Yesterday I talked to a lady who told me a bit about her son. When he was small, they used to travel to California in the summers to visit relatives. At the end of the trips, she said, he would cry and cry. He'd cry when it was time to leave, he'd cry on the plane.
"He just loved California from the time he was little."
When he was older, he went to Cornell and then got a job working for Philip Morris, which enabled him to move to Irvine, California.
I thought about it and came up with this:
It's like he sold his soul to the devil in order to get to California and in one of those "be careful what you wish for" scenarios that the devil is somewhat famous for, he ended up in Irvine.
Which he actually apparently enjoys, it's just funnier if you don't know that.
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