We’ve got 2 or 3 more weeks of vacation left – depending how Jewish you may or may not be – so I’ll try not to tax your molasses-like synapses here in the sloggy drench of late summer. I will, however, bitch and moan about something guaranteed to make you think I’m an ungrateful chucklehead.
There has essentially been NO SUMMER IN LOS ANGELES. And at the beach, where we are, it has been, on average, colder than the average temperature in January. I thought I was on crack, or perhaps not remembering previous summers here correctly – after all, I grew up in places where heat indexes of 110 degrees were quickly replaced with 6-foot snow drifts.
But then the news got official: the L.A. Times weighed in on the phenomenon (by the way, the “heat wave” in the article never materialized here), and then the National Weather Service actually issued a bulletin called WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO SUMMER IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA?
Parts of the coastline are, on average, 10 degrees below normal for the last two months, which is hard to pull off. But they don’t mention the worst aspects: first of all, the marine layer moves in each night, making it colder than shit, almost getting into the 40s a few weeks ago. Then it hangs around all morning until 1pm, making it freezing, gloomy, gray, windy and miserable.
At 1pm, sometimes – sometimes – the clouds part, and it is sunny and in the lower 60s. Like clockwork, at 3pm, the marine layer moves back and the cycle repeats itself. Every fucking day since January.
Look, I know most of you are roasting under the most cruel sun imaginable, your body unable to release sweat because the air is already thick with hazy water. I know it has been the 2nd-warmest worldwide July ever, and the warmest year-to-date global temperature on record, but this is mind-boggling. I can’t get any plants to grow, and it feels like we’re living in the Ornkeys off the north coast of Scotland.
Okay, I said it. Now everyone else can complain about their weather.