Festivus Fever Dreams

Here's the thing: I have just turned 29. This means I am now in my 30th year of life. Jesus H. Christ. I wasn't prepared to see it in print. I guess it's real now, the truth, no denying it. What am I supposed to do with that truth? Hell if I know. I don't know that there is anything to do. It's just a number and as a rule I don't subscribe to timelines and deadlines on life events or goals. At least, that's what I tell myself and that's what I'd like you to believe about me. But I am nothing if not an unreliable narrator of my own life. 

The sun rises over ATL

With 1/3rd-life crisis (is that a thing?) thoughts like these swirling in my head, I set off once again for a pre-birthday trip to Vegas for Kash and Dan's 3rd annual, and first to be graced with my presence, Festivus party. More on the Festivus merriment in a moment, but first the retelling of a dream. 


On the eve of my departure I had a vision in my sleep that gnawed at my unconscious until it broke through while I was sitting in the plane, high above Florida, somewhere between Del Boca Vista and Atlanta. I had not remembered the dream until then but had felt a nagging neurotic sensation radiating from the back of my brain all morning. When the sensation manifested in conscious thought I recognized immediately where it came from and I didn't want to forget it... I needed a pen and paper, stat! No such luck. I needed to use my phone to take notes! Phones had been strictly forboden by the flight attendants. Out of options and my feeble mind losing grip on the memory of the dream by the second, I had to do it: I reached for my phone, studied it for a second not wanting to break the rules and somehow doom us to a fiery death in a crash caused improbably by Blackberry interference, put my finger on the power button, and finally said my prayers (to what god, I do not know) and hit the button. I had to write down what was going through my head. This is what I wrote:


Last night I awoke in a sweat with my heart pounding and a deep, lingering sense of an insane longing gone unfulfilled, just beyond my grasp. I realize now what I wanted so desperately in my dream. Studying child psychology and seeing kids first hand as a substitute has stirred up a powerful, morbidly curious, narcissistic impulse/need/craving in me to go back in time and view myself as a kid in school. I don't want to just see pictures, I want to literally travel back in time and BE there. I want to see first hand, with my own adult eyes what kind of kid I was. 


I think the fact that I can shut my eyes and remember my kindergarten classroom - where the letter people hung on the wall over the windows, where the gold stars for being good were taped to the cabinet, where I daily rolled out my nap mat and mostly refused to nap - the fact that I can remember these things indicates the near grotesque importance of these years in my life. I mean, that was practically 25 years ago for fuck's sake! Sometimes I think I can't remember much, but it's actually kind of insane that we can remember these times at all, when you think about it.  


And it's not like I was traumatized, it's just I'm so sure that my personality today can be traced back in so many ways to that kid in grade school who now seems like a stranger, or at least an alternate self. So alike and so different from that kid have I become in adulthood... Would I rather be more alike or more different today? I don't know. That's why I want to go back and see scenes from my life, A Christmas Carol style. A Festivus fever dream style.


After I got it out I turned off my phone as quickly as possible (we had not crashed... whew) and quietly slipped into a peaceful ipod induced stupor, disturbed only by the offering and accepting of coffee (blech) and cookies (surprisingly, the best part of flying Delta). Later, I thought more about this craving to see myself as a kid in grade school: was I really formed by my experiences there? Is that when I developed my shy/asshole tendencies? Is it too late to overcome the personality defects imprinted in me at that age? Is trying to come up with material for this blog causing me to think entirely too much about myself? Questions, lots of questions.

One question I have thought about before. Shy/asshole confusion is a big motif in my life, I think. Let's just get this out of the way now: If I don't call or don't talk to you it's either because I couldn't care less about you and I am enough of an asshole to not pretend to care, or I care very deeply about you, but I am too shy to call for fear that I do not mean as much to you as you mean to me. See, I'm either shy or I'm an asshole... you decide. Hint: if you are reading this you can be sure that I care about you... I'll overcome my embarrassment and call you one of these days, I promise. You're all waiting with baited breath, I'm sure.

Festivus Now!

Anyway, enough! Festivus was rad! Kash and Dan throw a helluva party... There we all are in our ugly sweaters (a Festivus tradition). While it may look in the photo that the party had all the trappings of a traditional Christmas event, in reality it was ever so much more. Not too long after this photo we were airing grievances, displaying feats of strength, and winning raffle prizes. I won a very nice tub of popcorn! Three flavors! Also, I believe I was nominated in both the "disgruntled elf" and "Festivus cheerleader" categories. I did not win either of those competitions, but I consider my paradoxical nominations in both categories to be a moral (amoral?) victory. The party unfolded in two parts, the first at a Gordon Biersch restaurant, the second at a suite at the Golden Nugget... the "Vegas Baby Suite"! We were partying in high style, a jug of Costco rum in one hand, a tall cup of "purple drink" in the other. Both halves of the party were a lot of fun and it was great to be back running with the Vegas crew. See you next Festivus!

