I heard a helicopter circling over my house yesterday and whenever that happens, I go out with my binoculars to see if it’s the fire department.  This is our fire season and we’re always on alert.  It wasn’t the fire department, it was a private helicopter. Someone was either touring Beverly  Hills or it was hired by a paparazzi to snag a valuable photo.  I felt assured that photo would not be me in my pajamas. I went back inside and then suddenly, I heard an even lower and louder helicopter so I went out again and saw a different one – this was the L.A.P.D.!  It was directly over the house!  They must be looking for an escaped felon who’s hiding out on my hill!  I decided it wasn’t safe outside so I went in and locked all the doors, hoping no one would pick this house as a place to hide.  I imagined that a guy in an orange jumpsuit would come crashing through the back door, tie us up, and barricade himself  in the den.  Then when all negotiations failed with the police (who have now landed in my back yard) and are trying to talk him out with a megaphone, he decides the only way out is to kill himself – and bleed all over my new rug. But that didn’t happen. I found out that the LAPD was trying to chase the paparazzi away who were scaring the neighbors, trying to get a photo of Robbie Williams who was getting married.  Who knew he lived down the street? Who knew he was getting married? Who even knew who he  was?