Sunday Morning

I went online this morning to find someone's name and title, do some work, write some stuff and pretty quickly find myself reading (and roaring) over Tony Pierce's Thanksgiving exile in Chicago.

Nobody can freeze their asses off back East better than LA residents. (Three choruses of "All the leaves are brown and the sky is grey ... California Dreamin on such a winter's day.) And Tony writes about it wonderfully well. I used to be one (an LA resident) and I remember those trips back here in winter and how much I dreaded them. Hell, I still dread windy Chicago compared to cozy warm Boston here.

And nothing beats the trip back WEST. I'd be hanging in the air over LAX, feeling so happy to see sandy beach out the plane window as we circled El Segundo, thrilled to feel the warm air on the plane ramp, then fall into the terminal, see people in shorts, outside smell the WARM exhaust from the rental car buses and all out on the Arrivals lanes, wave hi to the palm trees, hop a shuttle or get a ride, drive down Vista del Mar to Manhattan Beach, get to the pier, feel sand between my toes and feel safe again.