To Live and Sigh in L.A.

The city has lost its mind more so than usual. Our local government is increasingly sadistic. They opened the beaches in Venice for walking and exercising and surfing. But not for sitting. To ensure no one could enjoy even that, they closed the nearest parking lots. Now if you want to go to the beach, you have to be a local.

Nevertheless, L.A. is great when it's under lock and no one is on the streets. The fewer cars the better. It means little to no traffic and you can zip around easily.

Last night we started getting stir crazy and baby girl demanded a car ride. We loaded her in the back and I drove up to Hollywood so we could pass by the Rainbow Bar and the Roxy, listening to The Cramps all the way up.

After Sunset stretched into Beverly Hills and Bel Air, it felt like time for a music shift. I started with Thelonious, then got softer with Chet Baker, and softer still with Bill Evans. By the time we passed the entrance to Will Rogers State Park, baby girl was out like a light.

Sometimes she's fourteen going on twenty. Other times, she's fourteen going on four.

It's not L.A.'s fault. Okay, actually, it is. This place has gotten progressively worse over the past decade. Homelessness and lawlessness has skyrocketed along with the cost of living. The pandemic was a sickly final nail in the coffin. With each thud of the hammer getting louder, it begs the question "how much longer?"

The job prospects will no doubt have a greater say in the mater but for now fishes are nibbling in multiple ponds including here. We'll see what pans out.