It’s the Trinity Broadcasting Network.

It’s the misplaced Ivy League graduates who network in their sleep and pine for Manhattan.

It’s overhearing this conversation between two women at a farmers market:
Woman 1: I didn’t know this was your farmers market.
Woman 2: This is one of my farmers markets.

It's The Room.

It’s Bichon Frisés sporting Juicy Couture.

It's:

It's what remains when you subtract 100% bullshit from 110% charm.

My family was visiting this weekend from Northern California, and they had the following observations to contribute...

It’s The 405.

It’s people who smoke while driving.

It’s the woman wearing flip-flops and socks at 8:30 in the morning.

It’s the guy selling oranges at the end of the freeway off-ramp.

It's:

It’s the bumper cars dubbed “Inkie’s SIG Alert” at the Santa Monica Pier.

It’s mail carriers on cellular phones.

It’s an Adopt-A-Highway sponsored by Rosie O’Donnell.

It’s self-deprecating blondes who trade on the perception of airheadedness.

It’s dropping major ducats on a pair of sunglasses.

It’s having solar panel envy.

It’s when your dog warns you that an earthquake is about to strike.

It’s where dreamers become waiters.

It’s people who walk their cells while talking on their dogphones.

It’s a wide screen world full of skinny people.

It’s saving Mono Lake and freeing Winona.

It’s the guys who make a living off of my recycling.

It’s grumpy, vegan hipsters in retro Volvos fueled by vegetable oil.

It’s having not one, but two farmers’ markets within walking distance.

It’s overhearing an 11-year-old tennis player say to his 11-year-old tennis player friend at tennis practice, “The best thing for you to do would be to f*^# somebody else. Ignore her.”

It’s May Grey, June Gloom and July Fry.

It's the fleet of Priuses patrolling the green streets of Santa Monica.

It’s using the word “simpatico” unironically.

It's the neighbor who asks if she can cut the new growths off my prickly pear cactus so she can eat them.

It’s the clear and present danger of coming across a rattlesnake while hiking.

It’s the way the petals of the blossoms from the jacaranda trees fall like purple rain.

It’s a madcap collage of up-and-comers, It Girls, has-beens and hangers-on.

It’s clouds that look like base stars.
The sun reflected as fire in the window of the lifeguard tower.
A pelican gliding over the crest of the wave.
And the roar of the ocean as heard from the pool.