Now I think I know what a few of you are going to say in response to this but until I'm able to verify things for myself, these are my views, and I'm entitled to them. (I am also entitled to this space which I will use to spout them freely.)
You know those commercials. Everybody knows those commercials. The ones where Clint Eastwood and Arnold Governator get on TV and tell you how great California is, and then an ancient and leather-like Terri Hatcher pops up with Mickey and Minnie and you can't help but remember that the happiest place on earth is supposedly full of mice and costs $100 to get into for a day.
These commercials make me wonder about things. First of all, after all the crap I've heard about Clint Eastwood and his motivation for mayor-ness having to do with some vanity sign he wanted, Arnold Governator with his horrific slur of "San Looeeeeobippo" after the earthquake, and... well Terri Hatcher just looks like a mess (probably from all the botox or whatever she's done to herself), I don't know if she is one... After all that, I'm just not sure I can trust the opinions of a bunch of rag-tag freaks when it comes to the best place to live/visit/become mayor/governor of/get botox in. In my opinion, after the other states I've lived in and visited, California is definitely the one I want to live in. I'd still consider Washington, but I'd have to be in or near Seattle and the Canadian border to even let that thought cross my mind.
Secondly, this "happiest place on Earth" bullshit... If somebody really did discover what it was that made a place the happiest place on this entire chunk of space-debris, I highly doubt that it would have anything to do with plague rats wearing white gloves and suspenders. As I discovered recently, the things I tend to get the most joy from are all in one place. Can you guess where that place is?
No, Scott, it's not VREO. I love my job. I really really really really do love my job, but it's not the place I'd choose to be if I had oodles of free time and no obligations.
I know Celeste, I'm sure I'll be saying that in about a month too, but I haven't been there yet so no that can't be my answer either.
Monica, I've never even been to Alaska, or Germany.
And don't even suggest the F&P Heather, you know better.
Anyway, it's my room.
I noticed that the only thing I want to do most of the time when I get off of work, is go home so I can get back to my little safe area. Nothing seems to deter me from this either. For example, this week several days I've had plans after work. Even though the stuff I have planned is fun, the whole time I'm thinking "Can I go home yet? I just want to be home." Not that I don't have fun while I'm out, but it's like this weird calling in my little heart somewhere that just wants to be back in my room.
Yesterday I sat on my bed and sewed myself a pair of the awesomest shorts anybody's ever seen. The whole time I was awkwardly sitting on my bed working the foot pedal of my sewing machine at times with my knee, and even though it was a strange thing to be doing, and a strange way to be doing it, I was having a blast. Today I had the freedom of spending money on things I need for Burning Man, and I didn't even want to do it, I just wanted to go home and sew more stuff.
Nearly everything I find joy in is here. My computer which connects me to so many of my friends, my strangely alert and entertaining slithery first mate Dharma, my oddly random music collection, more books than the Santa Maria Public Library could house in their children's room, all of my random knick-knacks. Every possession that I adore, I can find here.
The strange thing is, as I grow as a person, I realize how little all these possessions are truly worth. I'd burn it all in a heartbeat for the safety of any one of my close friends. So I find this interesting mix of joy and embarrassment for feeling this way about material things. I seriously love my stuff. My stuff makes me really happy and well adjusted. I think the difference between what I am and what the spoiled, materialistic people who I despise are is found in that tiny speck of embarrassment, but somehow that's all it takes. Then again, no one person can round me out as quickly as an hour spent with my nose tucked in a book, or with my eyes closed and the right music blasting on my stereo.
Does this mean that in order to be happy and well adjusted I need to have a ton of stuff? Maybe not. The more I think about it the more I think this means that I use these things to make myself feel better, so maybe it's not all the stuff, maybe it's just me. So in that case, does that make the inside of my head the happiest place on earth?
For me, I think the answer there is yes.
No, you can't get in for a day with $100. Ok well, maybe if you're really really cute...
Currently listening: My Brother's Blood Machine By The Prize Fighter Inferno
Release date: 31 October, 2006