It's April 1965 - You're Gonna Start A Band - People Laugh - You Don't.

It's July 1982 - You Forgot All About Summer - Summer Didn't Forget About You.

You always forget.

It happens every year – it's happened every year since you can remember.

Summer – hot – sticky – steaming – miserable = You.

You had an air-conditioner, you used to sit in front of it all day – you loved frozen breeze on your face.

Your dad didn't believe in air-conditioners – he never had one as a kid. Large fan – dish of ice cubes and sweat yourself to death.

He said it built character. You smelled like the condiment table at Pup n' Taco. You owned stock in Right Guard.

Your mom got on his case – fights broke out. Christmas he finally got one – on sale; cheap – tiny – cold enough for a fly.

You finally moved out, got your first place and your apartment came with one. From July to September; frozen face = bliss.

A year later it died. First day it hit 90. You turned it on. Cloud of dust blew out and it wheezed like Asthma – it died right in front you – horrible death – didn't even say goodbye. You spent the day in front of the refrigerator – open door, sweaty bottles and a DWP bill to feed a small neighborhood.

The landlord promised – you keep forgetting. Who thinks about Desert heat in the dead of Winter? Next year – next year – next year.

And it's the same old/same old. "High of one-oh-two – low of eighty – light to moderate eye irritation from smog".

Thousand Gallon Sweats. Living on a diet of ice cubes and deodorant. A mountain of radioactive t-shirts stuck to the floor next to the nightstand. No one in their right mind will visit you on days like this. Why doesn't your apartment have a swimming pool? Oh . . . that's right – it's L.A. – swimming pools in apartment buildings are a myth.

One morning you fall out of bed to see clouds – you smell rain – temperature drops – flash of light, thunder. A downpour. Joy.

Streets fill. Flash floods – L.A. does that. You forgot that too.

Lasts an hour – long enough for sandbags and mud. Freeways close.

Like magic – clouds gone – sun blazes, humidity heads to the sauna.

Summer in L.A. – same as ever – same as always.

You always forget – it always reminds you.

Next year it will be different – you promise.

And there's KROQ on in the background, just like you remembered it – from July 28, 1982.