Saturday, March 10, 2007
Saturday in L.A.
There really is nothing that I know of quite like a sunny Saturday afternoon in Los Angeles. It's fantastically comfortable and peaceful-seeming, yet somehow empty and desolate. Maybe it's our desert location: you're not supposed to see a lot of activity: live things are hiding in shade, behind rocks, under the scrub. Or maybe I've been reading too much Raymond Chandler lately.
Anyhow, slowly but surely I can feel myself becoming addicted to sunlight. Our entire city, plopped down in the desert, is almost continuously blasted by sunlight. The rays bleach everything: all the store signs along Colorado in Eagle Rock look ancient because the colors have been zapped away by the sun. All the reds are weak pinks. This continuous southern desert sunlight must do something to a person.
The really frightening thing is that we're currently experiencing the driest year in L.A. history. So no break in the sunshine anywhere in the near future.
To my friends back East: please send water.