I left for California this morning, and as we speak I’m chillin’ in the O.C.  I’ve never even seen that show.  Is it about office parks and strip malls? That’s all I’ve seen so far.

I flew into LAX, so I could fly direct.  The flight was OK, but I kept experiencing those little moments of cognitive dissonance brought on by crossing time zones, and severely exacerbated by my fellow passengers.  One young woman, for example, was wearing a black dress over black leggings tucked into cowboy boots, forcing me to do a little mental check:  We’re going from New England in August to California in August, right?  We’re not crossing the international date line into the post-Labor Day clothing season, are we?

Then the guy directly in front of me ordered a vodka and cranberry, which made me check my watch:  9:00 a.m. Eastern time, 6:00 a.m. Pacific time. It’s always cocktail hour somewhere, I guess.

As we touched down in Los Angeles, I was finishing Zadie Smith’s White Teeth and wondering what California-based book I could find to enhance my travel experience.  The peculiar smog-filtered light reminded me that I had never seen the end of Shopgirl, a movie set mostly in LA that I was watching when my plane finally got the hell out of Goose Bay last winter and they turned off the in-flight programming. I’ve been wondering how it ends.  I hope they don’t pair off Claire Danes and Steve Martin in a Pretty Woman happy ending.  Steve’s older man was far too smug and entitled for her. But as much as I’ve loved Jason Schwartzman (since Rushmore, naturally), I thought he was too flaky for her as well.  The movie seemed too smart to go for one of those forced resolutions, so I’m hoping for something a little more intelligent and nuanced.

What does it say for the genre of romantic comedy when you’re constantly rooting for the girl to get a Master’s degree or a better job and dump the suitors?  Seriously, have you seen a romantic comedy in the last ten years where the pre-destined couple seemed like they had anything at all in common?  Serendipity and Maid in Manhattan are two horrible examples.  Kissing Jessica Stein is probably the warmest, most genuine romantic comedy I’ve seen in ages, and it’s about two straight women who fall for each other.

*Speaking of kissing, I finally Googled this line from Joni Mitchell’s “California.”  I’ve been singing this song to Aitch at bedtime for years now, and I would have never put that together on my own.