The first half of New York City’s late spring/summer season was mostly about rain. Then the rain broke and a sweltering Panamanian heat wave descended and would’t leave until late September. Then some nice fall weather blew in for two weeks and now it’s suddenly winter. Hell, it’s February out there — wet, cold, windy, miserable. A half hour ago a wind gust blew out my cheapie umbrella with two or three loose spokes flopping around in the chill. Weather like this builds character, I realize, but why does it have to be so damn miserable? I feel cheated, spat upon. I’m almost missing Los Angeles.