Stephen Hawking Likes Strip Clubs

You never know when inspiration will strike and where complete focus will be achieved.

I’m currently writing in a noisy bar that serves greasy pizza, surrounded by hipsters, surfers, and small children playing pool (…weird). It’s here where, for the first time since this past Thanksgiving, I’ve actually found my inspiration to belch out something other than Tweet-like content for this blog.

Guess my magic equation for the moment is deep bass + beer buzz + beautiful people + pissed off bartenders. I’ll work with it.

So what’s been the hang up? I dunno. Life. Stuff(ing). Story. Nothing dramatic, just speed bumps and distractions (some happy and celebratory ones, actually) that had me focusing on that and not this.

Actually, I’m having a hell of a time mapping my super highway’s route. I’m one cocktail away from packing up and shipping out to anywhere that offers something new, smattered with some familiar pastimes that aren’t illegal or life-threatening. I’ve owned a business for eight years—one that’s currently on pause while Chef attends law school. My personal and professional shenanigans are overwhelmingly uneventful. I have an open road, and that’s all well and good, but right now I’m just driving for the sake of driving.

This isn’t the economy for wasting gas so I better figure out my route quickly. Here’s what my inner GPS has figured out so far:

  1. I enjoy writing. In fact, I prefer it to most other activities (not all, but most).
  2. My brilliant friend from high school, who works for a crazy famous publishing house, told me recently that my “grammar and spelling are impeccable.” This was in reference to my resume but I’m going to own it for all things written because it sounds impressive.
  3. A juicy, meaty, savory thought fills me up real good. Makes me want another bite. It’s superfood.
  4. I’m frustrated that I’ve only been to four foreign counties, two of which I’ve lived very close to for large portions of my life, so they almost don’t count. Lame.
  5. I don’t exercise my senses enough. (Actually, I just don’t exercise enough.)

So what am I looking for? Where will hope spring eternal and when will THE job, THE pursuit, THE thing reveal itself? I guess today it’s in a noisy bar, with greasy pizza, and small children playing pool (…still weird).

With you. With me.

And, seriously, Stephen Hawking likes to meditate on general relativity in strip clubs. Google it.

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