EVERY time I step outside the San Gabriel Valley I'm reminded how much better they have it than we do when it comes to federal funding.
I've got a local chip on my shoulder the size of Mount Wilson. When I get all riled up as I did this past weekend, it can be a parochial whine that resembles a full case of sour grapes.
But I don't care if people call me a homer. Because this is where I've lived for nearly 30 years, where I bought my first home, where I've raised my children, where I've worked as an indefatigable advocate.