House On Fire
Yesterday seemed pretty grim, as far as the housing. The too-expensive house we rent was invaded by an army of giant Starship Trooper roaches Monday night -- we are speaking of 2-inch-long hissing monsters. I killed a dozen or two, and Laura ran over to Vons and got the poison death traps, which we had been avoiding due to the poison and how we have a toddler and a dog and another baby on the way.
Then, on Tuesday, as we awaited the landlord sending the pest-control people, the air conditioner broke. Yes, AC is a luxury, but it is the opposite of luxury in a small house with two adults (including one very pregnant woman) trying to work for a living from said supposedly-air-conditioned house. It was all of 94 degrees Fahrenheit today. If AC quit working, routinely, in such mild summer temperatures, the entire Southwest would now be evacuated. (And that would be good!)
What next? Oh yes, the fancy German dishwasher broke down just now, fully loaded with dirty dishes we are trying to disappear to confuse the roach swarms. Yes, it quit. There's a fetid pool of fetid filthy water sitting there, attracting vermin. There is a Hitler Light blinking on the stainless-steel control panel.
Anything else? Oh, right, THE ENTIRE NEIGHBORHOOD IS ON FIRE. Burning. Friends are being forced to evacuate. Worst fire in Griffith Park since the 1920s. Oh that's great. The zoo animals are being cooked right now, I think. (The local news doesn't really want to talk about that.)
Emmanuelle Richard took some pictures, because she is an LA journalist. Here, here they are.
LA ON FIRE
