"Cali-for-nia. Knows how to par-ty." Recurring song fragment I hear while walking to get my focaccia-bread-pesto-chicken sandwich. Or when I'm watching Bollywood videos with co-workers eating tofu curry dishes.
For example, it seems fitting that last week I finished The Soul of a New Machine while driving through Silicon Valley at 5 am in the morning, rushing from playing an all ages show in Los Angeles to make it to a programming/developers meeting called "Dev Storm."
It's the sun-drenched, shiny, gritty promise.
Like when I go to the local all ages punk show where a young musician's mom comes to bring him pizza. Or when I pick up the latest indie comic by the artist (hint:optic nerve) who did the album cover for a local indiepop band.
Or when I get the invitation to the pool party / birthday party of my bisexual friend, recently married to my dear transgendered musician friend. Or when another friend orders deliveries of top notch bread to K. Reeves and co. on the set of Matrix 3.
But, c'mon Chris. This idea of California - the far country, the haven for the rich, artistic or unusual isn't so unique. The Second Chance Shangri-La can happen anywhere. These scenes are replicated like MP3s. In fact, it may just take one black sheep in any town; misfitism might be a viral concept.
I know, I know; everywhere is the Other: a different place. Where the grass is some other shade.
Still, it would take a terrorist act to get me to move.
Or, y'know, layoffs.