Coming to you wireless from the Beatnik Café in Joshua Tree, my very favorite place on Earth. It is my final wish that when my fleshy shell goes stiff, I am to be toasted and lightly sprinkled from some mesa in Joshua Tree . . . . which is illegal, which is perfect. As long as my ashes don’t float down to Palm Springs, I’ll be happy – I don’t want to have to spend eternity on some unnatural golf course trampled upon by vacationing Hollywood execs.
Indeed, J-Tree is where I will spend my final days and every time I come here, I wonder why I don’t move sooner. Between Pappy & Harriet’s , the Beatnik Café, The Sun Runner and the Desert Institute, I could be quite content. Funky characters abound, observatories and recording studios aplenty and the desert itself – I could be happy here and stay close to Mama Iva. Then, I remember that I’m already moving to Austin or Mississippi or New Orleans or Wyoming or Whatever and then I ask myself “What the hell is your problem, Self? Why can’t you sit still, fer chrissakes?”
Clearly, it is change that I crave; a new adventure and a fresh place. Little pockets of people that I would meet, a like-minded community I could infiltrate and a host of eclectic hubs that would show me underground secrets.
Why the wanderlust? I have always marveled at rich people with homes in Italy, New York, Paris - how do they know where home is? Still, given my druthers and a Google bank account, I would happily have homes in Joshua Tree, Austin, San Francisco and Mississippi. Oh my yes, I could do this quite easily.
So then, the question is, how do I make a lot of money? How do I arrange my life so that I do not have to wear a nametag or spend my days in a cubicle? Will this blog lead me to fame, fortune and high-speed wi-fi wherever I roam? Furthermore, why didn’t I pack my Magic 8-Ball for wobbly moments just like this?
I had a dream last night that my life was about giving speeches. I love the idea but don’t I need to have survived some intense national tragedy or have my name associated with Oprah’s Book club to do that? My needs are basic – horses to ride, cheese to eat, wine to drink and, of course, the Internet. What else is there?
I like talking . . . maybe I could become a monologist and pattern my life after Spaulding Grey minus the suicidal ferry rides. God, I feel like George Constanza, “What about baseball? I like baseball. Maybe I could manage a baseball team . . . .”
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