And Girls in Miniskirts II !!

The horrible, horibble weather that has unjustly set upon Chicago this weekend has caused me lack of heartburn. In fact, last night, as I was sucking down a cigarette in the sub-zero weather, I began reassessing my life and where it is heading. As it stands I have a fulfilling and upwardly mobile career in the quintessential American city. I have two Hermes ties, a seersucker suit and a couple of sweater made from wool. Of course for you this would probably be all you could ever hope for in life (I mean let’s face it, you’re probably in graduate school and will graduate to nothing but a life of constant cluster fucks) but for me there must be more. Must be something, um, not cluster fuckable.

That said, I feel it is important for you to know I am now done with civilization. It’s all coddlewop anyway. The ridiculous taxes, government corruption, the refusal of metaphysics, the nanny staterism, it has become too much for my poetic and well-bred soul. Therefore, it’s only fair to tell you that I am leaving.

To this end, I’ve begun looking at homes to purchase in the south. While the south has it problems, like southerners, trout streams, non-chill Southern Baptists and carpetbaggers, it also has not totally horrible weather. And while not a southerner by birth, I feel I have both the drive and determination necessary to be the forested recluse every southern scene needs to give a town that authentic charm the no good Yankee tourists demands. I have begun my quest in the outskirts of town all across Tennessee and Arkansas. While part of me wishes to live in the great wonders that are Alabama or Mississippi, I find myself hopelessly terrified to seriously consider it. Also, Georgia is out of the question because of I knew some Georgians in college and they left me, well, underwhelmed. Louisiana is also a possibility so long as a I can be guaranteed not to receive bug bites while living there as I prefer not to be bitten by things.

But enough about the technical aspects of this great migration. Can’t you just see me? A totally good looking and dapperly dressed recluse sitting on his porch drinking mint julips with the mayor and sherriff while enjoying a rousing conversation about seersucker before engaging in a round of trout fishing or gun shooting? Oh baby. Also, thanks the feeble rural economy I can work only part time as some kind of gas station attendant or bank executive to cover my modest mortage and buy bread from the charming local peasant children.