Bingo! I've got Bingo here!
And Donuts!

While in Vegas I also partook in some poker playing (lost); early morning bingo playing with Dan (lost, but with free donuts to ease the pain); blackjack, because Dan is addicted and attracted me to the game with the force of his addiction (lost... fuck blackjack); pai gow poker (won 6 bucks!); and roulette (won 36 greasy downtown Vegas dollars!). I had been hoping to parlay my rather small gambling budget into a rather small but perfectly adequate fortune, which I would have then shared with all of you. Oh well... maybe sometime in my 31st year of life.

Besides not making a fortune, the only thing wrong with my trip to Vegas was that it rained for one whole week straight, only stopping on one occasion I can remember. The sun came out for about two hours one afternoon when Dan and I were at the Neon Boneyard, which is pretty much what it sounds like, an old-neon-sign junkyard. Turns out they don't let you dance on the signs like they do in Vegas Vacation, but it was pretty cool to see all the old-Vegas signs up close. Look, there's a demented neon duck! Don't see that everyday.

When all was said and done in Vegas I got back on a plane and reconsidered my crazy making desire to be a witness to my own formation. I hope I don't get that particular craving again. Why do that to myself? It's all in the past. I am that I am.

Always double down on 11! or
We're so money!

Seeing my past will not really make a difference to my future. I can be who I am or who I want to be starting now, no looking back. The moral of the movie Greenberg, which no one saw, but which I loved, was: Embrace the life you never planned on. There's a truth I know what to do with.

Joke's On Me

Well, where was I? Hmmm.... last year at this time I was driving through the wilds of Idaho or Montana or some such place on a 29 hour round-robin marathon drive to Devil's Lake, ND with Danie and Jesse for Thanksgiving. This year, I am finishing up a two week stint (stretch? sentence for some unknown offense?) as a substitute teacher in high school. This was a gig that could have led to a full-time position. Once again I flirted with stability, looked it square in the face, tried it on for size. I passed. Stability at this school at this time would have been a cruel mistress, I think. In any case, it just weren't right. Or maybe I'm not right. Either way, end result is I don't have to go back there and that makes me happy. For now.

On the other hand, I think maybe everything I say or write on this blog is just misdirection by way of circuitous logic and semi-fancy words to cover for the fundamental path-of-least-resistance-ness of my actions. Sometimes I think all my decisions in life come down essentially on the side of simply taking the path of least resistance (henceforth referred to by the acronym I think I have just invented: POLR, pronounced "polar"). This pattern to my decision making could very well be real and might very well speak to some character defect. 

Me, looking existential after a teaching gig...
although, I took a picture so
I couldn't have been too deep in thought.

But why does POLR have such negative connotations? Is it really such a bad thing to "take the easy way out"? Eesh, that phrase makes it sound even worse. What about just not intentionally making things harder than they already are? That sounds alright for an ethos doesn't it? Mix that with a dash of good old-fashioned laziness and I think you've got me. Of course, I don't mean to say that I don't challenge myself sometimes... but maybe there are times when I should challenge myself and don't. Times when I should take the mythopoetically noble "road less traveled," but instead take the nice newly paved 4-lane highway right to the nearest fast-food restaurant. I dunno... But analyzing this anymore would make my brain hurt and I have less strenuous paths to find and take at the moment.

Anyway, the substitute teaching is going well, and, even better, being successful at it does not require me to stray far from the POLR. It may not be the easiest job, but it certainly doesn't require all the responsibilities of a regular teacher. Responsibilities like planning and grading and talking to parents. As soon as the going gets tough, the day is over and I don't have to ever go back to that classroom again, if I don't want to. The POLR is blissfully not paved with excess responsibilities.

These guys are not upstream-swimming salmon.
They took the POLR, wound up in a bucket. Of course,
the story doesn't end too well for the salmon, either.

Other things I've learned from substituting: High school still sucks as much as it always did, even without any added and burdensome "adult" responsibilities. Elementary school has more positive vibes but requires an energy level I either never had or can't maintain now. And middle school... ahh, middle school. I still can't decide if it's the worst place on earth or a great, vibrant, worthy challenge I need to rise to. For some mysterious reason, middle school might actually tempt me away from the POLR. Some kids are really cool, some are really the devil's spawn, all are a little of both at some point during the day. The thing that weirds me out the most, though, is that I still have the feeling I used to have when I was a kid in middle school... I get the feeling the little bastards know something I don't! Like I am not in on the joke. OK if you don't want to learn today, but at least let me in on the joke you little fuckers!

I've been trying to get in on the joke my whole life. I like that metaphor better than the POLR... this way, at least, it seems like I'm questing for something, not just following the easiest road. Questing is good, no negative connotations there. Yes, I believe I am questing. Incidentally, my favorite letter to write has always been "Q"... this is all falling into place!

