Picked up the van.

I picked up the van, and the first drive seemed good. I drove out to West Chester, and it seems to be running like a top.

More of the same...

No notes on 5/18. More of the same?

Downloading TV shows.

On a recommendation, I downloaded the first season of Boardwalk Empire. Kristin came over, and we watched the first episode.

Old Bottom Brackets for Fun and Profit.

I got a ride back to the 104 bus this morning. I was at work by noon. I sold a swap-meet-bought Dura Ace bottom bracket for $60. It was the older "cup and cone" style with Italian threaded cups. Instant cash, good profit. After work, I installed a different cup and cone bottom bracket in a frame. It didn't say Dura Ace, but with a careful hand doing the installation and maintenance, it will perform just as well. This lesser Suntour unit was spared from the recycling bin.

...

I spent the day doing nothing and being satisfied about it.

Listing eBay and Eating Fried Chicken

I'm in Kennett Square now. I'm eating fried chicken with my family, and I'm taking a break from listing bicycle parts on eBay. I have 50 auctions running, and the harvest has only begun.

104 Bus Leaves Me Wondering.

I'm on a bus to West Chester. My bicycle is on the front rack of the bus, and I'm thinking of all the other times I've been on this bus headed to West Chester. The 104 from 69th Street Station. Students, losers, and a doofus with a bike. The scenery gets greener as the hour passes, and I'm always left to wonder where I belong. Geographically, and in every other possible sense.

Social Porch Gatherings and Time Spent.

I'm not the social genius I was when I was drinking. And if I wasn't a social genius, I at least knew how to kill some time in a boisterous manner. Now - today, in fact - I am feeling lucky to spend time on a crowded porch. I manage to smile a few times, and resist the temptation treat my t-shirt like a turtle shell. I sold one of my bicycles for some money, and I didn't run home at the first sign of Holy Shit.

The Van: Repair Estimate.

The garage called. My van has a lot going on, and it will cost a little over $2,000 to fix it all. I recognize that it might be smart to think about moving on to a more sensible vehicle. At the same time, $2,000 isn't so bad if it gets me a reliable vehicle for a couple more years, which seems likely. I suspect that the garage has access to my bank account information, because the repair bill seems very oddly close to the exact amount I have on deposit in my savings account. Fine. They can have it.

On the edge of feeling alright.

I have worries. My general worry level was up a little bit at work, and I was feeling drained. Evan is a great guy. He's a co-worker and a friend. He has the ability to radiate positive energy, and I was thankful to ride bicycles with him and stand next to him as he bought a couple items at Whole Foods. I was able to stuff my brain back into my skull an arrive home in better shape than I left.

Van trouble: overheating.

I love having a van. I'm nostalgic about my time spent traveling in my van, and the portions of three winters that I spent living in my van in Key West. But, it's been awhile. I haven't needed my van for much real van stuff. I've neglected my van, and I've even come close to selling it. I wish there was a "just in case" spot that I could park it for free. If I really needed it, I could come back, throw off a huge tarp, and start it up.

Some routine maintenance probably would have been a good idea. Aside from oil changes, I haven't paid much attention. I've been a little too drunk and I haven't had much money to spare. Small problems have added up, and now it's overheating. I'm hoping that the problem is something simple, but I am afraid it might be a can of worms. I know next to nothing about engines and such, so I took it to a reputable shop near my place in Philly.

Cottage Cheese Management Principles.

I love cottage cheese. I have a spoon in my hand right now, but I could almost be drinking the stuff. If I could be sustained on cottage cheese, I doubt I would ever miss the common ham sandwich. I would eat a burrito of cottage cheese with a cottage cheese burrito shell. I am filling my glove compartment with cottage cheese, because this van is registered to "fuck you."

Bad Photos are a First World Problem.

I took a ton of pictures today. I used my mom's awesome and expensive digital camera to take hundreds of photographs of bicycle parts.

