Been there, done that.

Someone stares blankly as a stream of cars race down San Francisco’s 101 south in the middle of the night.

Weary from a long day at work, an apartment dweller watches from the small sun porch as the train pulls into the Granville station on Chicago’s Red Line.

A pensive tenant in Madison walks by the thermostat in the hallway and contemplates the impending cold weather.

In Lawrence, Kansas an irritated homeowner stands in the kitchen window as a rowdy frat boy leaves a frothy mix of Chipotle and Bud Light all over the trunk of the big Maple tree that grows in the middle of the yard.

They’re all places I’ve called home. All scenes or situations that unfolded in my life. Today, as I get to know the idiosyncrasies of my new apartment, I think fondly of all the addresses in my past.

Happy Friday. May your keys work, your sinks drain and your lives continue to evolve.

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Give it away now.

As the years pass and the gray hairs in my beard multiply, I find myself thinking a lot more about what I have to offer the world—rather than the other way around. So here you go. Just a few things I don’t need anymore that you can take home today.

A broken teak table with wobbly legs and four really heavy chairs that like to snag expensive women’s clothing. Bring a truck. If you plan to break it all down for a bonfire on the beach, please keep your intentions to yourself.

Half a closet of ill-fitting, pseudo dress up clothes bought for awkward client presentations in Bannockburn, IL.

Two Rubbermaid crates filled with gently used, made-in-China Harbor Freight tools. I probably wouldn’t rely on them for major home improvement or auto repair, but they’ll get you by in a pinch.

A basket full of various over-the-counter drugs that probably expired in 2013. If you’re suffering from cold or allergy symptoms, I may have the outdated relief you’re looking for.

That about sums it up. All my excess worldly possessions. Please contact me if you’re interested. All items are being gifted “as-is.” I assume no responsibility for any damage to property or persons.

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No storage.

Funny how dreams can be so vivid, yet so quickly forgotten. But I suppose most things in life eventually run their course and wind up on a truck to be dumped in a remote area or living on the dusty, disorganized shelves of the local Salvation Army.

As checklists and change-of-address forms once again dominate my world, it seems only natural to question all the work that goes into temporary states. Momentary lapses of perceived happiness. So here we are.

This house is not a home anymore and I’m glad to say goodbye. The life that unfolded here was tangled and messy. But I sure am going to miss the garage.

On that note, enjoy your weekend—especially if you’re not packing. And if by some strange coincidence you are packing, try to make the most of that as well. As a recently widowed woman told me a few days back, “new beginnings are good.”

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The appeal of kid’s breakfast cereal is undeniable. Nutrition has nothing to do with it. I’d even argue that flavor isn’t much of a factor. I think it’s sugar, bright colors and, in many cases, the character on the box. I like it when rabbits, leprechauns and chocolate obsessed vampires tell me what to eat.

Or maybe it’s more complicated than that.

This past labor day weekend began with a trip to the grocery store that led to a surprise box of Fruit Loops. And I’ve had a bowl almost every day since then. With coffee in the morning. With a glass of wine in the afternoon. And perhaps the most satisfying, at night right before I go to bed.

Cereal before bed reminds me of my grandpa. As a kid, I remember walking into the kitchen and finding him sitting at the table—sometimes in the dark—with a bowl and a spoon. I was always welcome to join him.

“Want some cereal? It’s good for you…”

The only catch was that most of the options he had were of the grownup variety. Grape Nuts. Cracklin’ Oat Bran. But the fiber-packed, mostly tasteless choices could be overlooked because I liked being apart of his sacred, late-night routine.

Last night I raised a spoon to the memory of my grandpa. Fruit Loops or Fiber One, the moment took me back to the days of simple pleasures…and the ritual of eating “breakfast” cereal at night.

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In conversation.

Among my many annoying habits, I talk to Woody the dog throughout the day.

When feeling guilty about leaving for work, I pose philosophical questions, “What does it all mean, buddy? Am I just another rat in the race?”

Or when getting ready for a walk, I try to position a quick trip around the block where the expectation is a prompt poop and pee as some kind of adventure, “Do you want to go outside with me and explore the world?”

And we spend a lot of time debating the pros and cons of electronic devices, “Silly me and this cell phone—all this texting back and forth for what? For what?”

Treats are cookies. A bowl full of kibble is breakfast (or dinner). And our life together is just like any human relationship.

Right now, for example. He’s had his breakfast,  I’ll be leaving shortly for my day among the rats, he definitely wants to explore the world and I’m sitting here wasting time on an electronic device. He has needs and I’m not fulfilling them.

Off we go.

Mr. Woods.jpg

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Expanding the enterprise.

Need even more hipster bullshit? When I’m not typing up my random thoughts, I also like to draw random things. Particularly buildings. Which led to my new fake Bay Area real estate sketch blog Houses I Can’t Afford. Go now. Tell your friends. I’m talking to you mom and Aunt Linda…you’re my most loyal followers.

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