LA: it’s not me, it’s you
I’ve been dating SF for about two months now, which means it’s probably time to pack up LA’s shit, throw it in a cardboard box, and doorbell ditch that wasteland’s doorstep. Or, as it’s 2011, I’m currently sifting through my digital subscriptions to all things Los Angeles-related: I’m trading out LA Weekly for SF Weekly in my Google Reader, updating my location for daily deals, freeing my Twitter and Facebook feeds of all bars and music venues from my former neighborhood, etc. Since the USPS doesn’t yet offer some sort of ‘change address’ button for e-consumption, and I know I’ll be having sunny southern affairs in the near future, I avoided tossing all that curation to the curb by creating a moderately-schizophrenic Twitter list called LA LOCAL COLOR.
It’s not me, it’s you, Los Angeles - but foggy SF eves still turn my mind to warm summer nights and apocalyptic neon sunsets.