I never get over how great this place is. Sure, it is also so unbelievably stupid (Example: The amazing Tiki Gardens pictured to the left were DESTROYED for a municipal parking lot) that words cannot describe, but once you ease into this place and begin discovering it, it reminds me why all those crazed Conquistadores came over here bearing Catholicism and herpes wave after wave back in the 16th century.
Just today: Woke up, threw open the blinds to the rain-covered tropical regalia that is our front and back yard. Made coffee and listened to the radio. Rode the scooter up to the Bay and ate a Spanish breakfast outdoors with wind cooling us off. Rode the scooter along the bay and looked at all the sailboats. Rode home through the alley behind our street in Old Northeast and BRAKKKKKKKE! A guy is selling a massive record collection in the fucking alley. And he is the owner of one of the better used record (vinyl) stores still existing (Bananas). Score incredible shit, including two original John Fahey LPs on Takoma and an original copy of Tago Mago.
Go home and do the responsible thing by bringing our recycling to the drop off (somehow forcing this--rather than the ease of curbside--gets me thinking about what else I can do). Go to Target and spend too much money (this occurs wherever you happen to live). Go home and relax. Ride up to some place I've just seen and was curious about as it looked promising for a myriad beer selection. Was absolutely right in this assumption: Bought a 6-pack of Bell's Two-Hearted Ale, something even Portland never had (had to be something they never had, had to be)...then discovered after arriving home that I actually love John Fahey and I would never sell these records after listening to them.
What happens when you get happy again? You like even the most minute aspects of the day again. You enjoy the world and what it has to offer. So, here's a nice drink to you, Florida, thank you very much...you are a lovely place.
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