This is my kind of hurricane…
Listen, I’m as much a hater of natural disaster as the next guy, but I’m also the eternal optimist. This was originally going to be a post about how much fun it could potentially be to weather a hurricane, but our friends over at Gawker already took care of that topic for everyone. So instead, I’d like to point out something I’ve been wanting to talk about for a few months now: my theory that LA is the land of the lotus-eaters.
I mainly base this theory on the weather. Sure, who doesn’t love living somewhere where it’s perpetually 75 degrees, sunny, with zero humidity? (Today being a notable exception, 107 degrees and muggy as hell). But when the weather is consistently that nice, your mind starts to bake away from all the sunshine, rainbows, and happiness. It’s like Mother Nature’s novacane. Everyone wanders around all tan and sunglassed, oblivious to how productive they could actually be. It’s been an insane struggle to stay creatively inspired while out here, and I’m blaming it squarely on our lack of hurricanes. This weekend, in the heart of the creative and culture capital of the country, nay, the world, a hurricane will ravage the city (and hopefully drown all the subway rats). And do they complain? NO! They tweet witty and sarcastic comments about how drunk they’re going to get at home this weekend! This is just the kind of muse I’m missing out on. I read Their Eyes Were Watching God. I know all about the power of the hurricane metaphor. Right now I’m uninspired by the “golden state.” I’ve been lulled into a daze by all the palm trees and sand; my galoshes have sat unused in the corner of my room since I moved out here. I feel like a pot head, minus the benefit of having smoked weed. All I want to do is sit around, eat, and watch life pass me by. I SHALL NOT ABIDE!
To kick off this initiative to stop the sun from blinding my third eye, I’m officially declaring this weekend Hurricane Weekend. I’m going to sit around in my apartment wearing my Hunter boots, watching tons of movies, reading books, and eating only canned goods and Cliff Bars. I’m thinking The Perfect Storm is a good place to start. Maybe move on to Day After Tomorrow. The entire time I’ll have one of those CDs on, called “The Sounds of Nature” or something, with all rain noises. And of course, I’ll be well supplied on rum and mixers, that way I’m never unprepared for the next hurricane.