67 Degrees in Hollywood

Midnight, December 13. It's 67 degrees in Hollywood right now. The wind is blowing, but it's just too damn warm to feel cold.

These are the surreal nights that you take for granted after living here for a while and choking on the smog-ridden air every morning while you sit in your car cursing every blighted soul in this cleanliness-forsaken city for an hour waiting just to move five miles. These are the nights that gave me pause the first summer I visited California when I was 16 and thought, "So this is where dreams are born."

No, kid. This is where dreams come to whore themselves out. But goddamn, this is some fucking weather, huh?

I take deep breaths and suck in this air-- air that every reputable environmental study has rated either first or second most polluted in America--but I do it anyway because for once it doesn't taste surprisingly chilly or smell like asphalt and hot dogs.

That's one thing people not from L.A. don't realize about L.A. It gets cold here. Not below-zero with 20 inches of snow cold. More like, "Son of a bitch, wasn't it just 80 degrees half an hour ago? Do I have to go back to my car and get my jacket now?" cold.

On the other hand, anyone who's ever been to a busy, metropolitan city could probably guess it's going to smell here. Asphalt and hot dogs, although I guarantee you that ain't hot dogs we're smelling. That's the smell of progress and culture.

Not tonight, though. Tonight is one of those nights where you text your friends to say, "If you were here tonight instead of that shitty day we sat in traffic for an hour and a half trying to get to Santa Monica, you'd want to move to this city. Tonight you'd forget about the 10% tax here on everything you put in your mouth and the quadruple what you're paying now car insurance rates. Tonight you'd want to come hang out on my nasty balcony that I never clean because I'm always too busy writing, pretending to be writing, stressing over not writing, reading other people's writing, or doing a myriad of other bullshit that won't earn me a fucking quarter for laundry."

Tonight is a good night in Los Angeles. Maybe the best.

Midnight, and still 67 degrees in Hollywood.