amazing show got out at midnight and I was astonished that we found parking a few miles away in Hollywood at 12:45 am on a Saturday. After getting hit on twice by two different guys in the span of 10 seconds (when I bought it three years ago, Kirsten did say that the jacket wasn't "that gay") and a drink we walked over to the 101 Cafe located in the Best Western Hollywood Hills.

The syrup smelled better than the pancakes tasted at 2 in the morning, but what are you going to do? It was still deliciously awesome and quintessentially LA somehow. Everyone in their button up shirts and blazers and designer jeans or else wearing short skirts and other club wear. Me in my Dave Matthews t-shirt, Christmas present jeans and worn out hemp Rainbows. Ah, LA, it was nice to be back.