COMMITMENTS : It’s the Little Things That Make You Feel at Home : Drinking designer water. Playing Frisbee with the dog. No doubt about it, he’s become an L.A. kind of guy.

The transformation was completed on a recent Saturday afternoon when I found myself standing on the lawn with a cordless phone in one hand and a Frisbee in the other. I was talking with my wife about plans for dinner at a restaurant on Melrose Avenue, and I was flinging the flying disk for our dog. And the thought occurred to me that I had become California Person.

In the six years since we moved to the land of low-fat milk and organic honey, I have survived drought, water rationing, drip irrigation, several earthquakes, a riot, rain so heavy houses slid down hillsides, and trips to Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, where the stars go to die.

I have stood at the top of Mount Hollywood with a bottle of Evian water in my fanny pack. My grocery store is at Melrose and Vine. My dog’s vet has valet parking.

I know that morning clouds almost never mean rain. I know all the words to “I Love L.A.” I no longer turn and stare when a ’56 Thunderbird or a ’57 Chevy rolls by. I am used to seeing--and politely ignoring--famous actors when I go shopping. A movie location shoot is just the cause of a detour, not curiosity. I am used to seeing major sporting events on TV at breakfast time.

I pay 29 cents for a huge sack of crispy fresh cilantro instead of $2.45 for tiny brown bits in a shrink-wrapped package. I know how to spell Chardonnay , and I know not to serve it ice cold. I know that a tostada is not made by Dodge.

I can figure out what time it is in Tokyo. I think all those people in Washington, D.C., my former home, are self-centered, pompous idiots who ought to get real jobs. I don’t smoke anymore. I go to parties here where nobody smokes, even outside.

I expect flowers to bloom in my garden on Christmas Day. I have swatted flies in January. I have seen the thermometer top 100 in January. I love to chuckle over blizzard reports from cities where I used to live. I no longer own a parka, and I can find only one of my gloves. Umbrella? It’s around here somewhere.

I know the difference between a gardener and a lawn guy. I know nobody has ever rolled a 300 game at the Hollywood Bowl. I view 15 m.p.h. on the freeway as steady progress. I am used to waiting 20 minutes instead of five for a bus during rush hour.

I know City Hall is the building Superman used to jump over on TV. I have hiked in the state park where helicopters used to land on “M*A*S*H.” I have been in the Griffith Park cave from which the Batmobile used to come roaring. I know how to get discount tickets to Disneyland.

My home improvement center is on Sunset Boulevard. I have flown the redeye. I have seen my wife walk up to the mondoplex refreshment stand and order banana chips and herb tea.

I know the best time of the year to visit Yosemite. I have seen buffalo roaming free on Catalina Island. I know that Catalina is part of L.A. County. I know the location of the unmarked road to the best beach at Big Sur.

I know the difference between Cinco de Mayo and Mexican Independence Day. I know the best parking lot to use for a speedy exit from Dodger Stadium. I can count on my fingers the number of times I have eaten red meat this year. I have seen the seismo-cam--too many times, thank you.

Now I certainly have my doubts that any of this has made me a better person. But it does mean I have adapted enough to this unique environment that I have a slightly better chance of surviving here than I did six years ago.

For better or for worse, I am California Person. Hear me Roar. I am Strong. I am Invincible.