*No fish were harmed... actually, yes, yes they were harmed. Caught by my dad's net and killed for bait, in fact. The circle of life. I am grateful for all of it! Happy Thanksgiving everyone!!

It's a Sub Life

So, here's something new! I am getting dangerously close to having a career. A career I might actually not hate. Still... career... Just the word alone makes me want to run. Quickly, in any direction but towards continued stability and commitment. Funny, because I really don't think I have commitment issues generally, in life, but... you know, A CAREER. Gives me the WILLIES. It sounds so final, so binding, so necessary, so serious... so unwanted and unimagined.

And I don't even know what I would do with my time if I didn't work. I probably wouldn't do anything good; I would probably feel like a useless degenerate who needs to stop being so goddamn lazy and grow the fuck up already. Yes, that is exactly how I have felt. Therefore, I am actually, deeply and sincerely, grateful that I'm now on a path towards having a job that is both challenging and potentially very personally fulfilling. But it is still a JOB... But there are worse jobs to have... But getting up at 6am and wearing a tie and shaving at least every other day because I have to, makes me not want to do it... Even though, secretly, I am sorta enjoying pretending to be a grown-up. That's what it feels like still. Like I am putting on grown-up drag and playing the role. All the world's a stage... in this act I'm playing "teacher guy."

In the last month I have been Mr. Kodish (Mr. K, if you prefer), professional substitute teacher. I have taught 8th grade science and English, 6th grade band and English, and math, reading, and social studies in kindergarten-4th grade. Well, not so much taught as took on legal responsibility for a room full of kids for $13/hr. You remember when you had a substitute teacher in school, right? Actual teaching and learning was pretty much a lost cause. I am now that hapless adult standing haplessly in front of the classroom in your memories. The guy students are happy when they see, but not because they like me. Happy because they know, in their precious little delinquent hearts, that they now have absolutely no intention of giving a shit about schoolwork for the next 50 minutes or so. And they pretty much won't have to, sad to say. I have accepted my haplessness. I can try to teach, and I do, but there is really nothing stopping them from not paying me the slightest bit of attention... what am I, a freakin' sub, gonna do about it? Give them a bad grade? Can't. Call their parents? Can't. Send them to detention? A free paid vacation. Oh well, it is what it is and I do my best to teach the kids that do want to still learn (if I have any knowledge to give them, that is). And it is all good experience for when I one day have a full-time teaching job of my own... when I will be able to establish relationships and mutual respect with my students and will be able to run the classroom the way I'd like to run it.

Now, when that time comes, what grade will I want to teach? I tell ya, middle school is pretty much a hormonal hell hole from hell, so I am not too sure I'd love to go there everyday. I mean, 8th grade, wow... what a bunch of assholes! I know, they're kids, they're just learning how to be human and how to tell an ass from a hole in the ground. But, sheesh, that is just a brutal age. I cut them as much slack as possible, I think, but dealing with them everyday may take more patience than I have to give. 6th grade is marginally better... they are still somewhat deferential to teachers and will still watch a Disney movie silently and with genuine uncynical enjoyment. The sweetness some of them still possess surprised and touched my cold, black, stone of a cynical adult heart. This was even more true of the elementary schoolers... there are plenty of little fat bastards (fat or not, it's an attitude I'm talking about) and shitheads-in-training at that age, too, but they mostly all still want to learn, at the very least.

Anyway, it has been quite the experience. The days seem to go by quickly and a lot of the students do like me, I think, when they bother to think of me at all. At that age, they haven't had too many male teachers, let alone semi-young, semi-hipster male teachers... so at least I got some kind of uniqueness going for me. In my mind I look like Ryan Gosling, except handsomer. But I think the kids see me more like Mr. Kot-tair... can't say I blame them. And I do dig the mustache, although I already have glasses, and two iconic facial accessories is one too many. I did use my awesome cool guy hat from San Francisco in the classroom, though! We pulled names to see who got to read aloud. The kids were much less impressed with the hat than I was. Damn kids and their cellular phones. It's a different generation... Up their noses with rubber hoses! 

Sub Life is filmed before a live studio audience.

A Brief History of Time

This morning I realized it has been a year since I left New Jersey. Suddenly, a year has become a small increment of time. When did that happen?

I remember when a year seemed like FOR-EVVV-ER. But now, it has already been a year since I left New Jersey. It seems like yesterday. Funny thing is, it also feels like a hundred years ago. I can't believe it's been a year; I can't believe it's only been a year. It's strange. My time in New Jersey seems an entire other life to me now. Sometimes I have to remind myself that it was real and I really did live there. I was there for a year and have been gone for a year... two big years in my life that blur together and become one. In my mind, past time contracts, expands, and folds in on itself until the concept of a year is almost rendered meaningless. In the end, events have happened, how much does it even matter when they happened?

