Monday, February 14, 2011
Wednesday, December 02, 2009
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Monday, September 07, 2009
The Heat
It's finally hot in LA. It seemed to take forever this year. Overcast and lukewarm every day week after week.
But no, it's hot, in that slight-emergency way. Sleeping with an ice pack. All the windows down in the car. Maggots in the garbage.
On Friday night I drove all the way from my house to downtown on 3rd in Labor Day weekend Friday evening traffic. Everyone was out on the streets, walking up and down the sidewalks, sitting on front stairs, sitting on bikes, Grandmas holding ice cream cones for babies. Music. Why would anyone ever wear anything other than a tank top, ever? I went swimming in the ocean yesterday, diving under big waves, popping through the glassy ones just before they broke. Apart from finding sand in my ears the next day, I'm wondering: why don't I do this every Saturday?
Yesterday I rode my bike to the Larchmont Farmers market to buy tiny strawberries and baba ganoush. By the time I rode back, it was noon and so blindingly hot. I passed some side yards with trees and bushes and flowers and damp moss and the smell was of heaven and I thought about swimming in rivers the rest of the way until I got home and had a drink of water.
But no, it's hot, in that slight-emergency way. Sleeping with an ice pack. All the windows down in the car. Maggots in the garbage.
On Friday night I drove all the way from my house to downtown on 3rd in Labor Day weekend Friday evening traffic. Everyone was out on the streets, walking up and down the sidewalks, sitting on front stairs, sitting on bikes, Grandmas holding ice cream cones for babies. Music. Why would anyone ever wear anything other than a tank top, ever? I went swimming in the ocean yesterday, diving under big waves, popping through the glassy ones just before they broke. Apart from finding sand in my ears the next day, I'm wondering: why don't I do this every Saturday?
Yesterday I rode my bike to the Larchmont Farmers market to buy tiny strawberries and baba ganoush. By the time I rode back, it was noon and so blindingly hot. I passed some side yards with trees and bushes and flowers and damp moss and the smell was of heaven and I thought about swimming in rivers the rest of the way until I got home and had a drink of water.
Sunday, September 06, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Bug Life
Maggots in the trash can again, it's like they follow me.
And the crickets that jump inside the apartment and then sing their loud evening cricket song, right next to the wall by the corner of the couch, loud. It's only when they pause for stretching that you realize: how loud!
It's a distinct time of year, these days when summer is ready to collapse into fall, wringing out the last of our energy with its heat, not sharp heat like July, more a dull boring heat like a mole in a hill and I'm thinking about being another year older again.
And the crickets that jump inside the apartment and then sing their loud evening cricket song, right next to the wall by the corner of the couch, loud. It's only when they pause for stretching that you realize: how loud!
It's a distinct time of year, these days when summer is ready to collapse into fall, wringing out the last of our energy with its heat, not sharp heat like July, more a dull boring heat like a mole in a hill and I'm thinking about being another year older again.
Tuesday, August 04, 2009
More Volvo Love
I drove a rental car for the last two days because my car was in the shop having failed the smog test. It got to have a sleepover with the other Volvos.
The rental car I drove was a Nissan Sentra. It was red, at least. And not (sorry American car makers) American. But I felt like I was driving a kleenex box with power windows around. Who can stand to drive this car all the time? It's got no weight to it, is boxy as all get out and the bars (I'm sure there's a technical term for it, I don't know what it is) on either side of the windshield could not have been more huge or more totally in the way of seeing the road. It was zippy to drive and I enjoyed not having to be a total precious wimp about going over potholes, but how zippy do you really want an enormous kleenex box to be, really?
The radio does not work in my car, so I was listening to the radio in some horrible 405 morning commute traffic (who can do that every day? It must kill part of your soul) and here's what I've been missing:
1) shite RnB song about "ooo, ooh, in the hotel room, the hotel room, yeah girl, in the hotel room, mm, mm, here come the egg whites"
2) talk radio with Ashton Kutcher talking about doing a sex scene with an actress but finding her feet to be gross and talking at length about how gross they were and how he asked people to cover them up in the scene.
3) talk radio about how Brad Pitt was spotted getting McDonald's drive-through and it was the second time in as many weeks
Finally I found a station playing Fleetwood Mac. The next song isn't bad either. The station ID comes on: it's the oldies station.
Here's the thing that I realized bugged me the most though: I didn't like driving that car because it wasn't cool. The Volvo may not be a Porsche, but that car has character and style. It is distinctive in parking lots. I feel cool when I'm driving it. I even feel cool having a tape collection. As cars go, that's like have a record player in your automobile. I like the heaviness of the Volvo and the low slung seats and when I drive it, I have perfect zen with what it can do as a machine and the space it takes up because I've been driving it for eleven years.
Anyway, nice try Sentra, I'll be driving the Volvo into the ground.
The rental car I drove was a Nissan Sentra. It was red, at least. And not (sorry American car makers) American. But I felt like I was driving a kleenex box with power windows around. Who can stand to drive this car all the time? It's got no weight to it, is boxy as all get out and the bars (I'm sure there's a technical term for it, I don't know what it is) on either side of the windshield could not have been more huge or more totally in the way of seeing the road. It was zippy to drive and I enjoyed not having to be a total precious wimp about going over potholes, but how zippy do you really want an enormous kleenex box to be, really?
The radio does not work in my car, so I was listening to the radio in some horrible 405 morning commute traffic (who can do that every day? It must kill part of your soul) and here's what I've been missing:
1) shite RnB song about "ooo, ooh, in the hotel room, the hotel room, yeah girl, in the hotel room, mm, mm, here come the egg whites"
2) talk radio with Ashton Kutcher talking about doing a sex scene with an actress but finding her feet to be gross and talking at length about how gross they were and how he asked people to cover them up in the scene.
3) talk radio about how Brad Pitt was spotted getting McDonald's drive-through and it was the second time in as many weeks
Finally I found a station playing Fleetwood Mac. The next song isn't bad either. The station ID comes on: it's the oldies station.
Here's the thing that I realized bugged me the most though: I didn't like driving that car because it wasn't cool. The Volvo may not be a Porsche, but that car has character and style. It is distinctive in parking lots. I feel cool when I'm driving it. I even feel cool having a tape collection. As cars go, that's like have a record player in your automobile. I like the heaviness of the Volvo and the low slung seats and when I drive it, I have perfect zen with what it can do as a machine and the space it takes up because I've been driving it for eleven years.
Anyway, nice try Sentra, I'll be driving the Volvo into the ground.
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