Indie-Rock Bakery

Los Angeles magazine has an article this month about the Santa Anas, those hot, dry desert winds that torment Southern California, ionizing the air, desiccating eyes and skin, whipping up fires, and generally driving people to madness.

One of the strangest experiences L.A. offers newcomers is waking to a Santa Ana. The previous fall night may have been cool, even misty. After sunrise, the initial view outside is of a blue void that glimmers with surreal clarity. A dry static charge has replaced the evening fog. One glides through the humidity-free air rather than walks in it, an encounter with absence that’s like a subtle flavor inexplicably missing from a favorite dish. The morning news features live feeds of small mountain towns staggered by high winds and wildfire. Yet stepping into the garden, one feels no breeze at all. Somewhere the Southland is being blown to hell, and L.A. has never looked more promising.