Clem Snide is one of the best bands ever. Find lyrics somewhere.

Anyway, I took the advice of a cool (read: slightly surly, cynically witty, bright'n'dark all at once) girl at work and found a new way to drive to work.

I like it 'cos I get to drive past Forest Lawn (I've always liked cemeteries) and the LA "River." I get to see the art down on its concrete walls, look at the rolling green gravesites, and see the mountains.

Yes, there are mountains in LA.

But one of the downsides is that I have to pass Warner Brothers studios in Burbank, and ever since I've begun this particular trek there has been a stop-off by the studio gates where they check all delivery trucks, ostensibly for explosives or other terrorist-y thingies. There are always cops there, a few cruisers lined up by the corner, and today I saw a police dog.

I love dogs. Especially big dogs. I gre up with huge hulking mutton-butts of doggy love slobbering all over me when I was barely taller than they were.

But it just made me sad to think this dog has been trained to chase, and bite, and hurt. I don't think I would like it if I were that dog. I guess I'd be just as heartsick to come across a dog bred for underground fighting.

And it kinda seems fucked that Warner Brothers gets more carefuuly monitored police protection than, say, the corner of Hollywood and Hillhurst, where last night a good friend's car got broken into. Someone put one of those batteries agaist the window, zapped it, and shattered the glass without even having to really try very hard.

I feel deflated and silent today.