It's surely no accident that there are horoscopes in Vogue, Glamour, Mademoiselle, Woman, New Woman, Elle and Cosmo ... but not Sports Illustrated, GQ, Esquire, Field & Stream or Guns & Ammo.

No one would argue against the fact that L.A. leads the country in opportunities for being hip and pretentious.

I always hated those classic kid movies like Old Yeller or The Yearling where the beloved pet dies. What would be so wrong with having those damn kids learn their lessons about mortality from watching Grandpa kick? Then at least the dog would be around to comfort them.

My dogs, the only creatures on the planet marked by my singular nurturing imprint, have all turned out to be rude and self-absorbed. In all likelihood, if they were children instead of dogs, I would have foisted more Charlie Sheens or Kardashians onto our crumbling culture.

I think people figure out early in their lives what currency they can work in.

A more complex - but only slightly more original - way to feel out of it is available at the hip and pretentious nightclubs and bars along the Sunset Strip.

I sometimes look into the face of my dog Stan and see a wistful sadness and existential angst, when all he is actually doing is slowly scanning the ceiling for flies.