Keep It Simple, Stupid

Sometimes I wish I had more refined tastes. I can easily feel outclassed by people who prefer driving a car that's a jumble of letters and numbers ("Have you seen the new BMW M6?") or can talk about the smoky notes in their single malt scotch. My cars have always been named after small ineffectual animals and my whiskey of choice tends to be standard black label fare. It's not that I harbor resentment for people who can appreciate fine wines or who refuse to smoke a cigar other than the Cubans their friend at the airport smuggles in for them, because I really don't. I'm no class warrior. I just think that no one likes to feel outclassed, and I'm no exception. Sometimes it makes me wish my tastes were more complicated.

The counter point to this is that sometimes my simple tastes are a blessing. I can find Cohibas or Arturo Fuentes at any tobacco shop (not to mention some finer gas stations - fancy!), and my Toyota Corolla is cheap to buy and maintain. And, unlike the newly departed David Carradine, I do not need to have my hands and genitals bound, be gagged, and locked in a Bangkok closet in order to enjoy a random Thursday night. Again, if that's what you enjoy, I couldn't be more supportive of your right to seek pleasure in the way you see fit. I'm just glad I don't have to be burdened with the accouterments that come with such habits.

Plus, I'm lazy. All of the implements and planning and staging seems like a lot of work. Add to that the risk of being found hanging naked in a hotel, and that pretty much takes me out of the running for such activities.

I'm thinking simple is good right now.

But you got to hand it to good ole Dave. He was out there at 72 years old, doing his thing. He was working on a movie during the day and indulging in what I've decided is a nightlife that requires way too much energy and planning for this 30 something. I hope wherever he's at now, he's winning Emmy Awards, acting in celestial movies, and that there are plenty of ball gags to go around.