Santa Cruz is weird. Some of it is bad-weird (panhandled every 10 feet on the main street, a cannibalistic serial killer running amok), but much of it is good-weird. Sort of like a Berkeley-by-the-Sea, we citizens here have an enormous tolerance for anything out of the norm (except the aforementioned cannibal).
That “do your own thing” attitude may be what allowed me to chuck the criminal-defense investigator career and create Little Pup Lodge. And indeed, it is more pleasant spending my days with Shi-Tzus and Chihuahuas rather than with alleged murderers, rapists and pedophiles.
However, my mid-life career change pales in comparison to others in this town. I recently ran into a true role model of reinvention as I strolled through the Saturday morning Farmer’s Market last weekend. Right past the rainbow chard and to the left of the Clementine tangerines my hero was holding forth to a small crowd of stunned onlookers.
Singing the blues.
No time like the right time.
Frank Lima was a middle-aged stockbroker, calculating P/E ratios and betting on pork-belly futures until he decided to follow his bliss. Lima dumped his three-piece suits, grabbed an accordion and became The Great Morgani; street performer and undisputed king of bizarre costumes. The Great Morgani has bedecked himself as, well, the outfits are open to interpretation; each a bejeweled Rorschach for the eye of the beholder.
What balloon payment?
Can't even think of a caption for this one.
While Frank’s new dress-for-success look is a far cry from my business uniform of jeans and a t-shirt, I like to believe that the same heart beats beneath both: contented.
Play an accordion, to to jail.
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