Hot! Hot !! Hot!!!

It had to happen eventually: the wind suddenly started coming from the east and blowing the hot air of the desert all through Southern California, even by the coast where we are usually protected by the Marine Layer. Well, now there is no Marine Layer. Only the beginnings of a nasty Santa Ana Wind that makes L.A. about as comfortable as the Mohave Desert.

Because I live in an apartment building that was built around the time I was born, before there was the slightest hint of global warming, we have no insulation in the walls and ceiling. That means the apartment gets super hot and stays that way until the wee hours of the morning.

Today I have gone through three trays of ice cubes fixing iced water and iced tea for me. I was going to cook Spanish Rice for dinner, but then I thought, “To hell with it! No way am I going to make the kitchen hotter than it already is.” Instead, Martine and I scrounged around for what we had lying around in the pantry and in the refrigerator.

As is usual with these Santa Ana Winds, they always last longer than predicted. To give you a feeling for what life is like under these conditions, just read the opening of Raymond Chandler’s story “Red Wind”:

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 husband’s necks. Anything can happen. You can even get a full glass of beer at a cocktail lounge..