Everytime I'm on my way to suburbia for a short stop I get excited. It epitomizes adult, contemporary success. The wife, the house and the successful co-mingling of genetic materials.
Then I wake up and realize that I'm drenched in sweat, feverish and have a hard time to breath. See, my body is telling me that it's not for everyone and my mind agrees. Bertrand Russell has taught me to find happiness outside of my neighbor's domicile and lust for measurable comparisons.
The missus and I took a drive down to the Presidio in the MINI earlier today. The sky was blue, the sun was shining and the Bay looked just beautiful. All the people everywhere suddenly felt very comforting. They have made the same decision as we, to live in the most beautiful city in the world. Sure, it's shoebox living but man is it great.
Moving to suburbia - right now - feels so wrong. Like handing over my intellectual reigns to all soccer moms in their mini vans and saying: 'Yup, you were right. Driving sports cars, drinking wine and smoking cigars is a pure waste of time. I'm now converting to the obese, bored and disillusioned fellowship of the suburbian familyhood.'
But I will never - and let me here quote Sir Winston Churchill - NEVER surrender. Giving up is not in my blood, soul or mind. Following the mainstream has never been my cup of tea and there is no reason to put on the marching boots, uniforms and beret now. We are city people, proud I might add, and we'll stick together. Forever.
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