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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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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I held it together until twenty minutes after five. My last day in the office was rife with commemoration. It began at the workplace of a client, who had prepared for me a flattering going-away presentation. This was followed by a brief off-site (IHOP again, this is a nasty trend of ours) meeting with my boss, filled with an embarrassing level of adulation, almost to the point where I thought she was going to ask me back. She didn't. After lunch and thoughtful gifts from coworkers, it was nearly the end of the day. Pretty soon it was only Carmen, the most senior staff person under my boss, and I left in the office. "I should probably take your keys now," she said. Fuck that, I thought, I'm never giving...
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My boss and I took our seats at the booth of the International House of Pancakes and exchanged pleasantries. It's a strange place to sit down for a serious conversation, surrounded by an array of syrup selections with The Isley Brothers playing in the background. I pretended to be comfortable, fiddling with the paper band around my dining utensils. "You look casual today," she said, noting my shorts and monochromatic long sleeve t-shirt. My boss doesn't work in my office building, so often her comments expose the fact that she has little knowledge of what's going on. I dress this way more often than not. While her ignorance plays to my lifestyle advantage, the reminder that she has no idea how productive I am...
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Over the past few months, I have been converting the back of my truck into a living area. In foreseeing the need to eventually move out of the office, this seemed like a natural progression for my lifestyle desires. After all, office living does not last forever. Having spent many wilderness vacations living out of the back of my open-air pickup bed, I had a decent sense for what I was looking for. There were two initial things that topped the list: 1) A simple, secure sleeping space and, 2) Something covert that would allow me to park anywhere and not be noticed. Since I'd been sleeping under the stars--or beneath giant tarp--the first order of business would be to create a more permanent shelter back there....
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There's tumult in the office. Word of a severe budget crisis is circulating, and employees are having trouble focusing on their daily tasks. I lean back in my chair, prop my feet up on the guitar amp beneath my desk, and take a sip from my Bigelow tea as I study the behavior of my fellow staff members. One of my coworkers, having recently returned from maternity leave, leans over another coworker's desk to converse in a whisper. The second coworker just sent two kids off to college and is feeling the burn of high tuition costs. When do you think...? Who might they...? Eyes dart around. The Sparklett's delivery man walks in to drop-off two new water jugs, but our financial officer waves him off. Not this month....
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