Lessons Learned from Life on the Road

Lincoln, Nebraska is actually nicer than you'd expect it to be.

Hotwire rocks, but their rating system needs work. A three-star hotel in aforementioned Lincoln beat the hell out of a similarly-rated one in Reno. But I guess that's to be expected (see below).

Reno, Nevada, the self-proclaimed "Biggest Little City in the World," is quite possibly the sketchiest place in the world. Sketchier even than Atlantic City, which is saying a lot, Reno is like Las Vegas for truck drivers and ex-cons. Don't go there. Ever.

I must admit, however, the roulette table at Harrod's was awfully nice to me.

Denver's got some great scenery, but the traffic sucks, and it seems like about half the city's roads are currently under construction. Boulder is nice. Colorado runs on pot.

Salt Lake City is surprisingly not bad. The Mormons keep things clean, but they suck at naming streets. What kind of a street name is "N 300 W?" And do you really need to throw in a "S 300 W," "S 300 E," "W 300 S," "W 300 N," etc, etc? Get some proper street names.

Man, Reno is SO sketchy.

Berkeley, California is sketchy and full of hippies with no money. The coffee shops have no bathrooms.

Carmel, California is beautiful and full of hippies with money.

Big Sur, California is beautiful and full of hippies with a LOT of money.

Reno = Sketchville.

Anyway, we're here in Los Angeles, we've found jobs, we're sleeping on an air mattress until our furniture arrives, and we're busy getting settled but very happy. And somewhat incommunicado, until our phone and Internet are set up.

I like LA.

On the Road...

...at a Starbucks in the small town of Estes Park, Colorado, at the foot of the Rocky Mountains. Milking a nearby wireless connection as we chug lattes and mochas and recover from a hike in the Rockies before heading over to Red Rocks to check out the natural ampitheater. Colorado is beautiful. Pictures to follow. Having a great time. Wish you were here.

Lost in Transition

The boxes are boxed (mostly). The bags are packed (mostly). The car is gassed (partially). The path is set (vaguely). Friday, to Cleveland, then on to Chicago for a brief respite with friends before the journey.

Then, into the West.

See ya in California.

This New House

By popular request, pics of our new West Coast abode are now up at the still-a-work-in-progress Embassy Views. Ignore the shoddy site design, and check 'em out here.

I love my new house.

This Must Be The Place

For the last three days, the missus and I have been barrelling around Los Angeles in a cherry-red Mustang convertible, steered by our newly-acquired Thomas Guide, fueled by Jamba Juice smoothies and Clif bars, driven by the all-encompassing need to find a place to live before we move out to sunny southern California for good in two short weeks.

Everyone said, before we made our little house-hunting jaunt out to the West Coast, courtesy of Jet Blue's reduced fares to Long Beach, that we could find somewhere to live in a few days, a task that sounds as Sisyphian to a New Yorker as establishing a manned base on Mars. "Oh, there's places everywhere," they said. "Just drive around, you'll see For Rent signs all over," they said. "You'll find a place.

What they neglected to mention is that while finding a place to live in L.A. is quite easy, finding YOUR place, especially with a deadline of 72 hours, is nothing but. Especially when confronted with L.A. rental doublespeak, in which "Lots of Character!" means "It's a dump that hasn't been renovated since Truman was in the White House!" and "Great Neighborhood!" means "It's an even bigger dump than that one with Lots of Character!" In one character-loaded abode tucked in the hills, I attempted to pull up the blinds after curiously noting that all the shades were drawn, only to have the entire apparatus collapse in a heap on the carpet, revealing windows that hadn't been cleaned in years and a view of trash-strewn yards beyond that resembled a trailer park post-hurricane. The squirrel-faced landlord laughed hesitantly at the malfunction, then gestured out the window. "Great view, eh?" he said, before adding, "I'm sure that stuff'll be cleaned up sooner or later." Throw in a toilet in the main bathroom that was shored up with plywood, and you had yourself a deal at only $1995 a month. Yes, finding a place quickly is easy...it's just finding a place quickly that you could comfortably call home that's hard.

So, it's a bit of a minor miracle that, come April, the lady and I will be nestled in a beautiful, sun-filled little house in the Los Feliz with a white picket fence and hummingbirds in the garden, in a genuinely great neighborhood with Griffith Park, an indie bookstore, an art-house movie theater, and the best coffeehouse I've ever seen (open 'til two!) all within walking distance.

This is a place I could, and soon will, call home.