“Santa Ana winds blowin’ hot from the north…and we was born to ride.”
Despite it being MOTHERLOVING NOVEMBER and just a few weeks away from THANKSGIVING — a time when it should be COLD, BLUSTERY, and LOVELY — due to this unseasonable, unreasonable heat, the current suffering of myself, my children, my husband, my friends, my colleagues, and very nearly ALL of my fellow Angelenos is nothing short of EPIC.
Way back when I lived in Fresno, I used to think the whole notoriousmythology surrounding The MIGHTY Santa Ana Winds of Los Angeles was STRICTLY HORSESHIT. I thought it was overblown nonsense, that is…UNTIL MY FATASS ACTUALLY MOVED HERE. To experience this weather phenomenon is UNBELIEVABLE.
I am talking HOT, DRY, RUTHLESS WINDS OF BIBLICAL PROPORTIONS.
The constant threat of fires wild in the earthy hills and mounts that watch over us all like fierce, silent, timeless mothers.
Skin SO parched I look and feel like a TUBBY, DUSTY MUMMY.
The full moon crooning lunatic tunes above our parched bones, a dry siren song beckoning us to the very edge of reason and ruin. She is difficult to resist.
The sparking ions savage, thrashing, and alive in which we currently swim — an atmospheric moshpit making A City of Angels CRAZY…..ER.
The air billowing against your skin so warm, soft, alluring, and menacing — like a beautiful lover above you, with one hand stroking your cheek and the other reaching under your pillow…for a knife with which to cut your throat.
The MIGHTY Winds de la Santa Ana are not coming.
THEY’RE HERE.
“There was a desert wind blowing that night. It was one of those hot dry Santa Anas that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and make your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husbands’ necks. Anything can happen. You can even get a full glass of beer at a cocktail lounge.” — Raymond Chandler
muffy bolding 