At any rate, right now, New Jersey almost seems like a dream to me. But this is not the first time I've looked back and had that feeling. I think I have always had a bad tendency to sleepwalk through life. It's why I can't remember high school too well... I just wasn't present a lot of the time. I mean, I know I was there, had some good times, passed a few tests, made a few friends (one, actually), but I feel like I never fully engaged, body and soul. I just put my head down and powered through, unconsciously keeping out of the way of most people and most potentially embarrassing situations. Not that high school was any great loss, probably, but the point is high school certainly wasn't the last time I've sleepwalked. I don't know, I guess it's a preemptive defense mechanism against real feelings or experiences that could become painful memories down the road. Yeah, that's the ticket. Ahh, but there is no good without the bad, right? I have to keep reminding myself of this! I can't be scared.

In this last year since I left New Jersey I think I have done a lot better job of staying awake to the beauty and pain and joy and sorrow of life. I still go catatonic now and then, but I'm working on it.

Then again, maybe it's all a dream within a dream within a dream, Inception style? Shit, where's my little dreidel? I gotta see if I'm still in my head. Maybe if I keep writing, I'll wash up on the shore of my unconscious. That'd be fun! Happy Labor Day.

In Progress

Welcome to the first post written for the newly designed blog. Blogspot made some shiny new templates available and I couldn't resist the chance to tinker. It is still in progress. 
In progress. I like that. A blog in progress, a life in progress... where am I today? Am I moving forward? Backward? Sideways? Whichever way I'm moving, am I enjoying the movement? Yes to all those questions at once, I think. I think I am moving in every direction at once. Not that there's anything wrong with that.


I was listening to a podcast the other day and heard a quote I quite liked. So happens it is from a rabbi, but that is besides the point. So happens the podcast was WTF with Marc Maron, a really good stand up comedy themed interview show I have really been enjoying lately. Listen to it for free here! But that is besides the point. The quote, and the point, is this:
If I am not for myself, who will be for me? If I am not for others, what am I? And if not now, when?

Rabbi Hillel

How's that for inspiration to get off my lazy ass? So I have.. sorta. I have now begun the teacher certification program at Palm Beach State College. I passed the certification test for teaching 6-12th grade English. These classes will hopefully prepare me for actually being in a classroom. Then I'll need to get an actual job, etc, etc... For now, I go to class. A college man once again. I have books and homework and a student ID card and everything. It's a little weird. Not sure if it will be easier or harder than the first time around.

Anyway, now for the Woody Allen portion of this post: Jesse recently sent this picture to me and I love it. I wanted to post it just because I think it is so cool. Gambling and being a retro cool nebbish never go out of style. Right??


Finally, here is a pretty picture of the sunrise in Boynton Beach. Recently I had to work overnights, from 12:30am-6:00am. While generally unpleasant, it did give me a reason to be up early enough to see the sunrise on the beach, something I am pretty sure I had never bothered to do in all my years in Florida. It was worth doing... once. I need sleep. But, hey, there it is, proof. The sun does also rise!

Throwed Rolls and Cowboy Whores (NSFW) (Not really.. but there are nipples)

I set off from San Francisco, emotions and thoughts veering wildly in every direction at once, but my car firmly planted and pointing straight towards Vegas. Of course. Where else would I go when all else fails and I am down to my last few bucks? That last great American desert oasis of hope. Where dreams come and go but the stench of desperation clings and suffocates. Well, speaking for myself, anyway. But seriously, it was great to see Dan and Kash and the rest of the guys again. I am proud to say that I got Kash re-hooked on poker... he once was lost, but now he's found.

After Vegas I headed to a place I was sorry to have missed on my way out west... Tombstone, AZ. I've always wanted to go to an old cowboy town and this is probably the granddaddy of them all. Land of Earp and Holliday, the Clantons and the OK Corral, the Crystal Palace Saloon and Boothill. Stuff of legend and many, many movies. I mosied down the main drag for a while before I siddled up to the bar at Big Nose Kate's Saloon, formerly the Grand Hotel built in 1881, now named after Tombstone's first and most famous "shady lady". The BBQ sandwich was tasty and the Sioux City Sarsaparilla was.. um.. good and sarsy. Plus, there was some really cool paintings and stained glass work in the room. When I get my own whore house someday, this is how I want it to look. I mean, I know they just took a lot of these ideas from Better Whore House Living magazine, but still... pretty cool.

After lunch I swung by the OK Coral and Boothill... although I was just a leeetle too cheap to pay to go inside them. I got the idea from the outside. I spent most of the morning just wandering the streets wishing I was wearing a cowboy hat and a six shooter. I weren't looking for no trouble but I also had no intention of backing down from none, neither. Anybody looked at me crosswise and I'd shoot 'em down where they stood. In my brain I was your Huckleberry.. either a sheriff, a bad guy, or a mysterious hired gun, it didn't really matter. I had my horse (a fine black Korean-born filly) hitched nearby and I was ready to take all comers and ride off into the afternoon haze, vanishing like a spectre, leaving the townsfolk to wonder whether I was real or a phantasmagorical instrument of retribution sent from the heavens...  It's a hell of a thing, killing a man. Take away all he's got and all he's ever gonna have. Well, that's how it went down in my brain, anyway. With apologies to Clint for stealing his lines and persona.

