Still falls the rain.

It was one of those Sundays where time seems to disappear, but the afternoon never ends.

One of those Sundays meant for baking a warm sheets.

One of those wonderful Sundays you’re hesitant to acknowledge out of fear that recognition could ruin the whole thing.


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Hammer time.

Dull weekend? Looking for a little stimulation? I’ve got just the thing. First, grab a hammer and a fence post. Then hike out to the far corner of a neglected piece of property and attempt to drive the aforementioned fence post into a hallow log inhabited by an angry mob of yellow jackets that you don’t know are there.

What happens next will be thrilling, painful and hilarious for bystanders. I’d always heard these creatures were known for stinging, but every strike felt more like a fast-moving punch from a tiny, angry fist. Pow, my head. Pow, pow, my hands. Pow, pow, pow, my knees. Their ambush was swift and strategic.

Worried about coming down too quickly? If you’re smart like me, you’ll head right back to the spot where the wasps angrily swarmed just a few minutes prior—with 15 or so throbbing welts—to reclaim the hammer you dropped when the whole thing began. There’s nothing like a few more fresh strings to keep you going all night!

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From under my hat.

The homeless guy and I both held the same expression as strangers and stress went streaming by.

We’re suspicious and sleepy. The phone zombies in puffy coats scrolling through emergencies while Teslas race through stale green lights. A thriving city—where seismic shifts are nothing new—I suppose San Francisco can be whatever you want it to be if you’ve got the cash and a doggie resume.

We’re living a reality that can’t possibly sustain itself, but no one really cares once the rent is paid and the sunrise marks the beginning of yet another beautiful 70-degree day. I avoid getting political about it. I’m not smart enough to come up with a solution and I’ve succumb to the fact that greed will always prevail when real estate is involved.

So I file in. Another aging hipster chasing a fuzzy California dream. No savings, but big plans for the weekend. No kids, but guilty of acting like one most of the time. I drink too much coffee like so many other high-strung idiots. I record random thoughts as if they’re artistically relevant. I perpetually brace for bad news while constantly reminding myself how lucky am I to be here drinking coffee, writing gibberish.

I celebrate Friday as if I spent the week working hard, but my hands are getting softer by the day. I wear Redwing work boots to spend the day perched at an ergonomically correct standing desk surrounded by expensive Apple products. Feel free to laugh. I do. Often. And for that, I’m thankful.

The weekend is upon us. If you can, try not to take anything too seriously.

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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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