People who live someplace other than Los Angeles think it’s summer here, year-round. They are almost right; everyone hates us because of our near-perfect “Mediterranean” weather.
But it’s over. I noticed it exactly on August 26. The color of the long shadows changed around 6 pm that evening. And of course, now the shadows come earlier, and earlier. It’s dark by 7:30.
The fact that it’s blistering hot tonight confuses the situation. Los Angeles was unseasonably cool this June and July. The dusk brought up a chill in early August at the Griffith Observatory (sidebar: at the planetarium, there is now an huge, tacky, glass-front corridor devoted to the history of the universe as told through costume jewelry with a celestial theme, i.e., suns, moons, comets, stars– now, that’s MY kinda science project!), and I was glad I brought a sweater to the Hollywood Bowl more recently to see Yo-Yo Ma and the Goat Rodeo sessions. The highlight of that night– “Farewell, Angelina”–could have given me goosebumps in the heart of hell, though.
But now the temperatures here on the Easterly side of hipdom soar toward 100, and the beach seems far, far away indeed. It’s getting dark, but here’s what takes the edge off: the calliope-like tootles of “It’s A Small World” emitting from this retro pink ice cream truck. The Ice Princess is the local E Central Pasadena / San Marino version of the Good Humor truck. The Ice Princess materializes only in summer, and kids still do run out across the lawns here in their bathing suits to buy a Choco Taco or a Strawberry Crunch. Right now, I’m listening to Paolo Conte’s “Gelato al Limon” — a sweet rasp about the last days of summer.