ahream
Dispatches from the City of Angels

I'm a mystery writer living in and writing about Los Angeles. You can catch my short story, "Running Venice," in the new anthology LAndmarked for Murder. Look for it in bookstores and on Amazon.com now. In the meantime, feel free to poke around. Over at my website you can find even more blog entries than I could fit here, as well as a few other ramblings. Enjoy and come back often.
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Most Recent Twitters:
A 3-foot long alligator was found walking down the middle of the street in Venice Beach this morning. I love L.A.

In case you were wondering, it is very difficult to get a hummingbird out of your house. They are irrational and prone to hysterics.


L.A. Finds:
The Nickel Diner on Main between 5th and 6th is a made-to-look-old, throwback of a place that melds into the old downtown and is, at the same time, part of the renaissance. They serve their burgers medium, their soda in bottles and offer all they can to locals in need.


Flickr Updates:
The second Thursday of every month is the Downtown Art Walk. The galleries stay open late, the restaurants are packed, bands perform on the streets. God, I love L.A.


What I'm Reading:
Attack of the Unsinkable Rubber Ducks
by Christopher Brookmyre

What I Talk About When I Talk About Running
by Haruki Murakami


Want E-Mail Updates?
Click here, type your e-mail address into the first field (for public entries) and receive an e-mail note each time a new blog post goes up. (Photo updates, Twitters and "L.A. Finds" features not included. Those you have to swing by and check yourself.) Absolutely, positively no spam. Promise.


Other author blogs:
Sue Ann Jaffarian
Eric Stone
Christa Faust
Lipstick Chronicles



New car disease

Husband: “We’re going northwest now. Wait, north. How’s the temperature? It’s 72 degrees in here now, but I can make it 73, 74. How’s that? Want to know how many miles I have left on this tank of gas? Average miles per gallon?”

My husband, at nearly 30 years old, bought a new car, his very first new car.

I guess this must mean his hand-me-down karma is wearing off. I’ve never known anyone who has been given more cars. A blessing, for sure, if not exactly a treat. Mostly, it’s been a long parade of air conditioning that never worked, bubbling body rust, indeterminate engine troubles, radios that only got reception when you stuck your left leg out the window and upholstery that smelled vaguely of wet dogs.

But perhaps the hand-me-down karma has mutated into car-sale karma. Through a fortuitous aligning of the stars, rebates, haggling and a dealer that needed room for a new model, my husband – king of the stinky interiors and cracking dashes – has leather seats, wood trim, a moon roof and more electronic gadgets than the Mars Rover.

Yesterday, he spent half an hour adjusting the eight-way lumbar support.

It’s cute really, even if our conversations keep going like they have been.

Me: “Do you want spaghetti for dinner?”

Husband: “When I drove into the garage, my headlights came on BY THEMSELVES.”

Me: “Uh huh. Spaghetti?”

Husband: “Did you see how the back seat folds all the way down?”

Me: “Okay, we’re having spaghetti.”

This weekend is planned around leather seat sealant and car waxing, but I’m figuring this is just a phase. It really can’t go on forever...right?

Me at bedtime: “Goodnight, dear.”

Husband: “My rearview mirror has an automatic dimmer.”


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