Boynton Beach Memoirs: June

Today I woke up to the sound of torrential rain fall - a morning cleansing of South Florida leaving in its wake clean cars, wet, cinematic pavement, and the fresh smell of mother nature. Also, this being Florida in the summer, it will surely leave behind humidity, a tremendous amount of oppressive, suffocating humidity. Therefore, I will not go outside, and cannot actually verify the clean cars or fresh smell thing. No, no outdoors for me this morning. I am content to grab a cup of coffee, put some brown sugar in it just to be different, and sit down here at my desk, indoors, to write a little something. And here we go with the Song of June:

Continuation:
The school-year ended and I think it ended well. All my 8th graders passed their final exam and will be continuing on to summer, high school, the rest of their lives. The principal was very careful to remind them that they had not "graduated" anything, yet; they were simply continuing on. For my part, I did my best to send them off with good grades and maybe even a little bit of knowledge. Knowledge I'm sure they'll forget completely over the summer, but still, knowledge. I hope it serves them well in high school. I hope I have a job next school year. I hope teaching will be a fulfilling career. I hope. (Have I made that Shawshank Redemption reference before? I think I have. Oh, well. Get busy quoting or get busy coming up with my own lines... ) In the meantime, I can take solace in this message, left for me on the white board in my room on the last day of school:

Teenager internet slang, for the win! I don't think it was sarcastic, either!
I was also informed that I have "swag."

Mangoluxo:

Concurrent with the end of the school-year is the beginning of mango season in South Florida. In our neighborhood, in the heart of Hypoluxo, the mangoes fall from the trees in mass quantities, waiting to be harvested by humans or eaten by rats. I don't think the mangoes care which, as long as they don't go to waste. So, so far, we've made: mango cake, mango bread, mango salsa, mango cocktails, and, the pièce de résistance, Mangoluxo Jelly ©. Mmmm... mango-y! We even made labels! Coming soon to a store near you??

Mangoluxo from Hypoluxo.
Very nice on a piece of toast.

Trains:

TRI-Rail: Two levels and two tracks,
 you figure it out

One day, not long after the mango harvest, I awoke with a desire to ride the rails. I used to commute on trains all the time when I lived in New York and New Jersey, and I have missed it. There is just something romantic and old-school about taking a train. Plus, you know, CHOO-CHOOOO!! So, I took the local commuter train, the Tri-Rail, down as far south as it goes, to Miami International Airport. MIA. Wait, seriously? Missing in action? That's the name of the airport? Eesh. Anyway, I had a nice train ride and a nice café con leche at the airport. Then I bought the traditional overpriced airport Toblerone and got back on the train and rode back home. Weeeee! Along the way I found out that train conductors in South Florida carry sidearms. As in guns. They are like train conductors/rent-a-cops, apparently. I wasn't sure if this made me feel more or less safe. I was just confused as to why they were not using their guns to shoot the people blasting their Cuban electronica music on the train. Come on guys, with great power comes great responsibility... to shoot people playing annoying music.

Automobiles:
On another day, I took Foxy in to get new shoes. See, shoes are what I call tires and Foxy is what I call my car... I got new tires for my car is what I'm saying. I mention this only as an excuse to mention how much I love the smell of new tires. Mother nature can keep her fresh morning rain smells, I'll take the smell of the tire aisle at Costco any day. I don't know, I just love the smell of fresh tire rubber, always have. Now you know. Also, new shoe smell. That's rubber and leather together! Intoxicating. You know, I really don't think I would be all that unhappy to work in a shoe store. Wait, what am I talking about? Of course I would; it would be horrible. But at least I could get high on sneaker smell every day... when I wasn't busy getting high on the actual drugs it would take for me to get through a day working at a shoe store.

Planes:
To round out my June means-of-transportation-trifecta, I will be taking a plane ride to San Francisco at the end of the month... that's in like 3 days! I found a pretty cheap flight on JetBlue and am looking forward to blue potato chips, animal crackers, and seeing my friends, Danie and the Jensens. Plus, in San Francisco I think I can get away with wearing corduroy. It's just too hot and weird to wear corduroy in the summer in Florida. But I still do sometimes... I can't help it, I think I only feel truly comfortable when my legs are draped in soft, brown, velveteen ridges. Now you know.

Love and Death:

Then there is the case of love, death, and the creation of the universe. Ya know, the small things. These topics are on my mind because a) I am jobless for the summer and have too much time on my hands, and b) I recently saw two movies that took on these topics: The Tree of Life and The Seventh Seal - one new, one old; one ponderous, one entertaining; both daring to tackle the core, fundamental, extremely serious questions of human existence. I didn't come to any ground breaking conclusions after watching these movies, but they did make me think and that ain't nothing.

