Burping the House
Did Michelangelo ever paint anything as spectacular as L.A. ringed with snow?
Many of us are still coming off the glorious weekend featuring that tiara of white atop the local mountains.
Heading east, it filled your windshield. The vistas stretched from Tujunga to Mt. Baldy and beyond.
Sublime is too weak a word.
Pretty sure we store these postcard images in some sort of memory bank — our subconscious, perhaps. Or that little ZipLoc where we save our hopes and aspirations, and the guilty little secrets we don’t tell nobody.
These images sugarcoat the mind, season our dreams, soothe the soul. It’s one more reason to celebrate a winter weekend in Los Angeles.
Threw open the windows to the fresh, post-rain air … we all did on Saturday. Know what they call that? Burping the house.
The New York Times just ran a piece on it. Burping the house is based on a German tradition called Lüften.
Essentially, it’s the airing out of the house by opening the windows, encouraging cross-drafts, thereby eliminating stuffiness, smells, germs, mold, bad juju, thereby fostering a healthier living environment.
Will it get rid of lingering houseguests? Pretty sure. Will it wake the sleepy kids? No doubt.
Just barge into their bedroom — always knock first, trust me — then throw open the windows as the dog jumps around the bed. That should do it.
Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaad!!!
And please don’t forget to burp the bathroom, the most-important room in the house.
By the way, when I visited my sis in Portland recently, I was pleased to discover the joys of a heated toilet set.
You might think that an affectation, a pleasure for the rich and famous. And it is.
Yet, for 130 bucks, you can plug in a Home Depot toilet seat, and I promise you a life-changing experience (make sure an outlet is nearby).
The only things better?
—First love.
—Movie popcorn.
—Ferris wheels.
—Taking off your ski boots after a long day.
—The first bite of a really good cheeseburger.
That’s about it.
Let me guide you through the experience, so your heart (and butt) don’t stop from pure happiness:
On a chilly morning you plop down, as you’ve done a ba-zillion times before, pre-cringing, as if entering a bad dinner party, then discover that the throne is warm as a lover’s thigh.
Wow is all I can say. Double-wow. Wow to the 15th power.
Did Da Vinci ever invent anything as wonderful as a warm toilet seat?
It may also explain Rodin’s “The Thinker.”
By the way, these are just some of the many important ways I’m here to help you. Thanks to me, you can now burp your house, pamper your posterior, enjoy all these tactile pleasures that you otherwise might not even know about. Every day, I’m out here in the trenches, dodging enemy fire, just so you can live a little.
Right now, you’re probably asking: “Why doesn’t this guy have his own empire, like Caesar? Or at least a home shopping channel? Why doesn’t this guy start his own church?”
Tell you what, in my empire, all the toilet seats would be heated. There’d be a Zankou chicken on every stove, a little British convertible in every garage.
And on Saturdays — Sundays too — my subjects would throw open their doors and windows to rejoice in their amazing good fortune.
“What a Shagri-la!” they’d sing.
Or, in tribute to those mountains with the frosted tips, Shangri-LA.
Burrrrrrrrrp.
Coming at you once again on behalf of the Erskine Family Compassion Fund, which honors my late wife and son. The donations help struggling families across Los Angeles, providing everything from blankets to financial support. Any amount helps. Click here to donate. If you prefer to send a check, please make it out to LCPC Parent Ed, and send to LCPC Parent Ed, 626 Foothill Boulevard, La Canada, CA 91011. Thank you in advance. There are many good causes; this is just one of them. If you have any problems with the donation site, please email me at letters@ChrisErskineLA.com
Coming Saturday: Chili contests and rocket ships.