Los Angeles just keeps disappointing me. My sports teams, of course, have let me down- the Dodgers, Lakers and slow-starting Kings mirror my disposition, which is partly cloudy, my internal weather forecast calling for a week of murk and dew. I mostly fast forward the games, and go to sleep upset. It’s not like I have an impact on the games. My cheering in this apartment is a minuscule boom box in a Los Angeles concert with impossibly loud speakers. I yell at my television and sometimes want to throw the remote at the wall, or out the sliding glass door and onto the street below where it might break and shatter like the hopes of the Lakers making the playoffs. So I here I sit, and brood, and give my middle finger to losing LA, wondering why I continue to root for the teams that are consistently giving me migraines.