The desert between Phoenix and Los Angeles is vast and lifeless, and that gives me some time to think whenever I’m making the drive out to work.

I live in Phoenix; I make my money in Los Angeles.

I’ve gone back and forth on just making the move to LA – packing all my shit in a UHaul, and my dogs and cats – but damn, there’s so much to hate about this place. And it’s not just the traffic. It really comes down to there’s just too many people crammed into one spot…even though the spot is really big. Besides, moving depresses me enough to stay put.

I just got out of my car; it’s Monday night, and I dragged my stuff up to the studio. My pal V. helped me up. V’s a B movie actor, and he’s excited, cause he’s writing a movie about a werewolf that’s trapped in a women’s prison.

“So you’re shooting for both the horror and women’s prison fanatics?”

“Um, yea,” V. says, and he looks at me like I’m kinda dumb.

“Lotsa lesbo action I hope.”

“Of course. It takes place in a women’s prison.” And he looks at me like I’m really stupid.

I ask V. if he wants any porno phone numbers, and he does; four of them, to be exact, and we talk about which four he wants.

I suggest Spring Thomas and Julia Bond, just cause they kick a whole bunch of ass – including werewolf ass. He listens, thanks me, and he’s off. Which gets me to think a bit more about what it would be like if a werewolf were trapped in a women’s prison…and even though it’s really a silly idea, there’s something about it that will probably work.

I’m hunkering down for the night. I’ve got my iTunes locked to Indie PopRocks! on SOMA FM, which is all I ever listen to – that and Howard Stern on Sirius. The space heater makes my room comfy, and while I go over my schedule for tomorrow’s scenes, I’m thinking that right now, at this very moment in time, my life is pretty good.

I spent the 6 hour drive on the phone, mostly: I confirmed a bunch of my shoots this week, and spoke to some friends. Spring Thomas told me all about her day, and the classes she ditched, and the classes she went to; Makenzie Wilson chatted me up about her blog; my mom wanted to make sure I was OK; I stopped at the Bose store and got a carrying case for my SoundDock; I ate Japanese soup and a chocolate chip muffin; I thought a lot about nothing much.

Yo La Tengo sings Double Dare and there’s a hum in the studio that never goes away.

OK: so it’s Erin Moore on Tuesday. (This, of course, will be yesterday in real time, cause Tuesday’s my cartoon day, and by the time you actually read this it’ll be Wenesday!) Erin’s got a new name, and a new site, but who knows how long it’s gonna be before the site’s up. She’s working with a new girl named Page Morgan. I met Page at the Porno Hotel on Winetka in Chatsworth; I think at any one time there’s like 20 porno chicks from out of town staying there. I knew I’d like Page from the second we met cause she smiled a lot and she has a title from a Clash song tattooed on her arm.

Know Your Rights! These are your rights…

Page is gonna do a b/b/g from Blacks On Blondes tomorrow, too. “B/B/G” is pornospeak for what I used to call a “2 on 1” before I got in the biz.

Wenesday (today) it’s Phoebe, and she’s about as cute as they come. She’s going to work with Erin Moore, then we’re driving out to the Gloryhole. Should make for a fun day.

Thursday is Spring Thomas day! She’s got a cuckold in the morning; then, I think, she’ll do a b/g and I might hire some load dumpers to come drop one or two or three on her after she’s done fucking.

Friday is a new girl, for a new site, and it’s a secret, and The Producer is all excited about it, and I suppose I am, too.

Then it’s back to Phoenix. Next week I’m actually going to take a week off and go to London and check out England. I hear the Jack The Ripper walking tour is kinda cool. I know I’ll look at art, too. The Magna Carta. The Rosetta Stone.

Anything but porn.