Well, after two wonderful years, I’m moving out of my basement/garage in Hendersonville, NC (one exit from Bat Cave). If you’re thinking, “Wait a minute Joe, you always said you lived in Asheville!” you’d be correct. Who would say they live in Hendersonville, other than the retired old folks who live in Hendersonville? Asheville sounds cool and bearded, and only twenty miles from my basement/garage. As nobody always says, “it’s not lying, if it’s not, not false.”

I had to leave last week because my good friends who I’ve been renting from (and who lived upstairs) are moving back to L.A. You would think at 29 years old I’d go, “Well, I can’t be living in a garage at 30, so this a good move.” The reality is I kind of liked my garage, and I very well might have lived out my days there, until I was old enough to finally admit that I lived in Hendersonville.

Having a big nice house just doesn’t sound appealing to me. Saturday becomes cleaning day, and Sunday becomes lawn mowing, leaf raking, weed whacking day. When you live in a garage, your weekends are free to do as you please – like drink margaritas in your garage and stare at tools.

Some other unexpected benefits of living in a garage:
-Short trip to washer/dryer
-Short trip from car to bed
-Short trip from bed to car
-Instead of turning a key, you get to press a fun button
-Lots of tools available to fix things, in case anything breaks (like the garage door).
-Stays naturally cool in the summer
-Solicitors/Mormons never think to knock on a garage door
-Good set up for nuclear winters and tornadoes
-Sometimes you think you’re Batman, and that your ’03 Ford Focus is a Bat-mobile.
-you brainstorm awesome sitcom pilots based on a happy-go-lucky bearded guy who lives in a garage, and blairs Enya on his ’92 tape player/boombox.
-Low rent means more money to spend on other things, like Chipotle burritos, and self-help books.

It’s sad to move. You see things and go, “Awww, I remember that…” and then you have to decide whether to keep your tear-stained “Harry Potter and the half-blood prince” ticket stub, or toss it. Because apparently, I hold on to movie tickets? Like years later, I’ll go, “Hey, I remember ‘Shutter Island!’ What a nice memory…” I think you can go ahead and toss your movie stubs Joe.

So I clicked my little button, and watched as the garage door closed one last time (picture me weeping with a golf bag on my back and a chair in my arms). One last creak, rumble, a pregnant pause, and then a shudder as it crunched to the ground. Some leaves scattered, as if to say, “yes Joe, it’s leave time.”

Good-bye garage, I’ll miss you. Be good to your next dweller (most likely a pet python, or unwanted possum).