Terrence Malick's The Tree of Life was extremely beautiful to look at, and there were dinosaurs in it (!), but it took itself just a little too seriously for my taste. I mean, it was just sooooo sincere. I can appreciate the ambition, craft, and originality, but, Jesus, it was just not a movie you'd want to watch again, really. The Seventh Seal, probably the most famous of Ingmar Bergman's classic films, on the other hand, is one of those old movies, like Casablanca, that really holds up. The premise is obscure and weighty, but the dialogue and characters are consistently entertaining and the pace is snappy. Who knew playing chess with Death could be so funny? And because it is funny, I think it ultimately addresses the human condition better than The Tree of Life... really good humor can be, and, in my opinion, usually is, more insightful than drama. I guess that is really the lesson I learned from these two movies. Give me some good, deep comedy (and some semblance of plot) any day.

Your move, Death. One of the most iconic images in film history.

Well, it's raining cats and dogs in buckets again, and that must mean it's time to wrap this up. I am going to go wrap myself in corduroy and take a nap. Tomorrow is a baking day; one last round before Morty and I pack our bags for the pilgrimage to his motherland. Of course Morty is going to San Francisco with me, don't be silly.

The rain in Hypoluxo falls mainly
on the pelican statue.

PS. I actually wrote most of this post two days ago. Since then I actually did go outside... see the following pictures from the Palm Beach Zoo. I think my dad wanted to go as preparation for seeing Zookeeper with Kevin James. I think he thinks he can get a role in the sequel.

This peacock had a thing for my mom.
My mom was interested, but ultimately noncommittal.

Living lawn ornaments!

My friend, the mud turtle.

If that tiger was pissed off,
do you really think that fence would be sufficient?

Let the eagles soar, like they've never soared before! Happy early July 4th!

The Procrastination Tango

Last weekend I made a little road trip to Tampa. Ordinarily, for a seasoned road traveler like myself, this measly 4 hour trip is nothing to write home about. But, this time, there were two reasons to write blog about: the occasion for the trip was extra momentous, and, along the way, Foxy the Hyundai Accent had her own very special moment.

Good ol' Foxy crossed the 20,000 mile mark! She's in her 20's! "You and me, 20g!" is what I said as I caressed her dashboard, took a picture, and shed a tear. Lost in reverie (I mean, focused on the road... defensive driving... 10 and 2), I missed the actual moment the odometer clicked over to 20000, but 20006 is close enough, right? Anyway, I was emotional because, in a lot of ways, Foxy's been my best friend for the last couple years. We've seen a lot, her and I. She held me safely and comfortably in the front seat and carried a heavy burden of my crap in the back as we drove across the country twice in her first year. She got me through mountains and snow, rain and wind, the desert and the Midwest, good times and bad. She came from Jersey, survived West Virginia, and waited patiently for weeks on end in the parking garage of a Safeway in San Francisco. She starts up every time, with pep in her step and NPR on her radio. She is the longest-term commitment I've ever had... When she crossed 20,000 miles, I was proud of her, and of me.

And last weekend, of all things, we were on our way to my real best friend's wedding. This was the momentous occasion for going to Tampa. My friend Mitch was getting married. MARRIED. HOLY SHIT. Now, that's a real commitment. I love Foxy and all, but at the end of the day I don't have to share a bathroom with her.

So it was I arrived in Tampa. Ready to celebrate my friend's joyous day and to do justice to the long, proud tradition of drunken groomsman. I hadn't been part of a wedding since I was a 4-year-old ring bearer carrying a pillow with a fake plastic ring tied to it. I was pissed at my Uncle (it was his wedding) about the fake ring then, and I'm still pissed about it now. I could have been trusted with the real ring dammit! I was a responsible little kid! I felt like a shmuck walking down the aisle with a fake ring... but I digress.

During this ceremony, all I really had to do was wear a suit and a yarmulke, and walk one of the bridesmaids down the aisle. Mitch and Amy stood under the chuppah, the Rabbi said some things, Mitch broke the glass, as Jews are wont to do, and all rejoiced. It was a beautiful day as two lives became joined as one.

The reception began with the ceremonial lifting of bride and groom on chairs, as seen in the Fiddler on the Roof clip linked above. Watch that clip! I was on groom chair duty and was apparently almost crushed by the bride's chair, to the horror of helpless onlookers. They tell me I was a hair's breadth away from a concussion. I'm just glad I didn't drop him, given that I had no advance warning there was going to be heavy lifting involved. I hadn't limbered up!

