My car was broken into this week. 

They took everything in there: big bag of clothes (dirty and clean), leather weekender (that I bought from Ashton), yoga mats, a down comforter, a soft sheet set, pots, pans, canned food, coffee, dry goods, hiking poles and boots, backpack, vegetable spiralizer, cooking tongs I had purchased with a Williams & Sonoma gift card, artisan travel coffee mug, shower caddy, shampoo, and conditioner. The list goes on.

They kindly left a bag full of black plastic clothes hangers and that mylar thing you put across your windshield to block the sun.

Luckily, this time I had stashed my instruments and noteworthy electronics with a friend, but I feel like such an idiot for leaving possessions in my car for weeks parked in an up-and-coming meth hub in the middle of downtown Las Vegas - who does this?

Fear of getting a steady job has forced me to “life-edit” like an over-stimulated Silicon Valley entrepreneur, decades before it was the thing to do. Heck, I’ve slept on so many sofas over the years that I should petition the Olympic committee to make couch surfing an exhibition sport at the summer games. I’m just that good at it.

Anyway this vocationally-induced nomadic bent has forced me to “live with less and love it.” And like a dust bowl wanderer in a Steinbeck yarn I’ve kinda left a trail of discarded possessions along that dirt road to nowhere. What I haven't gotten rid of I’ve been able to fit in my car a la the Beverly Hillbillies and it’s really only the things I need (like clothes and toothpaste) or love (like my Cuddle Down pillows).
The worst part is they stole my prized Ferrari-red, overly priced drip coffee maker that is so “cherry” that Magnum, P.I. could probably drive it up the coast of Maui regardless of strong remonstration from Higgins.

My only consolation now is the thought that somewhere there’s an indigent individual sipping a unique cup of freshly ground coffee replete with a crema so divine it could cause Turkish men go to war in 1650’s Marrakesh (obviously I know nothing about history or geography).

My other consolation was this strawberry shortcake that I ate today. 

I guess life really can punch you in the face sometimes, especially when you do stupid shit.

But like this weird book my parents used to read to me when I was a kid says, "Could Be Worse!". 

I got shortcake and and I still got friends and family around to tell me what an idiot I am. Here’s to the next mistake. More on the way!

P.S. My mother used to call me her “indigent son” - I thought she meant I was a native Alaskan (Inuit) then I finally looked the word up. Thanks, mom.

P.P.S. My brother bought this stupidly expensive drip coffee machine and gave it to me when he stopped drinking so much coffee. I haven’t told him it was stolen yet. I probably wont for a few years. ;)

This concludes Devin's Corner.