It is gorgeous out today. 75 degrees and no humidity. It is San Diego gorgeous. That is absolutely my favorite city on the planet and when we get a day like today, I long for San Diego. I would live there in a minute. Unfortunately, on my salary, I'd be living in a refrigerator box and driving a shopping cart with one squeaky wheel. My address would change daily, a little like odd/even parking. It would be tough pressing my shirts when every day after work, they would get stored in a big garbage bag, along with my mismatched socks.
I would love the weather, but my beard would eventually take over my face, as I'd have to shave in the ocean or in the sprinklers, which only run at night in the city. Ocean shaving would be tough, especially when the jellyfish are mating or migrating to Los Angeles. They sting your calves, and swatting them with an Atra razor does little good.
I could probably eat pretty good because I'd have no mortgage, rent, car payment, cable, internet, magazine or newspaper subscriptions, not to mention no homeowners insurance. My homeowners insurance would have to be the gun I'd have to carry around, or maybe a shiv, if I couldn't get at gun permit because I didn't have an address.
Eating good is no fun though when you're a lousy cook like me, so I'd live on fast food and end up with a gut on me, high blood pressure and cholesterol that would be through the roof; if I had a roof.
My family would have left me shortly after we'd relocated to the beautiful city and were evicted because we couldn't pay for our house that was, oh about, $450,000. They'd have tried to understand my love for the weather enough to tough it out, but after a few days on the streets, they'd move back to Wisconsin, or maybe Pittsburgh.
I'd have an amazing tan, or, more likely an all-over burn, because I'd be exposed all day, every day. I know the ladies dig homeless guys with that all-over burn and long beards, so it wouldn't be long before I'd remarry. My vagabond lifestyle would be too much for old whatshername and she'd leave me too.
But the days on the ocean front picking up cigarette butts after work to support the habit I'd have taken up because work is so stressful because my boss would be critical of my hygiene habits, particularly my beard with sticks and portions of yesterdays stir fry stuck in it. He'd want me to see a shrink, and I'd lash out and say, "I don't need no stinkin' shrink!"
This would not please my boss and coupled with the allegations that I was stealing pens and post-it notes and had been seen peddling them in the Gas Lamp district late at night, would force him to put me on occupational probation.
So smoking second-hand butts it would be.
And all of this because of a good climate. I'd better stay in the equivalent of climate hell until at least the kids are out of the house.