Some People Claim There's a Woman to Blame

I'm lucky enough to live in a Sunshine State where people needn't put on goolashes--no, that's not right--whatever the heck people have to put on their feet in the north. . . nor heavy jackets and underwear.  I live in the t-shirts and shorts state where every day is like a slice of heaven.  

At least that is how I feel until heavy summer comes.  But right now, things are beautiful and the world is full of Margaritas and pretty hippie girls.  

One of my gymroid friends, the car guy, just came back from a visit to Syracuse, NY.  He went to see a sick buddy.  

"Man, I'm glad to be back," he said.  "Everybody in Syracuse is poor and fat.  The weather sucks and the place is beat."

But I would like to go.  It is part of the old Rust Belt with shuttered factories and ancient bars.  

"I think I'd like to go with a camera," I said.  

"Oh. . . you'd go crazy with that.  Yea.  It would be like another planet."

I'm thinking about it.  I live in a place where everything is new.  Seeing anything old is like a trip to the museum.  When I go to other places where they have built Disney-like things at the seaports or on historic trails as they have in NYC and Boston, I hate it.  They need to preserve their histories for people like me who want to visit.  

Jesus, though, I can't imagine living in it.  

I will go soon to visit my friend who moved to Southern Illinois so she can show me the weird delights of the midwest.  She sends me images all the time, strange things that please the locals, I guess.  

I'll need to go, but you know. . .  I like sailboats and sunshine just fine.  I like sitting in outdoor cafes during the winter months.  I like wearing a light sweater, shorts and tennis shoes when it gets "cold."  And maybe riding a Vespa again, too.  

But my own home state is becoming like many countries that welcomed Americans who came for the cheap prices and got Golden Passports, places like Portugal and Spain.  They are living with the regret now, real estate values outgrowing the wages of the local populations, prices for everything in general rising with the market.  New Zealand is closing its borders, too.  I think it is time to limit the population of this state as well.  Fuck it. . . I was here first.  I mean, you should be able to come visit as a tourist and spend your money.  That's only fair, because wherever there is a buck to be made. . . . 

I'm thinking of making another run south again before I head north.  I think, though, that I won't make my pictures so ominous and gloomy this time.  

I like the photo at the top of the page better for this kind of thing.  I'll save the gloomy stuff for Gotham and the Rust Belt.  

That's all I got.  Yesterday was very quiet.  I have no tales to tell, nothing to report.  I just have the music.  This group, Tobacco City, is my favorite thing right now.  They haven't recorded many songs, but the ones they have are pretty wonderful.  Here's one to go with the post, a boozy sort of David Lynch take on "Margaritaville."  Give it a try.