Taking Stupidity to Entirely New Levels

Currently Playing on Itunes: Paul Simon Homeless

My life is hilarious right now. When I went on the road on the PHETASY TOUR ’06, I lost my humble abode. It’s a long story that I won’t bore anyone with. Instead I am going to bore you with this riveting story: I didn’t even pack my stuff. It was packed for me around the time that I was in Arizona. Today I have to get a storage unit for that stuff. Although this seems normal enough, what makes this situation not normal is that I still have a storage unit filled with stuff out in L.A. from when I lived there….five years ago. I’m a legend at that rental place in Santa Monica. Who would be dumb enough to pay for a storage unit for going on six years? Me. And now, I will soon be the proud renter of not one, but two, storage units—one on each coast—and officially still be without a home.

To add even further to the hilarity, I really hate stuff. It drags you down, you have to take care of it and deal with it. Stuff has needs. After living out of my car for four months and being reminded of how little one actually needs to survive, I have developed an even stronger disdain for stuff. Because I have no problem leaving my prized possessions behind for years, I am constantly (and stupidly) starting over. Ironically it is exactly this lack of interest in stuff that has led to the accumulation of more than I could possibly need or want.

But even homeless people like stuff. They have shopping carts filled with it. And they take their stuff seriously. I would hope that if I were truly homeless (i.e. living-on-the-streets homeless) I would have a shopping cart filled with the necessities, or what I could procure of the necessities. I can’t say that the skeleton of an umbrella, a stuffed animal bunny, a single walkie talkie or a large, small-rock collection would be high on my list of priorities. But then again, I can’t say I’ve actually been truly homeless. I also don’t scream and spit at bushes and other inanimate objects. Yet.

If I don’t choose a place to live though, I might be spitting and screaming sooner than I think. There is no end in sight to my current situation because there is one key ingredient in trying to find a place to put all your stuff—first you have to decide where you want to live. I don’t even know that. I will become truly homeless because I am going to drive myself crazy living like this.

So if you see me walking down Hollywood Blvd., screaming at mailboxes “I made up a word once!!!” with a bottle of Jack Daniels, one high heel, a boa and a shopping cart filled with books, you’ll know exactly what broke me—the high cost of storage units and my own stupidity.