A sort of life

What they said, what they meant

RICHMOND, Va. — Zeus is throwing rocks, and more than 2 inches will fall overnight.

I’ve been joking recently about moving to Iceland. Half joking. The gist is that I don’t want to wait for a Trump presidency to get the visa process rolling. That it’s better to get it all squared away now so that I can quickly slip away Nov. 9.

Why Iceland? Good, educated, happy people! That’s mostly it. It’s politically progressive. There’s many, many, many beautiful women. I don’t need to tell you that the environment is spectacular. And the Icelanders take care of it!

Did I mention the beautiful women?

The only problem is that I can’t ever imagine mastering the language. I hear it’s tough. And I already sound like an idiot speaking my native tongue. In fact, people often say to me: “What the fuck are you talking about?” And I just go: “I don’t know,” and hang my head.

But the more I joke, the more I’m thinking about it, the more I’m liking the idea. What holds me here is a job I enjoy and family living in the District. But my family will probably retire to someplace beyond a drive. And my job is losing quite a bit of luster.

So what’s left? A giant empty house? A dog that hates me? The many, many dates that end the moment I sit down?1 Lowering expectations?

No. If there ever was a time to get back to that traveling man lifestyle — remember, how I grew up! — that time is now.

But there is one thing: There’s no baseball in Reykjavik. That’s a big deal. But not worth braving the coming Kristallnacht at the hands of some Trump loving militia. I can live without baseball.

I have other things on my mind. Things I wanted to write about. Birds-of-paradise. But I’m tired.

1 I’m taking license here. A literary license. But I generally know pretty quickly whether I’m going to have the emotional capacity to carry that weight, if you know what I mean.

“What they said, what they meant” is from Volume Three: Rock and Roll Part Three (2015–).

Murder in silhouette

Murder in silhouette

This writer models during a photography class at the American International School in Wien, Österreich circa November 1995.

And I already sound like an idiot speaking my native tongue.