I didn’t listen to Erik Estrada.
I didn’t get in on the ground floor at Lake Shastina.
I foolishly thought that it was a scam take on Lake Shasta.
As a result, I don’t own a ‘lakefront’ home in an idyllic, rustic locale.
As a result, I’m stuck in the soul-sucking suburbs with its traffic.
And smog.
And convenient services.
But every time I beat myself up over this missed opportunity, I try to remember the bright side.
Did I really want this washed-up 70s TV star as a neighbor?