Drip, drip, drip

I've seen "Chinatown" and read "Cadillac Desert," so I know that Los Angeles shouldn't even be here. But we are here, all 9-million-plus of us, nearly all of whom need to wake up and realize that if we don't stop wasting water, this city is going to wither and die. There. I said it, and I don't care if I sound like an old crank at a neighborhood council meeting. We're killing ourselves because of our stupid lawns and our weird obsession with wet driveways.

Empty warnings, dithering councils and cheaply made TV ads broadcast during Dodger games aren't going to do the job. I'd be shocked if the DWP water cops were on the streets before mid-August. So really, it's up to us. We have to stop, now. No more washing your cars at home. No more sprinklers. Let your driveways gather dirt.

Somehow, though, I don't think we have the will or the courage. Like we did with oil, we just assume that water will be cheap forever. Then, when the prices go up, we'll moan and wring our hands at the tragedy of it all. But we must conserve, and we must educate our neighbors.

As soon as I find out who's behind the mystery river of Franklin Avenue, I'm going to do what every Angeleno would:

Complain to myself silently, go home and take a nice, long shower.