November and 91 degrees

Yes, you read that correctly. It was 91 degrees today in sunny L.A., and even Santa, flying over the contained, outdoor wonderland that is the Grove, looked as if he could use an icicle or two from the North Pole.

Today was supposed to be Christmas picture day for C. Our plan involved making a mad dash to the Gap to pick up a dress, grabbing some lunch at the Farmers Market and then heading up to Glendale, where we would go to Sears and then walk over to the amazing Porto's for dinner. God bless the potato ball. Seriously.

But alas, the coveted potato ball, not to mention the potentially nail-biting photo shoot, didn't happen.

We did get the dress, and a lovely red one at that. We even made a pit stop to catch a glimpse of the new Variety building, complete with 12-foot-high signage at the top. (It's a couple blocks west of our current building on Wilshire, across the street from LACMA.) In fact, my colleague Mike Schneider blogged about it at his Franklin Avenue address.

We almost made it to Glendale. We packed up C, dressed as a beautiful little warm-weather elf, and were driving on Los Feliz Blvd., when our little one got sick in the car. It was really one of those scary moments, when you want to slam on the brakes and screech the car to a halt, possibly landing on the curb, Bond-style.

Luckily, I had the wherewithal to turn on my turn signal and pull off on a side street, where we could tend to C properly. I felt so terrible for her, although she seemed perfectly fine once it was all over. We called the doctor, and apparently there's a bug going around.

I should have known. I should have known the second Ian threw his gum out of the car window as we were heading toward the Grove and it landed on the hood of a Lexus SUV in the next lane.

"Just look straight ahead and keep driving," he said. "This is not a promising start to the day."

I'll say.