Escape From L.A.

On my way home last night, the hills were on fire again. I was reminded of when Maria and I went to the basketball court at the school across the street from her house and just watched it all burn. The fire was really close that time, close enough to see the red glow in the dips and valleys of the San Gabriels. We drank some cheap vodka and cheered for the fire because that meant Glendora Mountain Road would surely be closed, and no one could race up there anymore.

It might have been that weekend that we went to Jon's house up in the Covina Hills, across from the San Gabriels, and watched the progress from there. His perch in the hills gave us a panoramic view of all the embers as they crept down near the foothills.

For days it rained ash, like Mt. St Helens had erupted. The sky turned an eerie red from the sunlight being filtered through smoke. Apocalyptic indeed.

People only get upset when the fires threaten movie stars' homes. This one today has threatened the Griffith Observatory, and the wealthy whose houses are on the fringe of Griffith Park. The newscasters report incidents in the Rich and Famous Hills with more urgency in their voices, more sorrow and sadness than when they report homes lost in Big Bear, or Arrowhead.


Animals named after people - I dedicate this post to you.