Presidents Day Washout

The great meteorological advantage of living in Southern California is usually most apparent this time of year, when most other temperate cities in the Hemisphere are reduced to tundra, while we luxuriate under deep blue skies, crystalline air and warm temperatures. Not this year, though. Given to the randomness of the jet stream and other factors still undetected by our scientists, atmospheric conditions have altered dramatically and we are having the rainiest season in a century. We've actually had 15 more inches of rain this year than Seattle. I just returned from a dog walk during a brief hiatus in the five-day storm which the weatherman on the Weather Channel rather inappropriately called "beautiful." Tell that to the highway worker who fell to his death in a giant sinkhole that formed on a Valley street called Tujunga.

I'm not given to complain about the L.A. weather; I consider it bad karma, since we usually are so blessed with California sunshine. I will note, however, that torrential rains of the sort we've been having (i.e., monsoons) are especially inconvenient in a town not built for them. Hillslides, mudslides, traffic accidents, and rampaging waters in the otherwise somnabulent Los Angeles River, all have filled up the newscasts so completely that the standard racy features and restaurant violation exposes usually dominating Sweeps-month slates are barely making any appearances. So we won't hear as much about teenage sex-slaves (until the Michael Jackson trial) and a few more people will suffer e-coli poisoning in a Korean restaurant. The rain has upstaged Joel Grover, which is hard to do, but for which I'm kinda grateful.

The inclement weather has also ruined most people's President Day weekend, tra la. I was not adversely affected, although I did have to postpone travel plans from last week because of the threat of flooded freeways. This day I'd devoted to personal maintenance and other mundane tasks quite suited to rain, including an annual physical, where, among other things, I learned that nobody does urine samples any more, at least not for blood sugar and diabetes. And to think I held it in all the way to the doctor's office! Sorry, TMI.

Perhaps I needed this off-day to gather strength after a weekend battling with all the institutions apparently targeting my welfare. The cable company billed me exorbitantly and inappropriately after installing DSL; the McAfee company, whose virus protection updates are uploading constantly into my hard drive, is sending me quixotic error messages but cannot be reached by phone. And, of course, there is the Postal Service, who continues its campaign against my sanity and has withheld the fourth piece of important financial mail in a month, a checkbook from one of my investment houses. I officially notified the higher ups, and war has been declared--but cannot be fought today, because all Federal offices are closed. This may also be fortunate, since whoever has stolen my checks cannot get to cash them in any banks this afternoon. Oh frabjous day, calloo callay.

So I am left with the task of confronting my personal income taxes, into which I can finally launch because UPS was able to deliver the Turbo Tax software that so confused our postal division. But concentrating on all these figures is not so easy since my downstairs neighbor decided this was a great day to begin gutting his house for a complete makeover. Damned if I'm outside, damned if I'm inside. Still, I'm not complaining. And I do enjoy the patter of rain at night, though I'd like it better if I knew it was going to vanish by morning.