When Saturday Night Live announced that Timothée Chalamet would be both the host and musical guest on this week’s episode, the reaction was largely: huh?

What would Chalamet, a skilled actor not usually known as a musical artist, perform? Would he revive his high-school rap alias Lil Timmy Tim? Reprise his role as Willy Wonka? Or would he just sing Bob Dylan songs, considering he has been on a long promotional tour for his turn as the folk artist in the biopic A Complete Unknown? Would he come out strumming hits such as “Blowin’ in the Wind”?

He did sing Dylan songs last night—but notably, he did not feature the most popular stuff. Chalamet’s musical numbers were inspired interpretations of Dylan deep cuts, including “Three Angels” and “Tomorrow Is a Long Time.” His performances were weird, smart, and entertaining, and a way to show people that his dedication to Dylan has been serious.

Chalamet’s hosting stint was clearly strategic. Oscar nominations came out on Thursday, and his name was called as expected, making him, at 29, the youngest two-time nominee for the Best Actor category since James Dean. Chalamet highlighted the achievement in his monologue, explaining that he was in his SNL dressing room when he heard the news. “The entire creative team worked extremely hard bringing to life the brilliant artist Bob Dylan, a man whose music and career has become a guiding light to me,” he said, earnestly. No jokes could be found in that statement, which sounded like the kind of thing you’d say on the stage of the Dolby Theatre, holding a trophy.

[Read: The Oscars have left the mainstream moviegoer behind]

But as Chalamet would quickly remind viewers: Although his work has been praised quite a bit for someone who has yet to hit 30, he also hasn’t won all that many awards. “I just keep losing,” he said. “And each time, it gets harder to pretend it doesn’t sting.” That prompted a montage of Chalamet at various awards shows hearing the likes of Gary Oldman and Mahershala Ali get their name called instead of him, his angular face barely masking disappointment by the end. He told the SNL audience that he would use this hosting opportunity to give the acceptance speech he’d been carrying around and handed an envelope to a person seated in the audience to announce his name. However, that was a set up for another joke: The winner inside the envelope was not Chalamet but the cast member Kenan Thompson. Still the monologue had a sincere tone overall; Chalamet, rather than seeming like a sore loser, cannily presented himself as an underdog.

In the episode’s sketches, Chalamet was an enthusiastic participant (as he has been the past two times he’s hosted), throwing himself into characters including an overly enthusiastic bungee-fitness instructor, a nurse who does CPR by farting on faces, and a dog at a park meeting other pups. Though these were proficient moments of comedy, the two musical sets were where he really showed off.

He didn’t play the famous songs that appear in A Complete Unknown, which tracks Dylan’s emergence in the 1960s folk scene. Instead, Chalamet pulled out what he called his “personal favorites”—and revealed choices that appeal to Dylan fanatics rather than casual listeners.

He first sang a medley of “Outlaw Blues,” off the 1965 album Bringing It All Back Home, and “Three Angels,” from 1970’s New Morning, each rendition receiving its own elaborate, deliberate production that proved this was no half-hearted effort. He wore big, bug-eyed sunglasses during the more upbeat “Outlaw Blues,” rocking and dancing across the stage as lights flashed to the tune. For the latter song he sat down next to the electro-pop artist James Blake, who backed him up with vocals and keys, and slowed down, reciting the song as if it were a poem. During the second musical break, Chalamet, perched on a stool, demonstrated his acoustic-guitar-strumming technique on “Tomorrow Is a Long Time,” a Dylan song sometimes associated with its Elvis Presley cover.

When an actor portrays a renowned musician in a movie, it’s not a given that they have actual musical talent. Chalamet’s promotional tour for A Complete Unknown emphasized the fact that he performed all its songs himself; even that, however, could be written off as pure mimicry. Simply imitating Dylan did not seem to be Chalamet’s aim on SNL, however. The actor presented his own interpretations of Dylan’s music, melding the Nobel Prize winner’s artistry with Chalamet’s own streetwear-influenced style and more contemporary musical tastes—as evidenced by the presence of Blake’s signature wail.

[Read: Bob Dylan’s carnival act]

For anyone who was questioning Chalamet’s commitment to playing Dylan—including potential Oscar voters—the night was proof that the actor’s engagement with the musician went beyond the pure confines of the cinematic role. And for those who thought that Chalamet doing double duty on SNL might be a joke, the thoughtful way in which he approached his job as musical guest may have quieted any doubt. Not only did he pay respect to Dylan; he made clear that he can put on a show that’s all his own.

In Los Angeles, we live with fire. There is even a season—fire season, which does not end until the rains come. This winter, the rains have not come. What has come is fire. And Angelenos have been caught off guard, myself included.

Tuesday mid-morning, a windstorm hit L.A. In the Palisades, a neighborhood in the Santa Monica Mountains that overlooks the Pacific Ocean, a blaze broke out. Over the past two days, it has burned more than 17,234 acres and destroyed at least 1,000 structures. The Palisades Fire will almost certainly end up being the most expensive in California history. It is currently not at all contained.

By Tuesday night, another fire had sparked—this time in the San Gabriel Mountains, near Altadena, where winds had been clocked at 100 miles an hour and sent embers flying miles deep into residential and commercial stretches of the city. By mid-morning yesterday, the Eaton Fire had consumed 1,000 structures and more than 10,600 acres. It, too, is zero percent contained. Together, the fires have taken at least five lives.

