Last week, I chatted over tea with John Perkins, author of, among others, the best-selling Confessions of an Economic Hit Man. A few weeks ago, I shared a car ride with Vicki Robbin who, way ahead of her time, wrote Your Money or Your Life which questioned the assumption that one can actually choose a simpler life of almost complete happiness by rejecting the idea of insatiable wealth (what, you mean happiness doesn't come from having so much money that you can shower in Patron tequila every day, Festoon your pet ferret with diamonds and eat only endangered Siberian tigers because you can?).
In exchange for all of these experts sharing their well-conceived ideas andgroundbreaking concepts with me, I have, in return, and in their presence, babbled, rambled, got a bit drunk, possibly drooled, and giggled like a 13 year old girl in the presence of Justin Bieber. I think it was a fair exchange.
Holy eff - how did I end up here? In the past month, I've experienced several brain melts from incredible information and conversations with people eons more magnificently brilliant than me. My mind has blown more times than a mountaintop mine in West Virginia. I'd like to think that all the intelligence has in some form rubbed off on me, and I think it has. I feel thoughts are gelling in my head and ideas of what I want to do in the future are coming together (though it could be the pot. I've not even smoked it once you arrive in San Francisco, you become a pothead by default. Walking along the street you are automatically high. Even dogs get stoned when they go on a walk).
I've come to the conclusion that San Francisco is a magical place, more magical than unicorns and marshmallow trees and rainbow-laden three-tailed puppy dogs. Ergo, I expect all of you to come visit me and bask in the waves of progressive thought. Or at least eat Chinese food and smoke pot until you can no longer walk.