From Tombstone it was a relatively short drive to El Paso, where I got to see Margaret and Mia again. They are doing great and looking well and as I write this Mia has just graduated from second grade and is smarter than all of us. We had awesome Mexican food at Margaret's favorite place, Lucy's Restaurant, where I mistook an overturned pool table for some kind of new, or possibly archaic, bar game I was unaware of. In the moment, as I fiddled with what turned out to be the legs of the table, trying desperately to figure out what they did, I genuinely had no idea it was just a pool table on it's side. Even after Margaret laughed at me I still didn't catch on right away. It must have been that my mind was exhausted from being on the road... yeah, that's the ticket.

Next up was a stop I had been excited about since I saw Pee Wee's Big Adventure in 1985... The Alamo! I'm not sure I ever really knew what exactly happened there until recently, but the words were always iconic in my mind. THE ALAMO. I could not drive through Texas and not stop for a look see. Turns out it is right in the heart of downtown San Antonio and it is smaller than you might imagine but, you know, still old and historic and stuff. Davy Crocket wasn't there, but his statue was. And they still sell coonskin caps in the gift shop. I stayed the night in San Antonio and also walked along the famed River Walk. This is a mall and a bunch of other shops and restaurants along a below-street-level river, again right in the heart of downtown. It's quite the happening hang out. I had a fine walk and some genuine tourist trap quality Tex-Mex fajitas before retiring for the evening.

The next day, somewhere between San Antone' and Houston, I saw a sign for Joel's Bar-B-Q. Well, obviously I had to do this. There's a picture of Foxy at Joel's. Sad to say the sandwich was mediocre, but the place had that middle of nowhere Texas charm and was clearly a favorite with the locals. I personally witnessed two separate big ol' country fat asses slugging beers and ribs before driving off in their pick-ups. So, if you're ever in wherever-the-hell-I-was, TX, stop by my joint for some good people watching and some totally average food. It's not like there are many other options.

From Joel's it was a long, slow drive to Biloxi, MS (who knew it was spring break and that everybody and their mothers was driving to New Orleans and thereby clogging up my road?). I checked into my hotel, completely dog-ass tired but determined to get me some hot casino action before bedtime. I took a shower and set off to find the Beau Rivage casino, which has a reputation for being the Bellagio of the Gulf Coast. Well, once I started to walk the casino, it took me about a minute to realize that Biloxi is basically inbred hillbilly bizarro Vegas. I mean, no offense. Not that there's anything wrong with that. I guess having lived in Vegas, I'm spoiled, but to me Biloxi was just not that exciting. Everybody else (the inbred hillbillies) seemed to be having a good time, but this was not the place for me. Hey, good for them for recovering from Katrina, though!

The next day was a short one, as I made a pit stop only a couple hours from Biloxi, in Robertsdale, AL, where my dad's cousin Sandy lives. As they might say in Alabama, he's kin. And kin is kin. Sandy and his wife showed me a great time, actually.. including a memorable trip to the house of throwed rolls and fried okra, Lambert's Cafe. And by "throwed rolls" they mean exactly that. Periodically throughout your meal a waiter will circle the room pushing a cart full of big, fresh from the oven, steaming hot and yeasty pull-apart dinner rolls. The smell will catch you first; then you'll hear the waiter's call; then you'll see people raising their hands, so you'll raise yours, too; than the waiter, across the room and wearing an oven mitt, will grab up a roll from the tray, wind up like a baseball pitcher, and hurl a sinking fastroll right into your outstretched hands. The roll is so fresh that as your hands squeeze around it to secure your catch, bits of bun will break off and go flying, so that by the end of your meal the floor will look like two vast armies of bread soldiers just had an epic battle. After you have secured your roll, still reeling from trying to understand what just happened, another waiter will come around with a big jar of apple butter and you will say 'yes please'. And this dance will repeat itself at least three times before you go. These rolls are damn good. The fried catfish, aforementioned fried okra, fried potatoes and onions, and fried apples were outstanding, too. Plus, they were fried.

Well, I guess that about wraps up this story. I spent the night in Alabama, then the next day cruised on into F-L-A and the rest is history. My past has now caught up with my present. If not yet in real life, at least in the blogosphere.

What's a Hypoluxo?

After three months away from blogging, I return to it 3,271 miles away from where I wrote last. Foxy the car and I once again drove across this great land of ours, and now I find myself in a cold, dark room in hot, sunny South Florida. No, I have not bottomed out and landed inevitably, irrevocably, in prison.. I am just at work. Although, some might say working at a TV station is akin to prison! Not me, though, I would never say that.

