The following post is continued from Part I, published in April of 2014 and included here as its own page. With the construction of my truck-home well under way and completely livable, I busied myself adding the goodies. My little tiny home on four wheels was turning into a mini-mansion. Before continuing with the interior woodwork, I finished the job of removing the two windows between the cab (sealed into the body) and bed (screwed into the camper shell) of the truck. The window on the body of the truck required some basic tools and a lot of elbow grease, tearing away the molding around the outside and prying out the window. Taking care not to get the gunky adhesive everywhere, this was done under a...
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This morning, the Los Angeles Times reported that City Attorney Mike Feuer is introducing a proposal to ban vehicular dwelling in Los Angeles--again. The revised proposal comes in the wake of last June's 9th Circuit Court decision striking down LA Municipal Code 85.02, banning vehicular dwelling. The court claimed the ordinance was unconstitutionally vague, leading to inconsistent enforcement of the law. It was the second time in as many years the court ruled against the city's handling of the growing homeless population. With Feuer's forthcoming proposal, it seems increasingly possible that history will repeat itself--with the taxpayer footing the bill. Mr. Feuer's proposal has yet to be released, but...
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People often ask me about my office-living experience. Usually they ask the same questions--where I sleep, where I shower, where I keep my stuff. The reaction is usually a mix or awe and excitement, but rarely one of application to their own lives. This is understandable, as living in one's office is a fringe lifestyle. And due to the general attitude about what should or shouldn't be a home, that makes sense. But what if that attitude is challenged? What if living in one's office became at least a little more common? Below I give five reasons why it's worth considering office living as a choice*, not as a counterculture act but more of a practical solution to a growing economic problem. 1. Affordable...
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The gray hairs started to creep in first. Little silver whack-a-moles taunting from the under-follicles--only these didn't budge when you smacked them. The once-occasional bags under my eyes had grown more frequent. I started to forget details, to miss birthdays and show up late for appointments. Friends were beginning to crack jokes, claiming I was growing into my golden years. As if my joints aches and slower hangover-recovery times weren't evidence enough. At some point a few months ago, that began to change. Stress evaporated slowly from my life, giving way to creative thought and--dare I say--renewed youthfulness. Some silver hairs are still present--a few are here to stay--but many have started to...
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"Are you the cat lady?" A man's voice sounds from outside my camper shell, directed at me. A moment ago I had just set down my copy of Dharma Bums and peered out from the hanging felt over my rear window, curious to see the world around me after hermitting the afternoon away on my memory foam. I guess he saw me. I reach for the wool blanket to cover my not-so-clothed body. I'm not accustomed to visitors recognizing that someone might be inside this little mobile cave of mine. Even when I flash my face to peek outside for a moment, people around have long since chosen to ignore me. That's the point of my vehicle anyway--to fit in. And I do, in that sense. I fit in. Just another anonymous vehicle marking the...
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"Where do you sleep?" "You know that overpass here?" He gestures behind him generally, his biceps twisting under his skin. He stands close to the door of my truck in his wife-beater, like a customer at a walk-up window. It's one of the rare unsolicited conversations I'm interested in entertaining. I look to where he's gesturing, as if I can see anything beyond the massive storage building. "Under the 405?" "That's the one." His name is A.J. and he straddles the thin line between home-free and homeless. He looks like the usual 30-year-old, his fresh buzzcut and brand new Trek bicycle, and that's the way he likes it. But when he beds down for the night, A.J. does so under the shadow of a highway...
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As I slither through the back gate, I press it gently against its hinges to prevent it from creaking. The effect works and I step into the backyard, quiet as a burglar. Success, I think. Until the flood lights flash on. The entire yard illuminates and the barking begins, a soprano/baritone duet of not-quite-guard dogs. Shit. It is my fourth day of live-in dog-sitting and, aside from this little midnight neighborhood-waking, it couldn't be going more smoothly. My two babies for the week, Sparta and Bailey get along wonderfully. They both love their temporary caretaker, too. As I open the door to the house, I am greeted by a giant, licking ball of fluff and a jumping, frantic terrier. Not only is this week-long...
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There is nothing quite so relaxing as the kind chirp of a nesting sparrow. Or the whistle of a light wind whisking through the trees. Or the rippling topography of the foothills soaking in the pre-dusk sun. This is where the mind can justly wonder. This month, I've taken a short break from the day-to-day in the city in favor of some solitude in the desert. I've taken a small cottage in the high desert of Southern California for three weeks while I finish up the last round of edits on my book's most recent draft. It is an irony that doesn't fail to escape me--renting a vacation home in order to work on my book about living rent-free. The truth is, I can't deny my desire for peace, solitude, and reliable air...
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There have been many reactions to my recent article in the L.A. Weekly, running the gamut from vitriolic to exultant. Because Editor-in-Chief Sarah Fenske agreed to expand this into a feature piece, including a photo spread and twice as much text, this piece has gotten significantly more attention than my October 2013 article in the same publication. Before Thursday's print release, the online article had over 1,000 Facebook likes/shares and scores of comments and reactions. While my bid to humanize those involved in the home-free "movement" may have debatable consequences, the expanded visibility of the viewpoint has been pleasing. With that visibility, however, has come some opinions, both on my personal...
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I sit cross-legged in the back of my truck, bringing the pot of water on my butane stove to a boil. The rear hatch is open for ventilation, and I hunch over the folding table under the ceiling of my truck, looking out onto the lazy sundown scene of frisbees and fire puts at Dockweiler State Beach. A young couple walks past arm-in-arm, the girl wide eyed as she peeks into my window. "There's a person in there!" she whispers to her boyfriend. I'm accustomed to the reactions. My concern at the moment is dinner, and in staying true to my $20/day food budget, my day's final meal is an undergraduatesque bowl of instant ramen. Dedication has its price, but despite the austerity of my rations the view leaves me...
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