The thing about rain in LA is that no one’s totally sure what to do with it. If I were in New York, I’d pull on my boots, grab an umbrella, and traipse. In LA, everyone seems to be a little stupefied by it. So I’m sitting at home alone on a Saturday night with cats and a cold bourbon and music, and I’m genuinely brooding, sulking really, and I can’t figure it out, though I suspect it has something to do with the fact that I’m seriously starting to wonder if I have anything big inside me to share with the world. So there’s that. The rain doesn’t help.