West Coast Rules, East Coast Drools

Michael and Chelsie are in town for the weekend. My brother is officially “from LA” and wants to hang with someone other than children, parents and grandparents that make up my current social circle.

“I’m in town,” he says with the laid-back drawl of someone who just got off the Red Eye with little or no sleep. “Put a crew together.”

I don’t know what my brother is talking about most of the time. There is an awful lot going on that Michael “can’t support” even though he’s “in it to win it”. Something is either “guilty” or “a heavy scene”. “Don’t kid yourself” because he’s “dialed in”, I’m just afraid to suggest anything for fear of being ridiculed as a “right coast thinker”.

We’re going to hit The Blue Shark and James Joyce and hope for the best. I’m sure our initial conversation will go something like this:

“We’re taking the minivan? Very guilty.”

“Don’t make fun of me, Michael. It has satellite radio. That’s gotta count for something.”

“Not if you keep it on Lite Hitz all f*cking night. Light it up, sister!”

Wish me luck, folks.