Once upon a time in a chubby, pimply existence, I could read Aldous Huxley and dream. I don’t know when or why, maybe it came from Pat’s having all sorts of developmental education books lying around the house, and reading up on “freedom.” Maybe it was just the ’70s, the “Me Generation,” the consciousness-raising personal empowerment, naked in a hot tub potential human and full of human potential, post-Vietnam 1970s.

For a brief, 12-minute spree, I was optimistic and idealistic.

I thought about California. I thought about Marin County and wine and transcendental meditation and being on the bus or not being on the bus. I wanted to drink the Electric Acid Koolaid. I sat at recess and tried to empty all thoughts from my mind.

Some day, I thought, some day, I will reach up to the fullest chi-soaked moment of my full human potential and center myself into happy, contented, intellectual, capital ‘G’ growth. And, I’d probably live in an environmentally sound, geodesic dome made from recycled materials.

No doubt, at some point my natural-born cynical juices flowed anew in my veins. But, for a moment I dreamed of a great society.

My boss has me researching places for a team retreat. Among the places that came up was Esalen, ground zero for some human potential movement funkiness by Big Sur. (Yeah, the same Big Sur where Janis’ ashes once went blowing in the wind.)

Clothing optional hot springs, meditating hippies and bunk beds. I’ll get right not that.