Grey in L.A.

For the past couple of weeks, we’ve been awakening to uncharacteristically grey skies. This is supposed to happen in June (on the nightly news, “June Gloom” is what they call it), not August.

Los Angeles has been in a drought condition for three years straight. Short of wringing the name of the local T.V. weatherman, Dallas Raines, the prospect producing a little precipitation for L.A. is looking pretty grim — in spite of the grey skies.

We just go from sunny to sunnier — yet, people insist on using the weather as a conversation opener. Hot today, isn’t it?, they’ll say, as if that’s something new. On the rare occasion when it’s overcast past noontime? This weather is so depressing!

But I’ve lived here long enough to know that cloudy skies are just a tease. A spurious disguise for what lurks behind — the merciless, pulsating sun. Although the day may start out as cloudy, before the clock strikes noon, not one wisp of cloud will be remaining in the hazy, blinding glare above.

I love an overcast sky.

One of the main things I miss about New York is the change of seasons. Would Vivaldi would have written such a masterpiece without having experienced winter, spring, summer, and fall, in the extreme? I don’t think so.

Inclement weather unites the heavens with the earth. Rain, snow, hail, lightening, thunder…when it pours or flurries or strikes, it’s like being touched by the sky.

Only this morning, I read an article in The New York Times, about a violent summer rainstorm in Central Park on Tuesday night. And I read it with such envy.

So, it’s with feeling of consolation that I thank my friend Todd in CT for bringing to my attention this Loudon Wainwright song that, somehow, I didn’t know about, and which perfectly describes my L.A. state of mind:

Also, thank you to JC for furnishing me with the lyrics so that all of us can enjoy a little singalong:

When it’s grey in L.A. I sure like it that way
Cause there’s way too much sunshine round here
I don’t know about you I get so sick of blue skies
Whenever they always appear

And I sure love the sound of the rain pouring down
On my carport roof made out of tin
If there’s a flood then there’s gonna be mudslides
We all have to pay for our sin

And I suppose that they’ll close canyon roads
And the freeways will all start to clog
And the waters will rise and you won’t be surprised
When your whole house smells like your wet dog

When it’s grey in L.A. it’s much better that way
It reminds you that this town’s so cruel
Yeah it might feel like fun when you’re sportin’ sunglasses
But really you’re one more fool

And I’m just a chump
And this whole town’s a dump
We came out here to dump all our dreams
Of making it big but we’re stuck in a sig alert nightmare
That’s just how it seems

And I suppose Laurie David sure knows
All those cars we drive heat up our earth
And sea temperatures rise and those constant blue skies
And brush fires can sure curb your mirth

Brad Grey’s in L.A. yeah OK I should stay here
There’s no place that’s better I know
For a wannabe star stuck in a car
On a freeway with nowhere to go.

Most of all, I’d like to thank Loudon Wainwright for writing the song. It’s sure nice to know there’s one kindred soul in the midst.

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