Last night, just before 6 p.m., another fire erupted in Runyon Canyon, in the Hollywood Hills. Like the Palisades and Eaton Fires, the Sunset Fire seems to have first broken out in the dry chaparral scrub whipped by the roaring winds. The hillside there is particularly dense with homes, and the neighborhood is jammed up against the even denser, urban L.A., where apartment buildings quickly give way to commercial blocks. One of this city’s many charms is its easy access to nature, but nature is also the cause of its current apocalypse.

Living through these fires, I’ve struggled to understand the scale of the event; to see the threat for what it is and respond appropriately. My family lives in Eagle Rock, a neighborhood 20 miles from the Palisades with a whole mountain range in between. On Tuesday, while driving on the freeway, I saw the colossal thunderhead of gray smoke of the Palisades Fire erupting from the Santa Monica Mountains and decided: This is fine. I finished my errand. I went on with my day.

When I got home, I turned on KTLA, which was broadcasting live from Palisades Drive, where dozens of cars, trapped in evacuation traffic, had been abandoned by their fleeing owners. A man ran up to the reporter, removed his face mask, and spoke into the microphone. Looking directly at the camera, he implored viewers to leave their keys in their car if they were going to flee, so that the fire crews could get to the fire unimpeded. The guy looked familiar. The reporter asked him to identify himself. It was Steve Guttenberg. Mahoney from Police Academy! Only in L.A.

The wind was making a constant low, terrible moan through the trees. Every few minutes, a violent gust would blast through and rattle the house. That afternoon, I went to pick up my kids, who had been kept inside their school all day. At home, I let them run around outside, but everyone’s eyes got itchy. There was so much dust in the air. Still, the only fire I knew of was all the way across town, so I went out again that evening to see a movie.  

At intermission, a friend returned from the restroom and told me that my wife had been trying to reach me. I turned my phone off airplane mode and called her; when she picked up, she told me a neighbor had just knocked on our door to tell her that a brush fire was burning nearby. It was close, she said. How close? I asked.

Across the street, she said. Like, can you see it? From our house? She said no. I’m coming home, I told her.

Driving back, I saw a huge, glowing gash in the San Gabriel Mountains—the Eaton Fire. I thought about what needed to happen when I got home: the go bags we should pack, the box of birth certificates and Social Security cards. A photo album or two. I’d park the car facing out, for a quicker exit. I’d move some potentially long-burning objects (trash cans) as far from the house as possible.

I knew what to do. I knew the procedure. I’d reported on fires before. Hell, the home I’d grown up in was nearly burned down by wildfires twice in 2017, and my aunt and uncle had lost their home in Santa Rosa that same year. I’d interviewed firefighters about days just like this one—when the Santa Anas howl and it hasn’t rained for eight months or longer, the chaparral is a tinderbox, and fires begin popping up everywhere.

And yet, I hadn’t thought that it could happen down the street. I hadn’t considered that it could happen to me and my family.

[Read: ‘I’ve never seen anything like this’]

I arrived home just after 9 p.m. First neighbors with hoses, then the fire department, had doused the blaze nearby. I worked through my checklist, packed the kids a bag of clothes, then my wife and I packed small bags of our own. A thought nagged at me: All day, I’d been looking at fire—why hadn’t I seen the immediacy of the threat? I pulled out a book called Thinking in an Emergency, by Elaine Scarry, which I find extremely calming in intense moments because it presents an extended argument for the benefits of thought and practice during emergency situations. “CPR is knowable; one can learn it if one chooses,” Scarry writes. “But one cannot know who will one day be the recipient of that embodied knowledge … It is available to every person whose path crosses one’s own.”

What we do during emergencies, when the habits of the everyday (getting out of your car, keys in hand) come face-to-face with the extraordinary (a fire by the side of the road), requires extraordinary thinking. And we would be wise to insert these acts of thinking into our everyday habits. We perform a version of this constantly: We call it “deliberation.” Mostly, we spend very little time between deliberation and action. But emergency-style deliberation is difficult, because true emergencies are rare. It is hard for us to conceive of them happening until they are.

The drivers who locked their car doors and left with their keys were not thinking within the framework of the fire as a threat. A fire doesn’t steal one’s car; it burns it down. I had been no different in my thinking that day. Maybe I was worse: I had the knowledge of what to do in a fire, but I hadn’t even considered the realistic possibility that the fire presented a threat to my family.

I spent most of Tuesday night awake. The wind remained terrible. The smell of smoke began to fill the house. I rolled up towels and stuck them at the foot of the doors. Yesterday morning, just after 7 a.m., our phones buzzed with an alert: an evacuation warning for our corner of the neighborhood and much of nearby Pasadena. We hustled our kids through breakfast, packed up, and got out. Our going was optional, but at least 100,000 other Angelenos are under mandatory evacuation, a number that is surely growing higher as all of these fires continue to burn.

We left with the little we’d packed in our go bags, which was clarifying. I felt a weight lift. This was everything that truly mattered. Rereading Scarry had reminded me: I did not learn to perform CPR until I was about to be a father, until the possibility of having to perform it seemed a bit more real. I still, thankfully, have never had to. But will I retrain myself? Should I be practicing? We motored on through traffic. After a while, the smoke began to clear, just enough to see patches of sky. I will schedule that CPR retraining, I thought. That’s something I should do. When we can get home and catch our breath.