Upon transferring the photos from the camera's SD card to a laptop, I found that they all suck. The pictures are dark, and they make my beautiful bicycle parts look like Blemish City. I spent hours, and I will have to start again. Some test-photos would have been in order. Obvious hindsights are a mainstay of my existence.

I feel like an idiot. I feel like a small man. I am not the wise old owl. I am smoking a small bit of ganja from a long simple pipe I found on Etsy.com. I exhale. Calmer now. Looking at my feet.

I want to be the artist who made this pipe. I want to be deep in the jungle. I want to try my hand at bum-camping in Japan. I want to ride bicycles and sell bicycle parts - but I do not want the brain chemistry that so often restricts me. I want to look down at my own two feet and declare with confidence that I stand upon the fucking Earth. I want my molecules to gather and assert: everything is fine. Bad photos are a first-world problem.

The van might be running hot...

I drove out to Kennett Square today, as I typically do once per week to visit my family for a couple days. It looks like my van is running a little hot. Precious.

The Mission: Buy it and sell it for more.

The nets were bountiful. I found many bicycle parts. I walked in circle after circle, making dozens of deals. I only managed to spend $1100. I was left to wonder if I should have opened my dragnet further or relaxed my criteria. Maybe I should have loosened my grip on my envelopes of cash, and rolled the dice a little more often. In this house, anyway, the odds are most often in my favor.

I focused on buying relatively inexpensive parts. I looked for components which I knew would sell for at least double on eBay, and which I suspected would sell for many times more. For example: I bought a lightly used XTR Rapid Rise rear derailleur for $15. It would eventually sell for $76. Not all of the deals can be that good, but that's the kind of thing I was looking for. I'm not above lowballing people, because hey... a lot of times it works.

I did well. Super well. I left with a few boxes of densely packed gold. I probably could have done much better, but I feel no dismay. A person can usually do better, and that goes for all situations. I had a great time.

My mission today - in no part - included buying a tandem. But I saw an amazing tandem that seemed tailor made for me. Plus, it was powdercoated in bright pink. We bargained back and forth and arrived at $600. I'll profit much more than that from my work today, and hey - who needs all this justification, anyway? I handed him the money and I was riding it around solo and having a ball. If it doesn't get used enough, I'll just sell it for more.

The night before the swap meet at Trexlertown, PA.

At 7:21pm I was getting ready for the swap meet. I drove up to Trexlertown, PA, and I'm hoping for success. I'm hoping to find a lot of undervalued bicycle parts. I'm hoping that I can bargain my way into a few boxes of parts worth a few thousand dollars more than what I'll pay.

I drove up at night, and in a bit of rain. My friend Tim graced shotgun in my van, and eventually we made it. We parked in the big grassy lot which will be densely populated with parked cars tomorrow. Right now, there are a handful of cars, and a handful of tents. Shelly and Brian were already there.

Last time I was here, I was a bit of an ass. I had fun, but I think I made an ass of myself. I accomplished my mission, but I was still drunk at mid-day during the swap. I doubt it hurt my ability to bargain, but I can't claim pride in the caricature I created of myself. I'm being perfectly honest. The same guy got his teeth smashed out. That happened later, but that was the same guy. That man was a fucking dangerous clown. I never want to be him again.

Fast fucking forward: The evening is perfect. I'm standing in the damp grass beside my van. This is me and three friends on a cool night. We're joking and conversing, and I have a bit of ganja in a glass bowl. I'm excited about tomorrow. When I pull in all of the nets, I hope the catch is good.

Closing Time: The Bicycle Shop Routine.

Many days seem remarkably similar. That's the way it is when you work a full-time job. 7:21pm often finds me in a nearly identical place - mentally; geographically - my ass is literally gracing the top of the same wooden stool.

The cash register lies ajar. I glance up to make sure the door is locked. From my perch at the point-of-sale, I count cash. I make sure that the register has all the money that is supposed to be there. I compare the credit card slips to what has been recorded by the computer. I cross my fingers that everything is correct, because God knows: simple math is my crowbar to the knee.

Here's how this blog is working right now.

