So, it's cold here in Los Angeles. And I know all you Chicagoans are saying to yourselves: "Cold? You don't know cold, girl!" But here's the thing. Back in Chicago, buildings have a little something called "heat". It's a fairly remarkable invention, whereby, when it's cold outside, one does NOT have to wear a scarf in one's home. Unless of course it's for fashion's sake. But, seriously, who are those people? There's also this extraordinary thing called "insulation". So, while, yes, Chicago is COLD on the outside, once one goes inside...well, one can practically grow bananas in February. But here in the ridiculousness that is L.A. weather, and the absurdity that is the California Construction Code, one finds oneself having to visit the chiropractor on a more regular basis because one is spending one's time with one's shoulders at one's ears because IT'S REALLY COLD! I am, of course, reminded of those who have no power or water or home at all right now out on the East Coast, and so having to sit under three blankets and wear gloves and a hat in my house really doesn't seem that awful to bear. I guess it's just there's still a piece of me that holds on to that image I had of my life in Los Angeles when I first was driving across the county: it was all mimosas on the veranda, strappy sandles on the beach, convertibles in the driveway... Because really it's just reheated catering gig java in a theatre mug, snoopy slippers over thermal socks in the kitchen washing dishes, and my CRV is still full of bags for goodwill in the leaky garage. However, it is a small price to pay for roses blooming all year round. Oh, and I don't have a shovel and an ice-scraper in my car any more... Eat it, Chicago!