the sun gives you skin cancer
I knew this would happen. That I would come home to California and have nothing to write about because my life is so mundane. As supporting evidence, I cite the fact that none of my California friends keep blogs, because absolutely nothing ever happens out here and there is nothing to say (with the exception of J-man, who also writes about less than humorous topics). For example, the only good thing people ever have to say about this place is the weather. Yes, it’s 85 degrees in March, I don’t deny that. But these are the same people who all have desk jobs and cubes without windows and who pontificate endlessly about the merits of the sunshine and the warm breeze and the trees, and who typically go directly from work to home at around 7:00 p.m. because they all went into work at 10 a.m. By this time, the sun has gone down and the chirping birds have stopped and it’s gotten pretty cold out because that’s what it does at night in the desert.
Krispy Kreme and In N Out Burger are completely disgusting, and the furniture at Ikea is crappy. There, I said it, and for once I don’t care what you think. If 30,000 people have so much money and time that they can go out protesting in the middle of San Francisco on a weekday, then I need to get myself a new job because I must be missing out.
If I have to stay inside all day, give me a fireplace and a bearskin rug and a huge snowstorm anytime over the misery of being cooped up in an arctically temperature controlled highrise office during a California spring day. There’s gotta be a reason why all the natives left. People poke me in the shoulder when I tell them I grew up in the bay area, I suppose to see if I’m real. What am I still doing here?
