Somewhere over the rainbow …
Okey dokey, then.
Take a good long look at this picture. I know, right? It’s like the Swiss are shoving their landscape in our face and demanding that we like it. Beautiful watch-making bastards.
When I saw that this morning, I immediately went into daydream mode. I thought about what it would take for me to end up in such a place. The simplest answer, so obvious that I’m ashamed it took me minutes to come up with it, would be to cure the disease on which I currently do research. Clearly. Then I could patent my discovery and cover the back yard in tarps to catch the money that would no doubt rain down like … dollar bill-shaped rain … from the heavens. I would then buy the property in that picture, pack whatever might be worth keeping, and move to Switzerland. After a certain period of general decompression (curing stuff is stressful), I’d send the above picture accompanied by the following letter:
I am not dead.
Actually, truthfully, I’ve never been more alive. A lot has happened since that whole disease-curing thing and the subsequent cash tsunami, but the only thing really worth talking about is what’s in the picture. It’s mine, you see. That barn? I turned it into a library. Every morning, I make coffee, then I skip (not walk, not jog…I skip) out to that barn where I read or write for hours and hours. Sometimes, when the spirit moves me, I throw on some shoes and I climb that big pointy guy in the middle. ‘Why?’, you ask. Why not? Stop asking such ridiculous questions.
You may be curious about a phone number. I was always so available, wasn’t I? HA! I sure was. Man, that was great. Gird your loins for disappointment: I have no phone. As a matter of fact, the first thing I did the night that I arrived was purge myself of “satan’s earpiece”. I stabbed the cell phone with a sharp stake, drove said stake into the ground, doused it all in gasoline, lit it on fire, then danced around my wee lithium-ion torch like a savage for hours, howling at the moon and laughing like a hormone-ravaged hyena. Don’t try calling me, is what I’m saying. I’m gloriously unavailable.
Enclosed is my address. Please. Visit. Seriously. I want you all to experience this. Skip with me to the library each morning, spilling coffee in the process. We’ll climb the mountain after a rainstorm, laughing at the danger and the immanent possibility of slipping and plunging to our death. We’ll do it so that I can show you the rainbow and whisper, ‘This is what Dorothy was talking about. Welcome to my pot of gold.’
P.S. Seriously. I don’t have a phone.
Sir @ June 30, 2011