At any rate, a lot has happened to get me to this point, obviously, but it is too much to explain in depth. So, as Inigo Montoya would say to the Dread Pirate Roberts, let me sum up: Boy quits his job in the big city; packs all he owns in a tiny (but lovable) car; strikes out for points west, zig-zagging his way across the country until he reaches the dock of the bay; doesn't have much of a plan and even less money, but has the absolute time of his life for six months while sleeping on his friends' couch (see: all the previous blog entries); all the times in between those times of his life, he tries in vain to find a job before his resources run out and he's forced to move on; in the nick of time, he finds a job (!); promptly quits it after two days (??); packs his car again the next day and leaves, leaving his heart behind; sees some sights along the way back east (was a huckleberry in Tombstone, AZ; will never forget The Alamo; embraced his inner fried-okra-eating country boy in Alabama); arrives in South Florida where at last Foxy can be relieved of her burden, but where the boy still doesn't have much of a plan.

Part 2: The Barefoot Mailman Strikes Back. So, now, here I am in Hypoluxo, FL, the unlikely name given to the "Home of the Barefoot Mailman", which was, apparently, like the Florida version of the Pony-Express. Learn something new everyday. Anyway, I have a part-time job at the local PBS station, am staying with my parents, and am not entirely sure what will happen next. For the time being, I am very grateful to have a place to land and some money coming in. I have also taken the certification test to become an english teacher. I am awaiting results. Teaching has been in the back of my mind as a career option for a long time, so maybe now I will give it a try. Although, I must say, it is very weird to imagine myself as that guy. You know, that guy up there teaching stuff... in my mind I think I still identify closer with the kid sitting at his desk in the back of the room. But I do like teaching, as a fulfilling concept of a career. I just don't know, yet... I could just run away again and solve all my problems by moving to a new city! That works every time, right?

Part 2, the prequel: What about this job in San Francisco I say I quit after two days? The fuck was that about? Well, I'll tell ya.. I guess I just don't have the manual labor gene. And it wasn't even like real manual labor! For two days I was a baker at a branch of a large bakery chain in the city. You know how I love to bake and eat all manner of baked goods... well, turns out I did not love taking them out of the freezer and putting them into the oven for nine hours straight. I also did not love having to yell out "Hot snickerdoodles!" or some other such nonsense, when a batch of cookies came out of the oven. I did not like this most of all, actually. Maybe if I could have quietly gone about my business, pretending in my mind that I was somewhere else, I could have lasted a while longer. But, as it was, I just couldn't abide. So, I turned in my apron and, having not many other options (out of money; emotionally in need of a place to unpack, literally and metaphorically), I decided I would have to call off the great SF experiment and head on back to Florida. Worse things have happened, but it is a shame; I love SF and loved being there to share it with Danie and Jesse. Maybe I will make it back there some day, hopefully with a little money and a job in hand.

Meanwhile, as my friend Justin said, my life for the last year has been kind of how you might imagine Kris Kristoferson's life... without the talent or the booze or the groupies, of course. As I drove through Texas (for what seemed like weeks), Justin told me that all my stories lately have begun with "I was in a diner last night in San Antonio"... or a motel in Benson, AZ; or Mobile; or a casino in Wheeling, WV; or Kansas City; or Devil's Lake, ND; etc... I have been on the road! Living the life! From dusty backwaters to big cities and miles and miles of road in between. It has been a once in a lifetime experience I will never forget and I was so happy to have been able to share it with most of the people who actually read this thing. I would have loved to stay in SF a while longer, yes, but still and all I wouldn't trade any of my experiences and I am very happy I made the choices I made and did the things I did and saw the things I saw and lived the life I've lead. More details about some of the places I went on my way back east will appear on the blog soon.

And now I'm in my parents' home... foxy is unpacked.. it was and continues to be a good adventure. South Florida is really very nice, despite the jokes you may have heard or will hear (from me, probably) in the future. Also, not to contradict the title of this blog, but I realize now I need even less than what can actually fit in my Hyundai Accent. After not seeing most of my stuff for over 6 months, I had either forgotten about it or wondered why I once thought I needed it in the first place. It's all just stuff! Next time I will pack even lighter. Did you hear that? Next time....

I'm not even supposed to be here today...

Whenever I get a little down, wondering when in the hell I am going to get a job and when in the hell I am going to be able to stop worrying about my "future," I try to take a step back and put things in perspective. The truth is, "I'm not even supposed to be here today!" as Dante famously says in the early '90s no-budget indie comedy classic, "Clerks". I don't mean it exactly like Dante does, though.

I am not unhappy that I am somewhere I am not supposed to be. In fact, I am happy that I am somewhere I am not supposed to be. And by all reasonable expectations, I really am not "supposed" to be in San Francisco. Following reason and logic and prudence alone, I had no business quitting a job and leaving New York and I really should not be here.. according to the "rules," I am not supposed to be in San Francisco today. Well, I am awfully glad that I am in San Francisco today and when I think about this I realize that each day here is a gift I might not have had, and that makes them all that much sweeter.