Here's how this blog is working right now:

1) I write down what I'm doing every day. Usually, I don't constrict the information to exactly what was happening at 7:21pm. I started this blog with a strict mission to write down what I'm doing at 7:21pm, but I soon started expanding into descriptive explanations of how my heart pumps and I began including details of how lonely and confused I am. Now, with my twenties wrapping up: I'm a bit less uncertain, certainly more grounded, and cynicism is vying for a foothold.

2) I write down something that happens every day. I feel guilty when I don't. This has been going on for longer than this blog has existed. I have been recording minutiae since I could hold a pencil and form a sentence all at once.

3) I write down a detail of my day. Sometimes it happens to be what I was doing at 7:21pm, and sometimes my day was so uneventful that I struggle to record any moment at all. I used to have hundreds of followers, but I've chased away all but fourteen.

4) For awhile, I was proud of what I wrote here. I was one of the bloggers who was writing about moving into a vehicle-based home. It was fresh and exciting. I developed a style that I enjoyed. People commented, and I spent many hours grooming my daily press release. The other vandwelling bloggers all quit years ago. A billion other vandwelling and fulltime RV blogs took their place. I'm still horsing out words when I get to it.

5) I write something. I'm literally phoning it in. I put notes on my phone, intending to expand the information into a blog post later. Too much time goes by, and before too long, I don't even know what the notes are talking about. That's now. That's this date right here.

6) I was obviously on shrooms today. My only note for this date is taken from a text document on my phone. There is a one-word entry. "$hrooms" is what it says. Any other details, I am unable to share.

$2500 in 10's and 20's. Please mug me.

I went to the bank and withdrew $2500 in 10's and 20's. That's most of my savings, but not quite all of it. I'm not a rich guy. This is probably the most money I've seen in cash. She held it out to me in a big stack like it was a basket of french fries.

"Ummm... can I have an envelope or something?" I would expect a withdraw like this to be much more discreet, and certainly with a fucking envelope. I handed her a slip of paper and spoke quietly. She made a grand announcement to everyone in the bank.

"This man has a couple grand in his pocket! He looks like a bit of a pussy!"

Thanks, woman.

This is swap meet money. I'm going to go to a bicycle swap meet. I'm going to trade paper for aluminum and steel. Then I'm going to sell it all for much better prices on eBay. This is it. This is the only business I can conduct with any level of confidence. This is the only way I know how to make a few thousand dollars fast. Wish me luck that it'll work.

File under "goosed."

I'm listening to a guy talk about a goosed neutral. That's a technical term with an adjective before it. Goose is a catch-all word for me. What's really happening here is that I'm standing on the sidewalk in West Chester. A PECO employee is explaining to both me and Kristin that the electrical wires which lead to her house are fucked up. They're goosed. Her power is going to keep on going out.

No sweat to me. I don't have a house. I don't want an apartment. Some kind of goosed molecules in my brain are telling me to dig up some dirt. Make a makeshift reality. Fold me up in thirds and mail me straight to hell. If I was designed to be able to deal with anything, then this is the first I'm hearing of it.

Sizzla sounds great.

I'm driving to West Chester listening to Sizzla. I can't explain why I like Sizzla so much. He's a nice guy who smokes a lot of weed. So, that's a start. I enjoy novelty. That helps. I do like Sizzla, and my enjoyment has no measure of irony. I checked.

Anti-social Lucky Charms eater.

I didn't feel like going to a show at The Fire. Probably because The Fire is a bar. My social-shit is in disarray. Considering this, and all the same - I don't feel like going out to a crunk-o bar tonight. Tonight is my night. Tonight I will sit in a chair and eat Lucky Charms.

Netflix. "Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels."

I'm watching a movie on Netflix. It's "Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels."

Another thing Kristin says is "Tacos Bell." I can't remember if it's plural or possessive in her mind, but she always says it. On purpose.

Netflix. "Way of the Gun"

I'm watching a movie on Netflix. It's "Way of the Gun." Kristin calls it "Netfox" because it amuses her to call thing what they are not.