After this bit, the DJ started in with the line dancing songs and I suddenly knew why groomsmen needed to be so drunk. Or, why this particular groomsmen needed a few good drinks, anyway. I wanted to enjoy this party, and for better or worse (till death do us part?) booze was going to be necessary. So, I started in with the cocktails and was eventually putting vodka in coffee. Not bad! Well, it did the trick anyway, and even got me out on the dance floor a few times... By the way, what the hell does it mean to "do the Charlie Brown"? Nevermind, I don't want to know. I'm happy I don't know those kinds of things.

Awww.... Look at them. They're happy! And I'm super happy for them. I know this is what Mitch has wanted for a long time. It's weird though, isn't it? We're getting married now, huh? We're at that time in our lives? When the shit did that happen? I sure don't feel like I'm there, yet. I mean, getting fuckin' married?! Yikes. I can hardly imagine. Oh sure, I want love and I want a family... someday. But, it's awful hard for me to imagine doing that, like, today.

After all, "why do today what you can put off 'till tomorrow," right? I am pro-procrastination! Just say no to anti-procrastination! Follow?

In fact, this blog is a public display of procrastination. And I procrastinated privately before getting to this procrastination (Mitch's wedding was actually two weekends ago). But the point remains: if I wasn't writing this, I could be doing homework, applying for jobs, volunteering at a soup kitchen, learning to play guitar, curing cancer, or finding a woman with whom I might procrastinate or procreate with, whichever came first. (Insert coming first joke here) (Insert insertion joke here)

To me, though, there is a beauty in procrastination. If done correctly, it can transcend mere laziness to become an act of defiance essential to restoring elements of our humanity that the rush, rush, plugged-in, workaday world slowly robs us of. It's my belief that we need down-time, that we need to be able to make the conscious choice to not do something. We need to be able to free ourselves from the nagging feeling that everything has to be done right-now-this-second.

Sure, I will eventually do the thing, but right now? No. No, I don't believe I will. I am going to choose when the hell I do that thing. I will get to it when I am good and goddamn ready. And, when I am ready (mentally or physically), and I do do the thing, I will inevitably do it better. Procrastination is a gathering of energies integral to my creative process.

Or, I'm just a lazy ass. Yeah... definitely could be that.

But, I don't think so! According to the theory I am espousing in this post, procrastination is a noble enterprise. A mind-freeing exercise in alternative thinking. To me, it's like dance. In order to dance well, you need to be able to free your mind of its conscious inhibitions. You have to break your body free of the shackles of the mind. I am not a dancer, but, as I said, I was forced into a dancing situation at Mitch's wedding... comfortable, I was not. However, after enough vodka-coffees, I was at least able to get out there. Procrastination is the vodka-coffee of my everyday life, freeing me up to do things I might not normally do.

It is my way of communing with god, or the universe, or nature, or whatever. As much as I'd like to pretend that, like Thoreau or Whitman, I get deep insights and inner-peace from a walk in the woods, I do not. When I walk in the woods all I get is bug bites and Deliverance derived anal rape paranoia. And I don't like getting dirty. No, I'm not a "nature guy." But, procrastination is my substitute. When I procrastinate, I am stepping out of humanity in order to restore my humanity. You won't catch me on a nature retreat, but you will often find me busily at work not working.

You buying this shit? Didn't think so. But you sure killed some time reading it! Congratulations!
And Mazel tov, Mitch and Amy! Like Foxy and me, may you always enjoy the journey.

Happy anniversary Foxy!

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....

Ch. 6 - Going to California

When I woke up Monday morning and got in my car heading west from Las Vegas, things suddenly got real. This was now the final leg of my trip; in about 9 hours I would be off the road and in my new "home" town. Holy crap. I was excited and full of energy.. I was ready to see new, beautiful things; I was ready to find out how this long odyssey was going to conclude! But as I got closer to the state line, I realized there was a part of me that didn't want the road trip to stop, a part that just wanted to keep driving for months, maybe years, like that one time Forest Gump just kept run-ning. Me and Foxy the car had seen a lot between Jersey and Vegas, but there was still so much more to see.. I could go to San Francisco, stop for a week, and then head north and then east and then south, and then wherever the wind took me next. I could do this. Money would be a problem, but I could do this! Ahh, but there was an even bigger part of me that craved stability and the comforts of home; a part of me that had been wanting to stop and settle and breath deep and relax for a long time.. probably since I left Vegas the first time over a year ago. As usual, as may be the crux of the human condition, I was of two minds, a man divided. Was it fear that made me want to keep driving? Was I afraid of failure in San Francisco.. or, worse, was I afraid of success? Maybe. Is it possible to have commitment issues with yourself?? Yes, I think so.

