My boss is in Hawaii this week. Two of our clients are there, and he's out on business. Predictably, he's extending his stay by using a couple of vacation days at the end, and even more predictably, those two clients are pretty much the last ones he'd ever give up. The interesting thing about the whole deal is that we work in Santa Monica, which is essentially a resort town - in fact, the city motto is "
the real life alternative," replete with white sand beaches, sunshine 330 days a year, and a view of the Pacific. While I'm still not over the novelty of it all, being only a two-month resident of the area, I find that my fellow Angelinos pretty blasé about their geographic lot in life. I guess as an element of human nature, "familiarity breeds contempt" applies to just about all aspects of life, be it the place to live or the person you're with.
Using an extreme leap of logic (I am an Olympian logician!), this leads into the obvious conclusion that in order to maintain perpetual happiness about your living environs, you should start at the worst possible location in town - across the LAX departure runway in South-Central, under a bowling alley and above a crackhouse - and move every two or so years to someplace
ever so slightly better, e.g. South Inglewood.
By extension, the key to a happy marriage would imply the exact
opposite of what most cultures have traditionally established by way of nuptuals - in that on the first day of their life together, the couple should look
and act as bad as humanly possible, and gradually improve as time passes.
An interesting conclusion arises: does this mean that were the contestants real, the reality show
My Big Fat Obnoxious Fiance may have resulted in the perfect marriage?
Diabolical.