Hands in the till.

It's 7:21pm. I'm counting the till, checking the receipts and trying to figure out my own dumb mistakes.

Hanging out with my Mom.

I'm hanging out with my mom. We're getting food from Giordano's and bringing it to the polls. It's election day. My dad volunteers to sit at a folding table while people vote. You write your name in a book, and my dad gives you a ballot. We brought those guys some food.

Consumerism and a swift kick in the dick.

I'm doing good on money. Better than I ever have before this point. It's 7:21pm, and I have a hot laptop resting on my legs. I am sitting on the couch in Kennett, and both of my parents are sitting in their spots. Changes come slowly out in these parts.

My legs are sweating under this hot MacBook Pro, and there are custom titanium bicycle frames on the screen. I like to look. Actually, I could afford one of these. The thought occurs to me, and I have to remind myself that being a useless consumer is something that I should leave to the other robot Americans. The argument seemed more convincing when I spent a third of my income on beer and had to do some stretches to pay the rent. Actually, I could afford one of these. Maybe I'll treat myself when the vacillating voices can pick a position, and I can be sure that opulent ownership doesn't deserve a swift kick in the dick.

Adderall and unrelated fine times.

I took a couple days off with the Adderall. I've been taking low dose or no dose hoping that it'll work better when I actually need it to. It seems like a good plan.

Kristin made lasagne. After work, I drove out to West Chester and was treated to a nice lasagne in the shared company of Kristin and a couple other dudes who I think are swell folks. We talked and had a fine time, indeed.

Sweat, housing, and what you put in cereal.

I'm dripping sweat in my hot room while eating Lucky Charms from the bodega. I use apple juice instead of milk, because milk is a finicky liquid. I learned that trick from when I lived in a van. Now I'm looking at cool vans on the internet. The Airstream B190 is more like a house. Man. I would love to be eating some Lucky Charms up in one of those bitches.

Kinetic Mayhem vs. Capable Machine

7:21pm. I'm riding home on the new stock Diamond Back. Not my wonderful Hoopty - the new Diamond Back with a space between the words. The headset is loose, and everything is totally fucked up. Everything about this bicycle was bad enough before it needed repairs, and now this bicycle is reaching a high level of kinetic mayhem. Sirens are going off.

Riding a bicycle like this was... actually not so bad. Every once in awhile it's healthy to remind yourself that bicycles are incredibly and surprisingly capable machines. If you need to go a few miles at a medium pace - you're probably going to get there just fine.

Riding west after a meeting at work.

We had a meeting after work. The meeting covered topics, and afterward we ate pizza. We are a strong group, and it's hard to imagine how we got so many good people to all work at the same store. I rode home to West Philly in a gang of five. It's simple rides like this which assure me repeatedly that bicycles are great. Strong legs and a simple conveyance have brought me much joy in life.

The opposite of dinner plans.

I ate a whole fucking box of Kashi. That's dinner, folks.

Adderall and Awakenings

There's a movie called Awakenings. Some sort of experimental drug is found to wake patients from a long vegetative state. Eventually, no dose of this drug is high enough to keep the patients awake. In the interim, they are very much alive and self-aware. I'm dealing with a weak version of the same story. First, I took a tiny dose of Adderall, and before you knew it, my library card was renewed and I was running an eBay business. Now I'm taking the normal prescribed amount, and the results sometimes fall short of miraculous. I'll be damned if I'll touch the dosage. But I'm afraid I might go back to sleep.

Training ride, and a friendly ghost in the woods.

I went on a training ride this morning. Eight miles is a training ride. I showed Kristin the small hidden road that's closed to traffic. Late at night, I used to ride here. When I lived in West Chester, this was one of my spots. I would arrive drunk and drinking and park my bicycle late at night. I would sit; I would lay down. Myself and my bicycle would be prone on the pavement as I would look up through the leaves. I could just make out the moon, and my eyes would slowly adjust. In my memory, it was always summer.

I would sit for an hour and sip. Sometimes I would bring a friend. This was the spot.

