The die is cast. We are moving ourselves to California with whatever worldly goods remain after the garage sale. The garage sale is this weekend. You’re invited. Need a snow-blower?
What this means to the mini-industry that is Nice Work is anybody’s guess. Maybe nothing at all, considering how my illo work has been located in Cybercyberland these dozen years past.
Maybe quite a lot. Will my inner-Moondoggie succumb to lure of the surf? Might. Who knows? And Hollywood won’t be so far away either. Will I hear her siren song? You know, I’ve long nursed a secret dream to be a CGI. This might be my big break.
In the meantime, problems galore. Stuff to pack. Stuff to discard. Stuff to pack, move and then discard. And what about my guns? Are they even legal for non-rioters in L.A.? Will our earthquake insurance premiums go up? Will my high school Spanish prove serviceable after years of neglect except on Cinco de Mayo? Well, one thing at a time. And the first item on the agenda is procrastination.