Had a really nice weekend in Scottsdale. Most of it was spent hanging out at Heather's place, with her and her fiance, as well as Red of course. It was splendidly lazy.
The visit was punctuated by a pair of visits that we made into Old Town Scottsdale, which is a quite a drive from Heather's place up in the northern section of town. We went in last night after dinner to walk around amid the Christmas lights that spiral in a helix up the trunks of the palms trees. I marveled at how much effort it must be to put up the lights.
Until this visit, I was not aware that Scottsdale is regarded as wealthy community in the Phoenix area. This was evident from the opulent art galleries in old town, and the nearby businesses along Scottsdale Boulevard. It reminded me of Palm Springs.
"My kind of place," I said to Red, as we passed by the windows of the galleries on Main Street. "I like wealthy places."
It's true, actually. I'm a student of prosperity, and I'm always interested in what makes a place interesting to those with money. My previous tendency towards envy has long-since faded away. I feel free in my minimalist lifestyle, and find little need to "want" the things that large amounts of money can buy, at least the material things.
Still it was fun to pretend I was furnishing a new house and was looking for objects of art from the galleries. With that in mind, I instantly became more discerning, and found myself rejecting most of the painting and sculptors in the windows.
"How about this one?" said Red, pointing to a large painting of a rabbit wearing a miltary outfit and standing in a drawing room of a large house. It has a postmodern surrealist air. The artist's name was Russian.
"Maybe for my cannabis den," I replied.
Never had I felt so decadent.
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