I heard it's warmer in New England than it has been in L.A.

The heater is on and I'm still wearing a coat.

I don't think I want to move back east. Ever.

Friday night, it was so cold that the smoking patio was empty at Underground. I stood outside to keep Annie company as she worked the door. I can't really remember anything that happened that night. All I could think about was how I have not owned a thermal since 1994 and, when I did have one, it was only for purposes of horribly ugly fashion.

Saturday night, I filled in as Megan the Water Moccasin's assistant as she shot Bang's 7th Anniversary party. It was a momentous occasion on account of the fact that it was our last night out on the town together. Megan moves back to Jersey on Saturday. She will probably be warmer there.

I wore three layers of clothing that night and still I shivered so violently while waiting outside with a cigarette in hand that the security guard actually told me to come into the lobby of the building.

Fortunately, the club was at capacity at around 11 or so. Had it not been thispacked, we would have froze. I felt a little sorry for the people out in line, but some of those ladies should have known better than to wear tank tops and open-toed shoes.

Monday, I went to Spaceland. I think it warmed up by two degrees, which isn't much of anything when the highs are around 40. Again, though, the club was packed. Turns out every hipster in Silver Lake loves Richard Swift. I ran into my friend Richard in the pool hall. Richard and I went to college together and were pretty tight until he graduated and moved to Boston, where he still resides. He happened to be out here for something or other and I happened to forget to call his cell over the weekend and then we just sort of walked into each other. Good times. Richard didn't look like cold bothered him anymore. But it still bothers me, damnit.