There's something magical about snow. Particularly in L.A.
C and I were doing a little Christmas shopping at the Grove tonight, and after the fight for parking, the wait for the elevator, the up-close and personal bumps followed by the requisite "excuse me's," we walked out of Barnes & Noble to find snow falling gently from the chilly sky as Bing Crosby sang "White Christmas."
Shoppers turned their eyes upward, like tourists gawking at the skyscrapers in New York. Children reached their hands in the air, as high as they could go, desperate to clinch one more flake and watch as it melted on their fingertips.
All for a taste of something that doesn't really exist here (except in freak circumstances like this week when Las Vegas and parts of SoCal were blanketed in white). Of course, the snow was man-made. And of course Bing doesn't sing to those plowing their way every day down East Coast streets.
But it's what the Grove, and this city, do best. They set the perfect scene. They know how to create moments. And they know how to nail it in a single take. In fact, it's exactly what this city's best known for. Now, I won't veer into Grinch territory and mock it as manufactured because I was honestly stopped cold, if you will, when I stepped outside the bookstore.
It was perfect ... if only just a magically brilliant illusion.