I was never here with Kristin before today. I passed my spot hands-free and swiftly. This place has a ghost. I cruised through respectfully and remembered telling the pushy cop "NOPE." No, officer. We have not been drinking at all.

Damaged shifters get a lease on life.

Today. The weather - for the first time this season - is indisputably wonderful. I finished a 9-hour bicycle-fixing shift at work, and then got started on personal stuff. Fixing bicycles. I put some new shifters on Kristin's bicycle. 


I installed mis-matched trigger shifters with broken bells and whistles. They shift fine, but they're not pretty. The main selling point is how they were free. There's something about the right one that I like. The clear window was bashed apart during shipping - it arrived initially on a brand new boxed bicycle. 


Numberless and unsaleable, we had to replace it. A skinny plastic finger still whimpers and shrugs as you click into one of seven gears. The shifter bows it's head and provides humble service - relieved to have a plan B to operate in life. With a home on a hoopty, it'll see more action than if it had arrived undamaged.

I'd punch him right in the fucking mouth.

"If I met the man who designed this road, I would punch him right in the fucking mouth."

It was 100 degrees outside, and I mean that in the literal sense. Three fucking digits. I was riding my bicycle in a group of four. Me and the usually-fastest guy were off the front. We went ahead of the group and mostly attacked the hills in a spirited surge. As a group, we'd been averaging one hundred miles per day. Three fucking digits, baby.

For the first 80 miles or so, Stuart was stronger. He'd pull ahead, someone else would fall behind, and we'd all meet up whenever - usually near food or water. Today we were in the Ozark mountains. The steep climbs were numerous brick walls between our bicycles and the end of the day. I tried to sustain the momentum of each descent to bring me to the top of the next climb. Everybody was carrying a load of cooking and camping gear on their bicycle, not to mention clothing and tools to fix anything. After about 80 miles or so, I was better able to keep up at the front. Me and Stuart were more or less evenly matched by then.

"If I met the man who designed this road, I would punch him right in the fucking mouth." I said it with mock disdain as I shook my fist in the why-I-oughta manner.

We had sweat in our eyes, we couldn't drink enough water, and we were on the 95th mile of the day. We both started laughing too hard to keep momentum. We climbed hills and we volleyed nonsense. It's one of my favorite memories.

The Story Of My Self Employment

I used to be self employed. It was 2006 and I'd just moved to Philadelphia. My job wasn't cutting it and I thought I could do better on my own. I looked in the mirror and cut a fresh mohawk.

I rode down to where I was working, and gave the boss my two weeks notice - but I made it clear that I'd rather be finished right then. He wished me luck and we shook hands. I was filled with the warm optimism and freedom of a guy who just quit a job that he didn't like.

I put an ad in the paper that day. "Bicycles Wanted: Get some garage space back and make a little money. Call Chris." It was a success. Within a few days I was taking calls and trying to get descriptions of bicycles over the phone to see if they might be worth the trip. I checked Craigslist and found a basement storage space for $100 per month. I explained my plan to the person renting the space, and it was clear that he just wanted the money. It was a dirty basement, but it had plenty of space. I cleaned it up a little bit and made a respectable mechanic station.

I was an alcoholic. I had a bad unmedicated case of ADHD. But I could fix bicycles pretty darn well.

I made the rent easily. I could pay my bills with little effort. I didn't run my business very well, and it didn't matter much. I made my own hours, didn't work too much, and I owned the summer. I owned the city and I owned the summer. When I needed a little bit of money, I would cruise up to the shop and fix some bicycles. I took some photos, and the next day I would list them on Craigslist. It was a cinch. I even managed to get a wholesale account for parts and supplies. I got a free business licence online in about 5 minutes and that's all it took.

In a sense I was doing well. In spite of myself I was surviving with a modicum of comfort. I wasn't maximizing profits or making good decisions. I was completely inefficient, and still I was fine. When rent was due, I would get a bag of tall Bud Ice cans and go to the workshop. I would get a 40oz Mickey's and ride to the place where I kept my wrenches.