Nevertheless, once I saw the World's Largest Thermometer, seen above, and the exit for Zzyzx Road, I knew I had crossed the border and the excitement of finally being in California replaced, at least temporarily, whatever reluctance I was having about completing my trip. I couldn't wait to get there and my mind was racing so much that I hardly remember the rest of the drive through the deserts of California. I remember at one point I passed a cow farm bigger than any I had seen in Texas.. there were cows packed tight for what seemed like miles! The rest is honestly a blur until I hit the Bay Bridge (which, as I write this, has been completely shut down for a week because large chunks of steel were literally falling off of it! But that's a different story). As I crossed the bridge I got my first look at what, for at least the forseeable future, would be my city. It was beautiful! They weren't kidding.

It was not far at all from the end of the Bay Bridge to Danie and Jesse's house, but it was far enough for me to have to dodge cable cars and go up the steepest hill I've ever driven on. Scary on both accounts! Those cable cars roll right down the middle of the frickin' street! You know, as if they were cars.. What kind of crazy town is this? But I found their place unscathed, quickly off-loaded some of my stuff (just enough to allow someone to squeeze into the passenger seat.. barely), and set out to find a parking spot. Here's Danie and Foxy on the steep ass hill where my car still rests today, some three weeks and two parking tickets later (who knew you had to get a parking permit? Well, I guess we knew, but it turns out I am not as above the law as I thought). Anyway, as with any big city, good parking spots are not to be given up willy-nilly.. So, I ain't driving anywhere if I can help it.

The next day I began playing tourist in earnest. The first thing I did was walk to the Ferry Building on The Embarcadero.. I had to see the sea! I sat on the dock of the bay, wasting time, as it were, and took stock.. the journey had been long and winding, but now I was looking at the Pacific Ocean (I understand it was the Bay, but close enough). There was a gentle breeze and the air smelled clean.. I remember thinking life was good! I sat there for a while, I didn't want to leave. Maybe because I knew I'd have to walk back uphill to go home... how is it that there seems to be more uphills than downhills?! I am still working on getting my San Francisco legs. Before I left The Emarcadero, I took a picture of a nice Asian tourist and then he offered to take my picture, too. I couldn't refuse.. There I am at the end of a pier with the famous Transamerica Pyramid building in the background. Shortly after that I became fascinated by the below seagull and took about a million pictures of her (it's a girl, duh). That boat is named the "San Francisco Spirit" and that's the also famous Coit Tower in the background. Scenic.

My San Francisco chapter had only just begun.. would I be leaving my heart here? Can a man live on Rice-a-Roni alone? Can I think of anymore San Francisco cliches? The verdict was still out, but it sure was good to be here.

Ch. 3 - Where Superman Grew Up

You know what? Kansas wasn't so bad. Sure, it was long... no single state should be that long, really. But after driving through it for a couple hours I actually started to find the landscape quite interesting and the drive went pretty quickly. Maybe it was just my frame of mind that lent the land its epic quality, but I was surely taken with it. I kept thinking about how vast and open the land still was out there, and how many Manhattans could physically fit into just one of the enormous fields I was passing right off of I-70. This is where Superman was raised.. where Dorothy and her little dog lived.. where only about 150 years ago cowboys were crossing these great plains, over 600 miles from Kansas City to Denver, on freakin' horses! Horses! It is hard for me to even imagine how much their asses hurt. This is the stuff of American legend, this is God's Country!

Now, I'm not saying I would want to stop and live there, it is the dead center middle of nowhere after all. And I think too many people who live there now take God's Country way too literally, if you know what I mean, but it sure was nice to drive through it at 85 mph. The following pictures are excerpted from my "Behind A Sonic Burger in Russell, KS" series. See what I mean.. mythic. Even Foxy the car thought so.

I arrived in Lafayette, CO just before 6pm.. I had made it to Mountain time and the third stop on my trip. I was almost immediately farted on and tackled by my Cousin Becky's two sons, age 7 and 4. More on them soon, but for now this chapter ends with an advanced literary technique they once learned me in school: Foreshadowing. Since this post is about Kansas, I thought it appropriate to show you my latest souvenir now:

Ch. 1 - Away We Go

And so, new philosophy in hand, I set out on the first leg of my trip from New Jersey to Columbus, OH. Happiness and immense relief immediately came over me as I pulled away from Jersey, and I didn't look back once.

