Category Archive: Not traveling

Folsom Street Fair; or, leashes, lashes, and laughter

It was a perfect Sunday afternoon, all things considered. Soft, warm air that eased around, but that fell far short of windy; and no rain, but solid overcast. Those clouds in particular were… Continue reading →

My San Francisco Giants

I couldn’t remember the last time I went to a Giants game, but we definitely had a different president. That ain’t good, for a kid raised on Will Clark, Robbie Thompson, and (my… Continue reading →

A tangible reason to care about the future. In San Diego.

San Diego is paisley from above. Curls and loops and whorls of housing developments; conceived at desks, proposed in meetings, and built by contract. All those lives, churning away down there, unknowable, each… Continue reading →

What men really want.

I hope I’m not going to disappoint you.   Were you expecting (or fearing) a tale of knuckle-dragging meatheads? Jocks, frat-boys, and assorted male stereotypes who think their egos, biceps, and testicles form… Continue reading →

Guest blog: A Helping Hand

So, now that we’ve all assumed that I’m terribly biased and probably a man-hating, ball-busting, bra-burning, angry feminist – let’s see what the other side might look like. Because there’s always more than… Continue reading →

Feeling….manly?

I wasn’t supposed to be in that girl’s shower. As the property manager, it was not my place to be in a tenant’s bathroom for any reason other than inspection or as an… Continue reading →

Welcome to my wayeb’

I think…and I’m not sure about this, it’s just a hunch…but I may be a Mayan. Or part, at least.   The Haab’ is the structure of the Maya calendar analogous to the… Continue reading →

June is made of such things

June always surprises me. It’s almost never June, and then all of a sudden that’s what the calendars say, but just long enough to read the word before the page flops again.  … Continue reading →

Get out of my (maybe) house

Everybody was there. A cluster of hyper-parents, their children brandished like banners before them, was extolling and declaiming the house’s suitability for the wet-chinned children hanging off their chests in imported Scandinavian harnesses.… Continue reading →

Miles, my friend.

Miles was the first one I met when I came to look at my prospective US residence. Drenched in August sun, his eyes closed in feline pleasure, he welcomed me to the neighborhood… Continue reading →