Volunteer Army battles Forces of Darkness

This morning was all about a drive to Venice. I dont think I've actually ever been to Venice. The part of Venice I roamed into was delightful and green and wild and full of bungalows of many colors.
This morning was all about being seated on the floor of one of these said majestic bungalows with 30 other souls plus Dave Eggers, Vendela Vida, Nineve Calegari and assorted other representatives of the 826 Valencia project. An 826 Los Angeles is about to be initiated here, come January, hence my placement on the floor beside Mr. Writer of Items Admired Greatly by Sarah. The 30 people there (there will be hundreds, hopefully,to come) and I are to be writing tutors. The majority of attendees are production and/or executive assistants, public relations/events planning, and people comfortable with referring to themselves as "director", "former executive producer", and "writer". I mean, fair play to them...I just dont have the play-doh, if you will, to go there, to call myself that, so I think I resent them in a friendly way.
There are a few teachers, some journalists, web designers, a film editor, and me. We were asked to announce our skills, and I put scrimshaw artist but then had to announce that this was a forged skill, and was hard pressed to think of my skills/talents. I mean, there are things I'm good at, but I couldnt think of how to categorize them, so I just said "diplomatic communicator, good on follow-through, letter writer, guacamole" which felt empty but honest. I wasnt say, a former speech writer for Clinton, like one woman in the room. Nor -sigh- have I ever had anything published, lo! not even one of my many letters. Nevertheless, I can give, and likely get got and that is all that matters.
I left feeling insanely excited. But then I ate the protein bar I had in my bag for lunch/breakfast and felt sick on the 405 cause I had nothing to wash it down with..but I was listening to a song with a chorus that went "I hate this part of Texas, Odio este parte de Tejas", so it was ok.
I then drove around Pasadena taking pictures for a potential Location Book that no one will probably ever use/see. To the Gamble House I went, and the home of Mr. Lebowski (Wrigley Mansion/Rose Parade building), to the casting pond in the arroyo, to Shady Lane (located on the grounds of my old kindergarten), past the Ritz Carlton where I wasnt allowed to photograph the gardens, to Lacy Park in San Marino, to the Holly St/Colorado bridge (from which once hung a gigantic puppet of Emily Dickenson and which has been popular setting for Fear Factor stunts), and by the wierd government buildings I never before knew were governmentally-occupied but which always reflect gold from their windows at sunset.
I was unable to peek through the gates of the spooky Frank Lloyd Wright house off of Prospect because I was blocked at all angles from approaching the east side of the Rose Bowl due to Rev. Billy Graham's Crusade (they make no apologies for their literal use of active descriptors!) ongoing in the stadium at this time. Lots of Gap-adorned, Cheesecake Factory-eatin born agins roamed up and down Orange Grove after the Crusade was over, Old Town-bound.
I came home and stared blanky (I believe the Buddhists call reaching this state of non-thought, non-self awareness "transcendence" or "boddhisatva" or something, ahem) at my laptop, basically crumpled over in my chair, at which point I removed my body to my bed, where I took to napping and had literal dreams involving tutoring workshops.
I was awoken by the silence of the house.
I then failed to follow through on previously initiated attempts at being social.
I initiated my physiology case assignment on the Immune System, which goes: "In order for me to pose a compelling argument that would encourage you to get a flu shot, Mr. Jones, I'll talk first about the basic anatomy of viruses, and then give you a simplified sketch of how our immune system reacts to infections in general."
I wait here still.