New Year’s Day was exceptionally bright and warm, the sort of day we could brag about to shivering relations back east, if we felt like rubbing it in.
As I parked at Griffith Park at 10 a.m., in the lot above the Greek Theatre, the temperature was already in the mid-60s. Even as someone likelier to be cold than not, it seemed wise to leave my sweater in my car and proceed in short sleeves.
For decades I had, like much of Southern California, studiously ignored this 4,200-acre amenity.
Заголовки