L.A. Report.

This chapter of the Los Angeles Project started in the Moronga Valley, which is west of the San Bernardino Mountains. The reason for this fact is a slightly not well written book that I read in my book group, which was all about the marriage of Raymond Chandler to an older woman, and their peripatetic house-moving, through parts of Los Angeles, Pasadena, La Jolla, and--here's the relevant part--Cathedral City, which is just next door to Palm Springs, which is not too far from the Twenty-Nine Palms Highway, which is where Joshua Tree (the town) and Joshua Tree (the National Park) is, which are all in the Moronga Valley. (Which, also a few years ago, I read a true crime book about a murder that occurred in Twenty-Nine Palms.) All of which led me to figure out if there was a place to stay in Cathedral City or Palm Springs or . . . what's this? a little house right next to Joshua Tree National Park? A little house called Quail Mountain House?



And, the people, this beautiful little place had no television, no internet, no phone. Let me reiterate, and this time with bullet points:

• no television
• no internet
• no phone.

Which, honestly, usually would not be recommending points. But here's a novel fact: both nights we stayed there, I fell asleep at 9:30 p.m.

NINE THIRTY in the evening.

Which I frankly did not think was possible. Literally, as in, I could not go to bed that early unless I was at death's door, and also if I took a Nyquil. At death's door. Woozy and on the verge of death: that was the only way I believed I could fall asleep at nine thirty. I don't think I've fallen asleep like that, at nine thirty, since I was like five years old.

Sorry, it still stuns me.

The better thing was that I woke up with the sun--the desert sun, which is somehow sunnier than all other sun. At six in the morning. And it was glorious.

Some things to whine about.

Uh, I hate to be that person, the one who whines about summer, but here I go, whining:

1. My mind starts feeling dizzy when I think about the different appointments and dates and people who will be in town and what's happening, plus birthdays, Father's Day, concert dates, and other events and travel that are not yet finalized. Dizzy. My mind is trying to find a chair before it falls on the floor.

2. It is the middle of June and the weather has not been, let's be honest, acting very summery. Not that I am the person ever to complain about rain or snow (please, let's not get technical about this--by "ever" I mean "hardly ever" and by "hardly ever" I mean "not more than once a day or so"), but good heavens, it's rained so much! Not that I'm complaining about the rain.

3. I'm feeling a little bit cold right now, actually.

4. DayQuil is making me a little bit woozy. Watch out if you see me on the road.

5. My very old cat is back to her mouse-killing ways. Earlier this evening, I saw her move rather speedily under the bed with a corpse in her mouth. And by "the bed" I mean "where I sleep," which I think we can all agree is no place for mice, dead or alive or God, this is making me a little nauseated.

Okay, time to lie down under a pile of covers to read a, let's face it, trashy detective novel. I can own up to my trashy, whiny ways. I am all about accountability. I will try to keep the woozy, mind-reeling complaining to a minimum for the next eight hours, and also--lucky!--I will not be behind the wheel of a car. So we've got that going for us.