Sunday. I'm wondering if I don't need to get out of the house and on the road in July when I retire. If the need is to set out anew, you take a trip, do you not? After college you pack your bag and head for the smoke on the horizon? The smoke in my case was the fact that some of the people who's work I'd admired in college humor magazines were publishing something called underground comix in San Francisco, so I stopped by San Francisco on my way to Mexico to write a book (which had seemed a good idea at the time).
I'm not sure what I do about this now at my age, but I suspect I need to redefine my own personal horizon, whatever it might be, then pack a bag and skedaddle. It's fun to skedaddle whichever way it goes. Everyone has their own stuff, time to do something about mine. But then I've mentioned this before, haven't I? Why not look for something that appeals, no matter how far fetched (more far fetched than underground comix?) and see if an old funky headed duffer can participate in whatever it is that he finds. We live in the age of diversity, do we not? Surely even the off the wall characters out there have an old duffer in their crowd if only to qualify for government grants? I would think.
So this off the wall crowd? What are they about?
Something to do with the web, photographs and writing in a scene where you're unlikely to get shot. We old farts don't like getting shot. The Reaper is coming soon enough, no need to urge him along. Then again it could be a radical daffodil cloning crowd, yellow flowers under tempered glass, midnight plantings in the moonlight. Searches like these can land you in places you never imagined, heading for Mexico, for example and ending up in San Francisco one novel light.
What happened to your ambition to become a staff photographer for one of the local exotic ladies clubs?
Who said that's off the table! Be sensible here: if we're going to fantasize, let's not add silly limits. Plenty of time for a realistic look at it later, right now I'm on journal time and everything's on the line. Well, everything's on the line in the sense we're dealing with a church mouse now and not the old rabid gerbil who's just busted out of his cage on a jimson jag scrambling toward the light. We want to keep our manners intact and not rattle the sake cups.