I have a serious bone to pick with Malibu. I have been here for more than two years, and I don’t have a single thing to complain about. You might think that’s good, but where I come from, a lack of complaining can drive one into a deep depression. Telling me to stop complaining is like telling me to stop breathing. I am a Jew from New Jersey and complaining is my birthright. We even have a word for it—kvetch—and the very sound of the word brings joy to my heart.
Everything here is ideal. The weather is so consistently perfect that three days of clouds make people out of sorts, and more than a few days of rain cause people to jump off mountains in despair, like so many lemmings.
My heating bill is so much less here than it was back in the old country, I might actually be able to afford to live here. People back East tell me I will tire of this perfect weather, will get bored by it. Well, I have been married to the same wonderful woman for 31 years, and I haven’t tired or gotten bored with her.
The natural beauty of the mountains rising from the water’s edge make Malibu one of the world’s most beautiful towns. Flowers and trees abound. I have roses and lavender and fruit trees galore, and I wake up to the sound of birds who sound as happy as I am. In short, I am living in the Garden of Eden. I can’t imagine wanting to live anywhere else.
If you believe in a heaven and a hell, then when I meet my maker, if I have been good, I am going to be sent right back here. Now perhaps you understand why I am so frustrated.