The basement was dirty. I filled it with bicycles. I screwed hooks into the beams overhead and hung dozens of bicycles. I had milk crates full of spare parts. I was reasonably organized, and if I had a major downfall business-wise, it's that I put too much effort into the bicycles and I was too discerning when choosing what I would work on. I had good products at a good price.

The basement was beat up, and the house above me was rented by the room. It was one step above a squat, and the guy who collected the rent used a fake first name and never gave a last. My basement space had a big hole in one wall and it wasn't possible to tell what was on the other side. It looked like a place to stash skeletons, or maybe a forgotten stop on the Underground Railroad. I pissed in tall empty beer cans and tossed them through to the other side. There are one hundred piss-filled cans of Bud Ice at 4908 Cedar Avenue.

Winter came. I got scared that business would shrivel up, and I became worried that I wouldn't be able to sustain my situation. I got a part time job shoveling horse shit at a stable in Fairmount Park. It was a nice job, actually. One day I got a call at work. The house where I had my workshop had changed hands, and the new guy wanted $400 per month. He also wanted my last name, which I told him was something like Jones. I explained that I wasn't keen on quadrupling my rent, and I managed to talk my way around any final decision. I avoided his calls.

Two months later, a new padlock appeared on the door. That woke me up. I went back and told my girlfriend Shelly what was going on. I brought her along in my pickup truck and we parked out front. I kicked in the door and took out all of my tools first. I took the best bicycles and most of the parts. I left the cans of piss and garbage.

I still don't think I'm very good at taking care of myself. Shelly tolerated me for awhile longer after that. She's my boss at the bicycle shop now. There's a bathroom in this one. And medical benefits.

Diamond Back. Fixing bicycles is what I do.

The day began well. I woke up and drove to the Wawa where I agreed to meet the guy selling the Diamond Back. I was early and I was in a great mood. The sun was upon me as I strutted inside to get a hoagie and a huge coffee. This is my version of a celebration. I derive great joy from sitting in a van and eating a big fat sandwich. I absolutely delight myself. You'd think I just cured cancer.

A grisly Philadelphian rolled up on a Diamond Back Outlook. We proceeded with the requisite inane pleasantries until I forked over the bills. He was apologizing for the mechanical condition of the bicycle, and I almost had to cut him off. I totally didn't care. The sale was in the bag. Fixing bicycles is what I do.

Another Diamond Back Outlook.

I'm sitting on my golden chair. I'm in my grand Philadelphia apartment where a stack of phonebooks replace a missing leg on this magnificent piece of furniture. I scan Craigslist for bicycles, and an ALL CAPS title begs me to click.

"MOUNTAIN BIKE"

The title could barely be less descriptive. I click anyway. The title has the same effect as a link which screams "DON'T CLICK THIS." Or what, I think... or what? So I clicked the link, and the picture surprised me. It was a Diamond Back Outlook. It was a year or two older than my Hoopty Diamondback... before they decided to go all compound word. The ad said to make an offer via txt.

I didn't want to lowball, but I didn't want to spend too much. I didn't need this thing, but I knew I'd have to get it anyway. $60. I sent my offer with a polite little message.

I agreed to meet him in Northeast Philly, and I agreed to pay $70. Sure, I said. I gave him a call and banged out the details.

Slobbering and knuckleballs.

I'm picking my teeth and biting my moustache. I'm chewing the errant hairs at the corners of my mouth. As NPR is playing an interview, I am learning about knuckleballs while slobbering on my own face. It's all in a bid for comfort.

Going along to get a Motobecane moped

I went with Shelly to buy a beautiful Motobecane moped from a guy in West Grove. She called me at my parents house as she was on her way from Philly. "Yup," I said. I'll go.

He was a nice guy, and I drank a Mountain Dew. Now Shelly has a moped.

AFV and Auctions.

I'm watching the America's Funniest Videos program with my parents. My attention is focused on listing bicycle tools on eBay.

A monument who eats chips.

