Writing to some NIN (‘Discipline’), MGMT, Kings of Leon, and the ‘Pony’ song by Far that is catchy catchy catchy.

It got cold in Los Angeles, and I don’t mean metaphorically. The seasons do change here, but in a way that gets measured out by degrees of light, colder mornings and nights, the scent in the air (especially during fire season), the mist you wake up to that burns off by midday. But a two o’clock on an afternoon in January is likely to be the same as in July. Which is why dressing in LA is all about the layers you can take off and put back on as the shifting temperature dictates; you leave the house in the early morning wearing three outfits in one.

So I enjoy a spell of real cold, when I can wear a biker jacket all day and marvel at the novelty of shivering in LA sunlight (muted by cloud). I’m always rueful when it passes, sunshine storming through the city again. But then I’ll take my laptop to a table outside a Starbucks, ignoring my work to watch the twilight instead. There is something about the mild, open-air experience of cafes and LA newsstands that sums up so much of what I love about living here, even if I can’t quite catch the words for it.

On San Vicente in Brentwood


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