If
I could pay a thousand dollars and have all the junk I've accumulated
over the years be sorted into piles of throwaway and keep, I think
I'd do it. And you know I like to hold on to dollars. For the past
several days I've been sitting on the floor going through bankers
boxes of paper that go all the way back to grammar school. When
I say paper I mean it. Cards, school reports, screenplays, essays,
scribbled notes, concert and theater and movie ticket stubs, playbills,
business cards, notebooks from old assistant jobs with Sylvester
Stallone's home phone number written in the margins. It's just overwhelming.
However I discovered that concerts used to be cheap.
I
saw Depeche Mode in 1987 for $17.50. Can you imagine? Can you imagine
that people who were born in 1987 are 21 years old?
===
Anyway.
We're officially moving. At the end of this month. And the result
of all the back and forthing about should we be landlords or should
we sell the house is that we're going to be landlords (YAY LANDBARON
I AM ON MY WAY) and we've already rented this place to a nice couple
and we've already rented a house up north from a nice man and everything
is nice. I hope it stays nice. The town where we'll be living is
very small, but also very close to the ocean, and to tell you I'm
excited about breathing clean sea air would be the understatement
of the century.
When
we were trying to figure out where to live and when it became clear
how much we both wanted to live by the beach, Gray observed that
where we'll be is actually only 20 minutes over a hill from the
hustle and bustle of Silicon Valley, but that everybody over there
seems to think the coast town is REALLY far from civilization. And
he wondered when and why people decided to give up a good quality
of life for at-your-fingertips conveniences. Like there's no Target
where we'll be, and no Trader Joe's, but I would gladly trade a
car ride twice a week for all the benefits that beach living gives.
People are busy. People think that if they slow down they'll stop.
And maybe after a month of pushing the baby in his stroller on the
beach trail I'll go mad and need a Taco Bell within a mile of my
house, but I hope not.
===
Somehow
Stealthpunch Junior is thirteen months old, and here is his latest
senior portrait.
