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Backstory: Hello, 911? It's like totally pouring, I'm serious.

Whole generations of scurrying southern Californians don't know how to open umbrellas.

(Page 2 of 2)



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If you doubt this Los Angeles "rain avoidance" syndrome, check out Rodeo Drive when the skies open and water descends. Tourists are immediately identifiable: They're calmly opening umbrellas, taking rain caps out of their purses and continuing to walk along the street. The natives, however, hover anxiously in store doorways and wait for the "storm" to pass or a valet car parker to drive their automobile up to the door. If they can't wave down the valet car parker (who is also probably hiding from the "deluge"), they scurry from awning to awning, vainly attempting to time it so they can scurry between drops.

Of course, it's difficult to find an L.A. resi-dent on a sidewalk, rain or not. Walking for any reason other than heading to or from your car instantly identifies you as a tourist. As Mark Johnson, Academy Award-winning producer of "Rainman" and this year's snow-covered "The Chronicles of Narnia," says, "I seldom get wet. I drive from meeting to meeting" - even just around the corner.

Nonetheless, there are times when it's socially acceptable to get wet. Joel Goldsmith, a TV commercial producer from Chicago tells of one such occasion. He was dining on the patio at The Ivy, a restaurant that attracts celebrities. "When it started to rain," Mr. Goldsmith explains, "I called the waiter over and asked him to move our party inside. The waiter looked confused. 'But this is a great table, why would you want to move?' 'Because I'm getting wet,' I told him. Eventually, he moved us. Two hours later, when we left, people were sitting at our table, eating in the rain, and looking really happy."

Looking good, whether it's being seated at a good table, staying botoxed, or wearing fashionable attire is a Los Angeles necessity.

Laurie Drake, a former copy editor at Vogue and native southern Californian, is not a fan of rainwear. "I hate raincoats or trench coats. They make you look like you're standing in a hole. Like you have no legs. They make you look boxy."

How about an umbrella?

"I have an umbrella in the trunk, but I've never taken it out. Opening and closing it and finding your car keys is just too much trouble," says the beauty writer whose well-manicured nails are unmarred by wayward umbrella spokes.

The belief that rain is a momentary aberration isn't unusual. Ms. Drake, who moved back to L.A. a few years ago, says when she lived in New York, "I had to pay attention to what the weatherman was saying. Out here, I never listen because the weather is always good."

As the weatherman Bartlett says of his TV audience, "In San Francisco, people watch the weather because they want to find out what to wear."

What he doesn't add is that since Angelenos believe the weather is so predictable, the typical TV weatherman is also likely to entertain as well as forecast. Fritz Coleman, longtime weatherman on L.A.'s KNBC-TV is also a stand-up comic who has performed at The Improv. Steve Martin's "wacky" TV weatherman in "L.A. Story," tossing sun magnets at the weather map, isn't far off the mark.

Of course, no matter how much they love their city, residents of L.A. are sometimes forced to venture into a wetter world. How do they deal with these rainy places? If you're Mark Johnson, who has filmed movies from New Zealand to Romania with stopovers in places as diverse as Thailand and Texas, the answer is simple: "I try not to go somewhere where I'm going to get wet."

But, when forced to stay home and deal with "an imperfect day in L.A.," Robert Masello undoubtedly speaks for many residents when he says, "I tend to close my eyes very, very tight. When I open them the sun is usually out."

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