Cal and I work at opposite ends of the house, although if we sit just the right way and squint, we can see each other. Our cat, Ladybird “Squirt” Johnson, like a child of divorced parents, shuttles herself back and forth all day between the sofa next to Cal’s desk and the chair next to mine.
If something on the Internets catches our interest, we often yell to each other to come take a look. (And sometimes, we IM each other. While we’re in the same house. And able to see each other. Yes, yes we do.) Today, it was this story from Gawker, about a story in the Post, about a Russian man who decided he did not, sadly, want a $150 million apartment in New York.
My first comment was that if I had that much money to spend on somewhere to live, it sure as hell wouldn’t be in a building with other people around. I’d buy my own island, I said.
And then, lo and behold, not 14 minutes later, I received an email from gentlest reader and left-coast supermom, Sandra. As if she had heard my declaration. Or misheard it, rather – because what she sent to me made me absolutely drool:
If you and the gay mafia get bored one day, you could pose as rich investors and go tour some islands for sale, she said. (These are not for the faint of heart, I assure you.)
This one, quite frankly, looks just how an island should look – complete with crazy feudal castle from which to give proclamations, edicts, and the rare beheading.
This one has its own freaking vineyard – or, as my friend Sheila puts it, “fields of alcohol.” I believe there is nothing more to be said about this one, as private island + Venice + vineyard = yes, please!
This one costs less than what my aunt just paid to have a house built in New Jersey, about 16 feet away from another house.
Now that you’re sufficiently absorbed in your own island fantasies, let’s take it up another notch – and look at ISLANDS FOR RENT.
This tasty morsel of earth and sky costs less to rent – per week – than dinner for two in New York.
This one costs less per week than an iPhone. And I bet your iPhone doesn’t have Happy Hour every evening from 5pm at the Wreck Bar, now, does it.
I could go on and on. My point, gentle readers, is that one needs to open one’s horizons – literally – and consider island life. Divest yourself of your McMansion or tiny studio apartment – and get yourself an island.