I rose at 7 a.m., ready to vote for Hillary Clinton then head to the newsroom for a 9 a.m. phone call from Sir Anthony Hopkins. I walk to my usual polling place at Park LaBrea and it has MOVED! No sign that says: "We moved to such and such place" so I was screwed. Had no time to look around our massive complex that is more like a mini-city. So, decided to vote tonight and hit the freeway.

Traffic comes to a halt in Studio City. There's a motorcycle accident of some sort and it takes me an hour-and-a-half to get to the newsroom. Normally, it's a 30 minute drive. I went throiugh all the stages. At first, you're just annoyed but your coffee is still hot and you're really into NPR. Then it goes on and on. I decide to pull off the freeway and taKe Ventura Boulevard.

Big. Fat. Mistake.

It's even worse on the street since clearly everyone else had the same idea. This is when the rage sets in. I hate everyone. I even hate the poor person in the accident thinking to myself, "How long does it take to scoop someone off of the freeway?" I'm horrified at that thought now but that's how road rage is: you lose your marbles.

Then, resignation.

It's past 9 a.m. and Sir. Anthony will have called from London. I get into the office at 9:15 p.m. - nearly two hours since leaving Park LaBrea, and the little red light it blinking. I give it a listen: "Hello Greg Hernandez. Tony Hopkins here. I'm not at a number where you can call me back..." then I didn;t understand the last part. Dammit! What did he say? Is he calling back? Is he going to complain to Queen Elizabeth about my tardiness.

I've pissed off Hannibal Lechter!

Flash-forward one hour. I'm quite relieved because Sir. Anthony did indeed call back and was far more fun an interview than I expected. I will post our chat later today...