Today, as New York creaks under a spell of record cold temperatures, our man in Los Angeles sends a spontaneous e-hail under the subject line “I’m Sorry…” which reads, in its entirety:
I was sitting on my balcony in short pants and no shirt enjoying the mid-70′s sunny weather today, when I happened to notice a weather report from New York City.
Haw. Haw. Haw.
I can’t really complain, though. I deserve the tweak because I’ve done the same. Last year at some frigid point, January or February or April or June or whenever it was, I spent a balmy week out there. Once the rain stopped – it rains whenever I’m in L.A., even when I just change planes at LAX thunderheads gather – the rest of my spell was a textbook experience in beautiful sun-drenched West Coast winter. In the middle of it I emailed this photo of me having a morning coffee moment to a bunch of snowlocked New York friends … and it felt good.
Of course there’s the downside as well.
Linus in L.A.: What a beautiful day!
L.A. Person: Hi! Wow, you need to do Atkins.
Last night I went to a birthday party in Park Slope. The birthday boy, a West Coast transplant, came to the door with his digital camera and clicked off a shot of me in my long coat (grandfather’s), fuzzy scarf, bunny hat. “Sending it home?” I asked. “Yep,” he answered. “I want to show them what zero degrees looks like.” If I can run down a copy I’ll post it here. Meantime, that up there? That’s what 7o degrees looks like. I don’t want to hear it.