Jesus, this sounds like I beat cancer or something, doesn't it? Shit. I don't mean to be that dramatic or equate my bullshit/semi-irresponsible wanderings with any legitimate life or death accomplishments. But, I think you get my meaning...

Anyway, what am I doing with all these days I shouldn't have had? Funny you should ask... I just so happen to have a few stories I haven't told yet.

Let's see... first of all, let me put my recommendation in for Lake Tahoe right now. If you haven't been, believe me, you should all go there! It is PRETTY! You know, nature and stuff! Go there, climb on some rocks, breathe deeply the fresh mountain air, you will feel good about yourself, I promise. A few months ago (pre-snow, as you can see) Jesse and I began to feel the itch, the kind of itch only a poker game can soothe. We decided to take a little drive for a one night stay in South Lake Tahoe, about three hours away, straddling the border of California and the beautiful, beautiful legal gaming establishment mecca that is the state of Nevada. The casinos were pretty nice, the action was pretty good, and we gambled the night away as planned. OK, a casino is a casino, I know; we love to gamble, but maybe you couldn't give two shits. Point is, Lake Tahoe is fuckin' beautiful and you should all go there! In the end I left most of my money at the casino, but my mind was rich (see what I did there?) with amazing scenery and I was fully satisfied. Also supremely satisfying was Heidi's, the breakfast restaurant directly across the street from our little motel. Joel says, "Go to Heidi's for the best corned beef hash! You won't be disappointed!"

On the way home we stopped at an indian casino just to check it out.. This sign about sums it up.

Back in San Francisco and wandering rather aimlessly one afternoon, Jesse and I stumbled upon The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill, and yet another lovely man date developed. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Anyway, "The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill" is the name of a movie about the real-life flock of cherry-headed conures that live mostly on Telegraph Hill, which is only a few blocks from where we live. These are famous birds! And I fed them! And it felt funny! Hey, that tickles! When we found them there was a man there feeding them from a big bag of sunflower seeds and he offered us some to try it. He did tell us not to post the pictures on the internet, though, because it is illegal to feed the parrots.. oops, too late, the pictures are clearly already here, but I promise no birds were harmed in the making of this blog and all names have been changed to protect the innocent (this "man" I speak of may not have even been a man.. maybe he was, maybe he wasn't.. what's it to ya, Johnny Law?).

Sometime before or after the parrots (who cares when, really?) we all went to a pinata party. Yes, a pinata party. This one was mostly for hipster-inclined adults and took place at the hipster-oriented art gallery literally at the corner of our street, 30 seconds away. So, you see, minimal effort was required on our part, there was promise of free drinks, and these pinatas were no ordinary pinatas. We could not refuse this invitation. What you are looking at to the left there is a whole living room set made of pinata... Weee! I will save the details, as Danie already told the story so well (with pics and video) on her blog here. But let me assure you, pinatas were, in fact, harmed in the making of this party.. violently, viciously, repeatedly harmed. There are more pics and a longer, more embarrassing video here, featuring Danie, Jesse, and me standing around in the front row looking upon the scene awkwardly. Well, I was definitely looking awkward, anyway. I was thinking something like, "These hipsters are ridiculous, why do they anger me so?, fuck, it's crowded in here, I can't move forward or backward, I'm hot, I'm cold, what do I do with my hands?, I need another drink so I have something to do with my hands, the drink line is too long, fuck, I hate crowds, somebody just touched me, yikes!, I hope these angry emo kids don't hit me with that bat!, I want out before this gets ugly!, Ooooo, candy!, Can we go now?, Is there free food here?"

Next, here a few pictures from various excursions that I just wanted to share with you quickly. One day I went to the Exploritorium in the Presidio, another day I went to the California Academy of Sciences in Golden Gate Park, and another day I went ice skating on the Embarcadero with Danie.. Look, there she gooooooooes in the red jacket. The turtle was at the Cal Academy and he moved about as slow as I did on ice skates. The best part of all this activity is I spent exactly zero dollars to do all of it! I went on the once-a-month free days at the museums and Danie's work sponsored the free ice skating. We even got free pizza at the ice rink! In fact, we got just a little too excited by free pizza and quite overdid it. Thankfully, I did not fall, for if I had there would have been pizza puke all over the ice and that would not have been pretty and I would not have felt good about myself.

Just last week - and just a day before he was deemed "too fat to fly" by Southwest Airlines - I got a chance to see Kevin Smith do a q & a session at the Macworld 2010 expo. Ahh, so.. it all comes together: I go to Macworld (again for free!), Kevin Smith was there, he wrote and directed "Clerks," I enjoyed his show very much, I get inspired to write a little, and so I steal one of his lines as the title and unifying theme of one of my blog posts. Incidentally, I can attest to the fact that he ain't that fat in real life and Southwest really screwed things up, bad. Also, by the way, Macworld was as fine a conglomeration of geeks, nerds, and dorks, myself included, as you'll find anywhere this side of the Mississippi. The nerd cowboy in the picture to the left is a long way from the nerd ranch (according to his t-shirt), but he found plenty of other like minded cowboys at this rodeo.

