Wednesday, December 9, 2009 at 11 p.m.
This cold front is killing me. Literally. I think. Being from Florida, I don't do well when the temperature dips below, say, 72.
I moved into pretty much the smallest, oldest bungalow on the Balboa Peninsula of Newport Beach. The place is wonderfully funky. I love it. Or loved it. For the first week or so. And then the icy night air started creeping in through the ancient wood planks and I realized, contrary to what my landlady said, not having a working heater is a serious problem.
Last night I went to bed wearing pants, socks, an undershirt, flannel shirt, flannel robe, a knit cap, and fucking mittens. I woke with a sore throat, sniffles and those aches that feel like Death's squeezing at your bones. Sheesh. Thank God for Jameson Whiskey. Here's a chilly playlist to accompany another cold-ass night.
"Early Winter," Gwen Stefani
"Tenth Avenue Freeze Out," Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band
"Cold Sweat," James Brown
"Cold Desert," Kings of Leon
"Early Morning Cold Taxi," the Who
"Cold," Annie Lennox
"Baby, It's Cold Outside," Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Jordan
"Famous Blue Raincoat," Leonard Cohen
"White Winter Hymnal," Fleet Foxes
"Dark Was The Night, Cold Was the Ground," Blind Willie Johnson