Huzzah, Greg and I have escaped San Francisco. No more worries over packing, and cramming. What is brought has been brought. What is home has been left home. With the addition of Greg’s few things, the car is about 90% full. The tail doesn’t drag too much. We putter up …
The car is packed. The house is clean. I handed a set of keys to the new tenant Chris. I said goodbye to the plants and dinosaurs. I type anxiously. I’m minutes away from hitting the road on the great American adventure. I started reading again Jack Kerouac’s famous “On …
I sit in a garage while mechanics change my car’s oil, check the brakes, and put air in the tires. I’m trying to avoid disaster on the road. I bought this 1998 Toyota Corolla almost 7 years ago. I had quit my job in Boston and was about to drive …
San Francisco rents are astronomical. My monthly rent of two-thousand dollars is actually good value. I don’t want to give up this apartment. To save some of this rent while I am away for three months, I’m subletting to Greg’s haircutter named Chris. She seems quite responsible, nice, and probably …
I thought it poor form to idle too long in San Francisco right after leaving my job. My last day was Friday April 4. For the following week, remembrance of work routines and familiar locales might depressingly reinforce that I had become shiftlessly unemployed. Monday nights, my coworkers–former coworkers–exercise in …
At a dinner party in San Francisco, a friend accosted me: if you are taking a year off to travel, you ought at least to write about your experience for those that stay behind. So I’m scribbling again. All sorts of structural issues arise when keeping notes. Do I use …