Finally, here is one more picture from the end of another long walk through the streets of San Francisco. This is a shot from China Beach, in the posh Sea Cliff neighborhood, overlooking some orange bridge they tell me is pretty famous.. Once again, I wasn't even supposed to be there..

Del Boca Vista

One day not too long ago I was wasting time, looking at stuff on the internet. In that way it was a day not unlike today and many, many others... until I stumbled onto Virgin America's flight reservation page. My first thought was, "This was not the kind of 'virgin' I had in mind! Stupid interweb!" But seriously, folks, virgin is a funny name for an airline... Anyway, once there, I found that I could fly from San Francisco (SFO) to Ft. Lauderdale (FLL) for $212 total, tax included! This was an offer I could not refuse, so I called up the parents and the trip was set. Del Boca Vista, here I come!

Admittedly, the price was the hook, but there were other legitimate "reasons" to go to Florida in Mid-January, as well. In fact, they were three-fold: My grandparents' 63rd anniversary (Jesus!), my grandfather's 88th birthday (Christ!), and my desire to see my parent's (Awww... there they are on the beach in Delray). So, off I flew on the red eye to South Florida. Virgin America planes are pretty nice - they have a TV in each seat and all - but.. any meager snack would cost you at least three bucks and heaven forbid you'd like a blanket and a pillow on a RED EYE.. that "nap pack" will cost you $12! Flying sucks! But, alas, I didn't have time to drive to Florida so this had to do. Whatever.

I arrived to FLL safe, sound, and tired, but happy to see my mom and dad and happy to be whisked off to breakfast at their favorite local deli. We all ate well and then it was clearly nap time. I slept for a good 5 or 6 hours and when I woke up the first thing we had to do was take a hack saw to the legs of a table in order to make it 3 inches shorter and better for my mom (who is shor.. uh, petite) to sit at. My dad had been dying to saw and/or burn something with me since he found out I was coming.. we are dudes, this is what we do. Check him out in his Devil's Lake, ND souvenir t-shirt, hack-sawing to town!

When we weren't sawing stuff, we watched lots of Pawn Stars on TV, made rye bread, went to the gazebo on the water behind their community, and saw Avatar again... this time in full-on Imax 3-D, baby! Blew my parents' minds. Mom and I also went to the mall and it struck me that I wasn't sure if the mall or it's clientele were more dead. You see, the economy sucks and people in Florida are old. Funny!

After a few days we drove to Tampa, where the rest of the family lives. Along the way is 'Alligator Alley', a stretch of I-75 that goes east-west through the Everglades. My mom said she saw actual alligators beside the road.. Florida is kind of a strange place. My visit was a surprise to everyone in Tampa.. My aunt Arlie says she suspected I was coming, but I think we still got her pretty good. In Tampa I saw all my family, took some walks, had some dinners, and chomped on some see-gars with my Grandpa. He worked at Cuesta-Rey cigars for over 30 years and still smokes and/or chews on two cigars a day.. and he's 88, so something must be working. We also had a poker night.. and, you know, I am always up for a poker game! Below is the story of that night in pictures.. notice the high roller buy-in.

After I lost my shirt (about 75 cents) in poker it was time to drive back to South Florida. We all went to the beach one more time and then it was time to go before I knew it. I hadn't even gotten the chance to wreck a Cadillac or get the condo board to impeach my dad. Oh well, next time I'll bring a Wizard organizer and an astronaut pen and we'll stay on schedule. These are all Seinfeld references, in case you're lost. They make me laugh.

After saying goodbye to my parents I waited in the airport for boarding time.. and waited.. and waited.. and waited some more. My flight was delayed three hours due to inclement weather in SFO. So, to kill time, I had some sliders and a beer at the in-terminal Chili's. While I ate, a lady approached my table looking a little bewildered. She asked, "Is that a burger? 'Cause I don't want chili... They serve things besides chili?" I assured her it was indeed a burger and, yes, they actually serve lots of things besides chili - in fact, I don't know if they serve chili at all. She then asked how the burger tasted, "Is it as good as McDonald's?" she asked. "Even better," I said, actually lying twice in the space of two words. Oh Florida, I'll miss thee and thy wacky peoples.

I did bring back a taste of Florida to San Francisco, though.. A bag of fresh key limes. I was determined to make Danie and Jesse a key lime pie.. to the right is the result of my effort. Look at me, breaking out the pastry bag and the garnish.. fancy! It tasted as good as it looked (if I do say so myself) and it reminded me of home. Florida will always be in my genes.