I love living in the San Francisco Bay Area, but lately I’ve been thinking of moving near Austin.

No, not Austin Texas.  I mean, I’m sure it’s a very nice city.  But no thanks.

I’ve been thinking of moving near Steve Austin, the once-famous Bionic Man.  Oh sure, he’s getting on in years--when he runs in slow motion, he’s actually going in slow motion, and you hear those weird, ‘70s synth noises whenever he has to open up a jar of mayonnaise.  But still, we could hang.  At night we could sit up and do shots and he could tell me about his glory days with Jaime Sommers and the gang, and bemoan the fact that his career didn’t turn out to be more like Michael Knight’s. Eventually he’d pass out and I’d steal his wallet and go out and have some fun.  I mean, sure, he hasn’t worked in decades and he’s probably not worth nearly as much as he used to be.  But you can still go out and raise some hell even if you don’t have six million dollars.