Saturday Morning Shins

I was at The Grove with Kristan yesterday, walking around eating homemade-store bought ice cream (oh so delicious) when I noticed the impending apocolypse. But then I realized it was just a fire cloud. This phenomena is common enough, say, in September when the whole of California is yellowish-brown and snaps like an uncalcified bone, but in March-almost-April? Rare. My first thought was that the parking garage, in which I had hesitantly parked, was on fire. Hesitantly, I should say, because whenever I drive in one, I'm always reminded of the story that Jeremy told me about being trapped inside a Long Beach parking garage for hours and hours on 9/11. And as you may know, I'm into scenarios so this really doesn't mix well. As I was walking from my car to the stairs yesterday, I also imagined all the ways in which I might die in this coffin-y space: being hit by a car is the obvious. Mugged/assaulted/womanapped was less likely, but still possible in a lull. Death by explosion is always an option in a town where thousands of people have grudges and prepetrate environmental hoo-ha. But in my run-down of death (which sounds much darker, now that I'm typing it, and not just cutely aware), I never even considered death by fire. Which, to me, is the absolute worst way to die (besides Fargo, feet-first).

Anyway, the parking garage wasn't on fire. But most of Universal City was. I spent an hour on the 101 pondering it, which was one of the least fun hours of my life. Russ and I hiked to the top of Alta Vista Drive last night and looked out over the valley to see what we could see. But, there was a foothill blocking the northwest vista and all I could see was downtown and out to San Pedro. But the sky was swirly pink and purple and we saw a group (gaggle? toggle? murder?) of deer eating rich people's gladiolus and snapdragons. So that was fun.

Today, I read that this fire was started by Illini here on vacation. Damn Illinis.

I happen to be listening to the Shins' "Chutes Too Narrow," which I just got yesterday and like mucho. I'm drinking coffee at home for the first time in months. Our coffeemaker broke a few months ago and sadly, we got into the habit of just walking to Starbucks or driving to Peet's to get our morning cuppa. We would often comment on how this reinforced the whole stereotype of what Russ once got called by an old man passing him while having breakfast with a friend at Europane in Pasadena. "So," this old grump said, "is this where the young and priviledged hang out?"

We were living the young and priviledged life. It was decadent and I think partly because we gave up music and sound in the car, we needed some other habit to fill the void (which I will be blogging about this next week, it being Holy Week and such). So, coffee it was. Just for fun, I was making a spreadsheet of our expenses the other day and figured out how much per month we were spending on coffee-related beverages. And now we're drinking it at home again.

I told Kristan this story yesterday and when I was at the part after I figured out how much we were spending, I stopped and said, "Why was I telling you this again?" She, all kindness and patience, smiled and said, "Umm." And here I am, telling it again. And maybe you're saying "Umm." But that's okay.