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Maybe it’s part of my deep-seated sociopathic tendencies, but I’ve long daydreamed about a lifting of the veil. There’s something seductive about the idea. Much in the same way that Lost mines a collective inner desire to get marooned in a plane crash; the end of the world — deadly chaotic as it may be — feels like our best chance to relax and escape the rat race. When faced with mortgage payments and performance reviews, wouldn’t we all rather be siphoning gas, looting abandoned houses and hiding from feral catamites?

Horrible Disasters seem to mark my life. A few days after I moved into a house in Santa Cruz, some religious assholes flew planes into the World Trade Center. While I was driving down I-5, moving to San Diego, New Orleans was getting obliterated by Katrina. Shortly after I moved back from San Diego, the town threatened to burn itself down. Then, a year later, I was choking on smoke fumes as I walked across the parking lot to a job interview in Northern California. I got the job. And now, it’s LA’s turn again.

Sidebar: this is the fourth catastrophic fire to hit California in the past seven years. And the third year in a row. At what point should we start getting concerned?

Anyway, The night before Katrina wiped out New Orleans, I wrote a blog wherein I expressed my hope that the approaching hurricane would cause catastrophic damage. I got my wish! So let’s give it another shot. I would very much like to see the current fire burn the Hollywood sign. Make it happen!