It’s not as cold as I was prepared for. High of 39 today. That’s like fridge weather. Totally manageable.
I forgot how vast the snowbanks are. Most streets lose a lane of traffic on each side because of the snowbanks.
It’s adorable that everyone adopts a “goshdarn who cares?” attitude in parking lots when the lines are covered by snow.
THE CURRENT. Last night, I was driving back to my friend’s place from Rainbow Foods with some frozen pizzas, frozen cookies, free-range eggs, and fancy-pants ramen noodles — I was feeling pretty good about myself. Then I turned on the 89.3, and Dessa was on.
Then the Strokes were on.
Then Radiohead was on.
Then, out of nowhere, this folksy local bastard, Jeremy Messersmith, comes on, and starts messing with my position on the Kinsey scale.
That’s the music I want to sing. That’s how I want to sound. Fuuuuuuuuu.
The trouble with moving out of LA’s east side is that the probability of running into Lykke Li and Bon Iver while they’re jamming in a park drops from slight to nil.