The Escape Artist

Putting the No in Snow

I’m wearing a t-shirt. In the middle of February. And I’m not sorry!

This weekend marked the second epic winter storm to hit New York this year, and it is the second time my family has absconded moments before impact. We are currently in California, where it is 75 and sunny, and everyone is drinking cold brew. People are desperate to find their sunglasses. They are literally walking on sunshine. Meanwhile, our friends and compatriots are literally not legally allowed to leave their homes. I understand if you are about to smash unsubscribe, but instead forward this newsletter to a friend! Community is important.

Look. Something is up. Twice this winter, New York has gotten absolutely buried. Feet of snow. Cars parked like it’s the beginning of Station Eleven. Zohran posting videos in which he rides a snowplow and promises that if your heat gets shut off, he’ll personally come to your apartment building to turn it back on, free of charge (RIP your taxes, though).

live look at your apartment building

And New York doesn’t have blizzards. It’s been a decade since the last truly major snowfall, and the last time the Hudson froze over was 1918. This winter is exceptionally awful. It’s sub-20 constantly. We have all slipped on a patch of black ice and busted some cartilage. Our dogs have collectively agreed to pee on whatever pileup is available, turning already blackened snowmasses into piss-filled monuments that will not melt. (Zohran lets see you fix that one, bad boy.) It has been DARK!

Thus, evacuation. Audi5000. Getting the hell out of dodge.

The first time, we planned it. We saw the forecast and called up my folks, who graciously agreed to host us in Miami, and jumped on a plane. This time, it was pure luck. We had this trip on the books. You read about it! I’m not saying that I have superpowers, but I am saying that I am being suspiciously quiet in the group chat for fear of alienating all of my friends. Hi guys, sorry, I love you, don’t get mad, I’m warm and it’s great!

Six Hours

Head winds meant an even longer than normal flight to LA. If I haven’t already pissed you off, here’s another brag: Sadie slept the whole time. The whole time! We were those people — the ones who brought the Doona (ugh im gonna miss the Doona so bad) on the plane — and we put her into it and she was out. Done. Gone. A tiny, perfect sleeping person for six hours while we watched movies and drank Comfort Plus Cocktails like we were 34 and child-free. Air freakin’ royalty.

I watched The Social Network. Tenth time? Eleventh? It feels so modern, and yet it’s antique in that it’s about Facebook, and most of my Gen Z colleagues are like “what is a Facebook?” Still, every time I finish it I want to start a tech company because you know what’s cool? A billion dollars. Come for the early Trent Reznor Atticus Ross score. Admit there are some things that don’t age well, like Max Minghella playing Divya Narendra. And two doses of Armie Hammer. And then move on, because it’s Sorkin, and we’re walking and talking and suddenly it’s over and you still have 3 hours left to listen to podcasts and music until you land! You aren’t covered in half eaten yogurt melts! You can have another beer!

these two guys are both good in this movie

Sadie woke up, waved at strangers at baggage claim, and then slept until 6:30AM. Why do I want you to hate me so badly? I am having a nice life! I’m sorry!!!

LA-Jay

I lived in LA for almost five years. I loved it here. Simultaneously, I was so desperately homesick for New York. It is this patently boring, cyclical conversation about which coast has the better stuff: coffee, sushi, human beings. There’s an old joke about the difference between yogurt and LA… yogurt has an active culture. Badabing!!!

Nonetheless, flip flops, and coffee at Zinqué, and casually running into Colman Domingo as he smiles at your perfect toddler is its own brand of wonderful. Maybe we can have both?

Visiting LA feels like being back from college at Thanksgiving. Driving by personal landmarks, experiencing waves of nostalgia, darting through places you have to stop into quickly just to see if they’ve changed. It’s romantic surreality. It’s sugar cereal. It’s delicious but you know you’re going to hit a point where you’ve had too much.

this was ten years ago. WHAT?

Still, there’s so much on the list. We just got in late Friday, and so far it feels good to be (second) home.

Here’s my list of musts while in town:

• Sushi. It is in fact better here. Jinpachi. Sushi Gen. Even the Sugarfish is superior. It’s closer to Tokyo! You can’t beat that, Nakazawa!

• Gjusta. I don’t care if you’re in Echo Park, get your ass on the 10 because the smoked fish and nice breads and artisanally rustic scene demand your attention.

• A Hike. East side? Griffith park. West side? Los Leones. Somewhere in between? Runyon! Why not? You deserve to bump into Rachel Sennott and tell her that she’s doing all the right things.

• Other Recreation. Tennis, Golf, Barry’s. Doesn’t matter what, but the summer bod hits in February, now, babe.

• 4PM shut off. It’s already SEVEN back home. You put the hours in, even if you didn’t! You’re on Pacific Standard. Lean in.

Vibe Shift

Here’s something else: the moment you land somewhere warm, your music needs to change.

In New York, it was cold-sadboi-core. Obviously. It’s a blizzard. The wind is doing something biblical outside your window. You put on “Holocene” and stare at the black snow and feel things.

the life you signed up for

And then you land at LAX and suddenly you remember The Thrills. “Santa Cruz (You’re Not That Far)” comes on and you’ve got the windows down and you’re on Lincoln Boulevard and the air smells different and you are a different person. A better person? A warmer person. A person who is crushing a $9 iced matcha latte and sitting in a mile of traffic.

the life you want

Spilling The Tee

I went to the grocery store this morning and spent $85 on: one bag of coffee, one bottle of advil, one carton of berries, one bag of granola, and one tub of shredded cheese. $85!!! For just that.

That’s a lot of money. It is also the price of the perfect t-shirt and I think you should buy 10 of them.

Allow me to reintroduce you to the James Perse pocket tee. Soft cotton, perfect silhouette, extremely machine washable for when Sadie is eating strawberries and getting them all over you, which is every day, at least three times a day. It’s elevated, classic, and exceedingly simple. For LA February, it’s a must-rock with jeans or shorts. And it’s perfect for underneath those itchy sweaters back home.

Look, it’s dumb expensive, like everything else these days (even though tariffs are canceled, or aren’t canceled, or are canceled but we actually now have to spend more money to get stuff). Regardless, once you have a few in rotation, you’re good. So throw a couple in the cart. If you’re stuck in a snowstorm, online shopping is all you can legally do.

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Up ahead, a weekend in Ojai and a packed week in New York before I’m off again for a very fun shoot I am eager to tell you about. Catch me out here, catch me back there, Catch Me If You Can. If Sadie sleeps on the plane again, I’m definitely watching that.

Until then, the escape continues.

-LA Jay