Shabu shabu of the rich and famous -- well, the famous, anyway

I went out for shabu shabu with Mom tonight, and I was recognized by someone who only knows me from my pictures. It was cool and surreal and a little jarring. And cool again. As big a town as Los Angeles is, it's really very small. That I have had someone pick me out at a movie theater (having only seen my photos, as well), and that I was spotted on the street by a cousin I hadn't seen in nearly three years -- there's a certain small-townness about that. Or maybe it's just that there's only eight or so places that anyone goes. I'm reluctant to assert that as a theorem, though. I've been to well in excess of eight places, and I barely go anywhere at all.

So, now I'm going to try my hand at writing a sex advice column. Perhaps people will begin recognizing me from my name on the masthead of an actual actual magazine. But I have a feeling I look nothing like my name.