Wayfarers

If I were a Joan Didion type, the recent apocalyptic fires and heat waves in California would have inspired me to write about the strange effects on Angelenos, the ash on the street and the yellow halo around downtown L.A. As it was, I just shut the doors, ran the AC, went to bed at 7:30 p.m. and scratched my eczema, longing for cool, dark German forests. Now I have emerged and realized I survived the summer completely without Wayfarers. And this while reading "The Informants," where the word Wayfarer appears on every third page. In fact, I was relieved I didn't buy any when all the idiot kids on the season premiere of "90210" sported turquoise, pink and yellow versions. Gag me with a spoon. Like, totally.

Just a Lazy Saturday

I really didn't need another "LA = Hell" book, but here I am waist deep in "I'm Losing You," and only half a box of Ritz Crackers and two cups of coffee eased the pain of chore whores, frequent fisting and pedophilia. Why am I reading it just when I'm going off antidepressants? And why does it feel so dated? (Snapple, Victoria Principal for chrissake---I'm lucky I even remember her). It's definitely no Day of the Locust---yet still it was somehow befitting by comatose state on the couch today. It's the kind of day when I cannot bear music or looking in the mirror, so bring on the Babylon.

This Ain't No Martha

We are broke but we have an interior decorator. That is just so LA. And he gets us. Elle Decor on a budget mixed with some of the self-conscious hipness of Dwell.