Let me paint you a picture of my evening.
Setting: Santa Barbara in late July, 68 degrees, on the patio
Activity: Listening to James Taylor (Sweet Baby James album) smoking a cigar (that was a gift) drinking a beer.
So it’s nice and quiet, as I have the music fairly low. I know all the songs well enough that a hint of the melody starts the whole thing going through my head anyways, and frankly there is no reason to blast folk. I’m relaxing by myself, smoking my cigar in a leisurely fashion, sipping on my one and only beer (trying to cut back, turns out empty calories stick to the ribs.) There is a warm breeze blowing faintly, and I’m not wearing shoes.
Not bad, right?
And that’s why I hate TV, because all to often I get home and plop my fat ass on the couch and vegetate. If I didn’t have a television, I have an inkling that I’d be outside doing this kind of thing more often.
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