Its Christmas time and I've put in my last day in the office (and what a frustrating day it was, indeed) until the 4th of January. Left an hour early. I was sure I would blow up at someone if I stayed. People are idiots and people who work are bigger idiots. The real question of our existence should be: Why is it that the older a person gets, the greater the desire to be the resident expert in charge of one's own little yard? God forbid I say 'Aw, come on.' to someone. Anyhow, the kids are home, and the kids' friends appear magically. We have the three amigos in my house- really the three caballeros. My son and his two buddies that went briefly to high school together and were in the metal band together. And still hook up. I like these guys. I remember hanging out and drinking and being goofy with a couple of guys in New Orleans and we were writers and we were (twenty something) and the world was a great place to be and we had futures. 'The difference between then and now, was that we believed' to paraphrase Nancy Griffith. God forbid I grow old with the rest of you. I'll never be the expert of my little garden. I'm going to be playing my banjo on Venice Beach Boardwalk. Come visit me. I'll be the guy that's 6'7" with the long ponytail.
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