Things I won't miss about L.A.

It's six days and counting till I vacate the premises in Santa Monica, for the greener ('cause it actually rains there) and more humid (but air-conditioned!) pastures of Charlottesville, Va., where there's no beach but where the coolest girl in the world lives (that's her over in the right-hand column. So I'm starting to look around, think about my time here and whatnot, and I realize that, for all the cool stuff that's here, there are certain things I really won't miss a whole lot.

Such as:

Pizza. I've lived here seven-plus years and never found a really, really good local pizza within delivery range of my apartment. I like Dagwoods, I like Bravo on Main Street, I like a couple other places just fine. But I've been to C-ville once and have already had better there.

Traffic. I know, duh. My ultimate L.A. traffic story: The night we all were going to gather to toast the life of Hunter S. Thompson at the Marmont, I left here about an hour before the appointed time. Forty minutes later, I had reached Bundy -- which is a little over 2 miles from me. I turned around, came home, poured myself a bourbon and toasted over the phone.

The fact that I know the names of people who design restaurants and clubs -- not just chefs, not owners, but people who decide what colors the walls are. There are many aspects of the cool-chasing douchebag culture of this town that bug me, but that I might be as interested in the person who hung the lantern above my table as the person putting the food in front me is right near the top for me.

Frozen yogurt wars. I will leave Los Angeles never having tasted Pinkberry, not caring whether it's really yogurt, not having entered any of the other places with names that sound sort of like they're translated from another language and definitely not having ever stood in line for frozen fucking yogurt.

The possibility that an addled starlet might run me off the road, and that it would lead the local news if she did.

This guy.

Stories like this in my local paper. Love that subhed -- "You needn't have just emerged from a rehabilitation center or a jail cell -- or both -- to dress like you have." Just ... I don't ... seriously? ... because ... oof. I really, really hope this is tongue-in-cheek, because otherwise I just might have to cry.

The deeply annoying tendency of businesses around here, whether radio stations or car dealers or beachside eateries or cheesy tourist traps, to call themselves "world famous."

This isn't a complete list. I could go on at length about, say, hipsters or how many times I've almost been struck by cars when I was out running, because people don't seem to realize Cher's "I totally paused" line from Clueless is not, in fact, the rule of the road. But that's enough for now.