I travel a According to the band traffic controller, I've logged enough miles on the road in the last three years to wrap this country up several times in tour book itinerary paper. And though I love this fair land of ours, and all of its topographical diversity, I am always amazed at how fortunate I feel when I return to the place I now call home: Manhattan Beach (or, Manhappenin' Beach, as we locals jokingly call it), where shirtless surfers lugging longboards twine their way through the smart set spilling out of Starbucks on a Saturday morning; where mommies pushing strollers alpha their way past cyclist teams as colorful as tropical fish (and who flash by almost as fast); where packs of lithesome teens with long blond hair (the girls and the boys) and U.S.C. frat guys in baseball caps share the fresh salt air that wafts on a perpetual breeze stirred up by the crystal blue Pacific that graciously serves as a backdrop for the quaint and walkable shopping district (which is very nice and getting nicer); where it always feels like summer; where you can always smell a well-grilled burger; and there is always someone walking barefoot by the beach.

Now I plan to go to Africa and visit my friend Jessica, who is improving the lives of children, and I've always wanted to go to Madagascar and see the lemurs with my son, but in 2006 I might just sit here and enjoy Utopia while it lasts and try not to think about Bush.
Liz Phair, singer