Mostly because I couldn't! My poor little Hyundai was packed to the gills! Yes, that is a giant blue stuffed bear taking up valuable space behind the passenger seat. Anybody got a problem with that? The car still handles great and gets good gas mileage, and at this moment, that car is the love of my life! I try to treat her well. Her name is Foxy, by the way, named so because I had to buy her after my old car broke down on the way back from the Foxwoods Resort and Casino in Ledyard, CT. So, Foxy and I have been happy together since then and are enjoying our new life on the road.

The first six hours flew by on a wave of excitement and adrenaline. I wasn't tired at all and felt like I could keep going forever. Alas, I had to stop in Wheeling, WV. Why, you might ask would I need to stop in West Virginia? Well, you see, it had been some five months since I went to Foxwoods and I needed to gamble! You can take the boy out of Vegas, but not the Vegas out of the boy. Wheeling is home to the Wheeling Island Casino, which I had designated ahead of time to be an essential stop. It was actually bigger and nicer than I had imagined and it worked out great! I played poker for about 45 minutes, made some good hands, a couple of timely bluffs, and walked out of there more than $200 up.. more than paying for the first leg of my trip! Actually, I did not walk out of there.. I ran the fuck out! I had to get out of their before the local toothless realized a Jew just took all their money! In my mind this is what I looked like to them in their minds:

Am I being unfair to the people of West Virginia? I don't think so...

So, I won, escaped with my life, and after that it was two more hours to Columbus and I was looking forward to dinner and seeing my friend. It was not long after I arrived that I started to figure out which casino I will be stopping at during the next leg of my trip.

My Manifest (Destiny) Manifesto

I sit down to write tonight at my computer in Columbus, OH, some eight and a half hours from New Jersey, yet only at the beginning of my new journey. Before the end of the month I will have set foot in or driven through 15 states and gone roughly 3,800 miles. And I will be happy. I am already. So it is I return to this blog after a 7-month dormancy, with a new philosophy, a renewed spirit, and on my way west once again.

My new philosophy is the new title of this blog. This is how I intend to live my life for the next few years. It is both literal (as you can see in the picture) and figurative. Simplicity! Minimalism! Before I go any further, let me say that I don't have nearly enough self-esteem to presume that any of this or what I will say in the coming posts is important or original in any way. I don't pretend to have all the answers or even all the right questions. The title of this blog is really only meant to apply to me.. whether this idea is right for anyone else is up to them. I promise only to share my thoughts and experiences as I think and experience them... and believe me, it is very hard for me to believe that anybody cares to read those either!

I do want to say, though, that what led me to quit my job (a steady income, in this economy!) and split for the coast (the west one.. no offense to the Jersey shore) with only what I can pack in my sub-compact car is not as ill-conceived (crazy) as it may sound to most rational human beings. The decision has been a long time coming and I will elaborate on my logic in the posts to come, I'm sure. For the time being, let me say to those rational humans that I am one of you! And I am not stupid (well, not completely), I am not careless, and I am not irresponsible. Nor am I brave, courageous, or in possession of a large set of balls, as some others might think. Believe me, I am racked daily by fear and worry, but I have simply decided not to let that stop me. It is the right thing, at the right time, for me to do.. This much I now know to be true.

This new course of action, and the life philosophy that slowly led to it and is being shaped by it, is something I came to after long and careful consideration. Of course I could have kept thinking and plotting and saving more money in perpetuity, but there came a time where I could think no longer and the situation called for action. This is not bravado, this is straight-up fear and laziness, trust me. But this combination has always worked for me in the past. Fear is my biggest motivator... not so much fear of external things like plane crashes and bugs, but of internal things. My number three fear is boredom and stagnation. My number two fear is not being happy. My number one fear is not forcing myself to get out of an unhappy, boring situation for a long time. In my life I have been able to ignore these fears for a while (we all have to), but sooner or later I use them as a call to arms. Again, I have plenty of daily fears about normal things like money and death (and bugs), but I will force myself to make a change if for no other reason than just to spite my own fearful brain. And I always do my best work under pressure. Sometimes I just have to apply that pressure myself. Sometimes I just have to pack all my shit in a car and go, even if all the details aren't ironed out yet. Really, part of the fun is not knowing exactly what will happen.

In short, I felt I was becoming a shadow of myself in Jersey (seen here waiting for the train on my last day of work). I was not happy and I had to get out! That's all I've done so far...