Orange
A car parked outside of Autobooks-Aerobooks in Burbank. For more of my photos, follow me on Instagram.
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A car parked outside of Autobooks-Aerobooks in Burbank. For more of my photos, follow me on Instagram.
About | My Book I Newsletter I X I Instagram I LinkedIn I Consulting I Email
The main character of my novel-in-progress, which is set in the San Fernando Valley’s adult movie industry, drives a 1966 Oldsmobile Toronado, which is a favorite car of mine. I really liked watching this old ad for it.
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A recent shot of East Hollywood from my Instagram. Follow me here for more.
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I never read car reviews unless I’m shopping for one, with one exception: If it’s written by the WSJ’s Dan Neil. He’s fantastic. The Pete Wells of petrol. His latest is a playful homage / send up of the 2020 Mercedes-AMG G 63. You know, the G-Wagen. Here’s one great line: “The G 63 is a flaming beacon of vice, a rolling, trolling lighthouse of petrosexuality.” Here’s another: “Soon after, the G-Wagen became an action-film cliché, typecast globally as embodying nihilism and up-armored criminality.” Terrific stuff. A really great critic celebrates something as he defenestrates it, analyses the thing as he mocks the critical task itself. Want the wagon? It starts at $156,450.
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One of the biggest changes in Los Angeles in the last 20 years is the traffic. The Los Angeles River may be mostly dry, but the streets and freeways are filled with a never-ending stream of vehicles. It takes an hour to get anywhere of any significance, and the old ways you used to sneak around the most clogged arteries have been discovered by everyone’s digital guidance systems. There is one benefit, though. Stuck in traffic, you can see the city and wonder at its sights. The glass buildings reflecting stories-high palm trees planted in an artful line before them. The skeletons of rooftop signs in Hollywood celebrating some bygone era of glamor and luster you totally missed. The monstrous old-school mansions hunkered down behind 15-foot hedges so the luxurious lives of their inhabitants stay forever private. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? The city through a car window.
[Image via my Instagram feed]
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The other day, I paid a visit to a nearly $5M LaFerrari. I got to sit in it, but not drive it. Read all about it in the latest post on my Forbes blog: "For $4.35 Million, This Gently Used 2015 Ferrari LaFerrari Can Be Yours."
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Sure, it's only July, but I've decided "Oh Lord, Won't You Buy Me A Maserati" is my best title of 2015. It came to mind after reading "The Story Behind Janis Joplin's 'Mercedes Benz.'"
Janis and I were giggling and showing off a bit in front of Rip and Geraldine. The alcohol wasn’t meant to do anything except keep us laughing in that bar, but it assumed control, and the result was “Mercedes Benz.” I figured that what we were doing there was just an exercise to impress Rip and Geraldine and pass the time. Nothing more.
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There's a lot of this in the south end of Florida: Confederate flags and anti-Obama bumper stickers, red trucks and patriotism, hunting and swamp life living. After a while, it becomes part of the scene. The Confederate soldier descendent hawking redneckabilia at the flea market. The house painter who bleeds red, politically-speaking, that is. The stories about the time a wild hog killed a dog. Maybe they're clinging to the past, or maybe they're hoping for some kind of other future. They're wary-eyed and weary of the current United States. If you could let them secede, they probably would. Meanwhile, technology is racing past them, transforming everyone else into someone else. I'm not sure if they're close-minded or just afraid.
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Of my guest blog posts on Kottke today, this one on a pink donk is my favorite.
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(Inspired by a 30-day yoga challenge at my yoga studio, I'm writing 30 flash fictions in 30 days. One a day. 100 words or less. Time limit: 15 minutes. You can read all of them here.)
The husband and the wife took a road trip. Being a wife, the wife decided, was like sitting in the passenger's seat, and being a husband, she decided, was like sitting in the driver's seat. The husband refused to use a map, and before long, they were lost. They meandered along a windy road in a forest, the wife nagging the husband the entire time. At one point, the husband made a fist like he was going to punch the wife but didn't. They ended up at a roadside restaurant, eating ribs and acting like teenagers on a first date.
Time: 6 minutes
Word count: 100
V12. 483 hp. 7800 rpm. 190 mph. 1939. W154/39. Benz. pic.twitter.com/l7MdhJs5ZX
— Susannah Breslin (@susannahbreslin) June 14, 2014
Girls who like riding horses are the equivalent of guys who like driving fast cars.
— Susannah Breslin (@susannahbreslin) June 12, 2014