Lately, I’ve had the song “A Long December” by Counting Crows stuck in my head. I used to hear it on the radio all the time back in the ‘90s and early 2000s, when I still listened to radio. I love it. The song makes me notalgic for California, even though I’ve never even visited there.
I used to know someone from Los Angeles, someone very close to me, and we talked about California so much, I feel like I’ve been there. I always wanted to go so badly, but never got a chance, and probably never will at this point. I wanted to go do all the stereotypical SoCal things, like, I don’t know, eat tacos and watch people surf or whatever. I also used to hear about the missions and wanted to go see them, as well as the redwoods, of course.
I used to think the weather must be perfect in LA, because people from there act like they’ve never seen rain when they come to Mississippi. Then, the fires seemed to get worse every few years. If it weren’t for that and earthquakes, I think I could survive out there.
California catches a lot of flack, especially from people here in the South, and for good reason maybe. They’re kind of crazy over there. But in spite of that, I always had a soft spot for them, and every state has its own problems. There’s something endearing about that strange place, at least from everything I’ve heard about it.
Somehow “A Long December” captures my mood about it all. In fact, one of the last times I saw my dear friend from California was at the end a long December. And, as in the song, the days have passed so fast since then. The tinge of regret and missed opportunity in the lyrics and the tune reminds me of those days and the dreams I had of making a cross-country trip over there. It’s a strange feeling listening to the Counting Crows masterpiece, a bittersweet goodbye to a place I’ve never been.