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–).

It sort of spooks you walking into an empty apartment

It sort of spooks you walking into an empty apartment

This writer's empty flat on Floyd Avenue in Richmond, Va. on June 15, 2006. It remained sparsely furnished for several weeks.

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