I stood next to the wall. The liquor took up the wall on the other side of the small room. The liquor looked much more comfortable. I poured a glass of NON ALCOHOLIC iced tea-ish drink. Yep. If you use a short glass and add some little ice cubes, you can barely tell you're not pounding whiskey. I think everyone else is getting drunk. These girls are made up, and they're wearing clothes that people go out in. I'm surprised how much I don't know anyone here. I'm surprised how much I can't just begin meeting them. I feel ridiculous. It's strange in a way, because for once I am very NON-ridiculous. I'm just a dude here. I am the most average dude ever.

I don't want to drink. More accurately, I have decided not to drink. I have made this decision - and it's a good one - and I'm standing in silent pain. My insides are writhing. I don't want to leave too soon. I wish I was more social, but the movements and words are not with me. I eat chips.

Girlfriend visits

Kristin comes over late.

(Kinda slacking on these updates... I went a little sparse on my notes, and this is all I've got.)

Pizza Party

Pizza party night at Shelly-Arden's. They get dough, people bring toppings, we all eat.

Listening to Mike Doughty

Mike Doughty is good to listen to again. That's what I'm doing.

America equals burger-coke.

At 7:21pm I was sitting across from my mother and father. The three of us were perched around a table at McDonalds. A coupon brought us here. Now I'm eating a tiny double cheeseburger and drinking a Coke. Us 'Mercans got it good.

Ribs and a raise.

I'm at Chilis with my family. Half rack of ribs? Make it a whole. Two different flavors, please.

I listed eBay auctions all day. I didn't exactly ask for a raise at work, but I got one. I think I'm well worth it. At this shop - I'm certainly worth it. But I'm getting paid better than I would be elsewhere. It kinda locks me into my current position and situation. But right now: I'm good with that. I'm in a good place in life.

Toward Landenberg.

Leaving Philly in a misty rain. I have my sights set on Landenberg.

Swooping on the Hoopty.

I'm running around with illegal mushrooms in a box of Lucky Charms. I'm making a delivery and swooping around West Philadelphia on the Hoopty. I drop off drugs and find a perch on my friend's porch. I have no plans for the next hour, so I sit out in the cool night and we talk about life. We talk about life and relationships and the future until my phone rings. It's a pleasant evening with a light misty rain. I swing a leg over my bicycle and float home toward my attic abode.

I pulled her close. It's better now.

Ah, fuck. Fuckity fuck that fucking email. Me and words don't stop. I can't just quit with the words and let nature take its course.

As I laid in bed last night, my mind drifted back to the words. My stupid email. All I needed to do was write the words and put them right in the trash. But I didn't. I hit 'send' instead and I felt like a real idiot. I used big words, pegged myself as a wuss, and probably sounded condescending and naive all at once.

But it worked. It worked! I placed my hands at her sides and pulled her close to me. I kissed her and held her head to my chest. It's better now. Somehow it's even better than it was. My words had a resonance. Our senseless breakup fell to the floor. We're back together. If we break up again, at least there will be an actual reason. It was the breaking up while deeply in love that itched like rancid madness.

Truthful words. Well wishes.

I had a lot of thoughts when I got home from work. I had a lot of words and phrases. I had bits of communication that I wanted to impart. 

I wrote Kristin an email. It was up in the air whether I wanted her to visit me again. I don't relish torture, so this was a tough decision. I can see the girl that I desperately want to see, but it might feel better if I just stick my dick in a garbage disposal. Or do acid and jump off a fucking roof. 

It was tempting, but I decided it might be better not to see her: a little bit of space; a lot less pain. Instead of being rude, I just constructed the email. Truthful words. Well wishes.

Really not so great...

Notta great mood. Thought I might try some mushrooms, but decided to probably wait until it's warm outside. I ate mac n' cheese and stared at a laptop until bedtime. Really not so great.

Visiting a girl I used to know.

I went to Kristin's. I sat on her bed and awkwardly persisted to be a version of myself. All the same, except sitting on some girl's blankets. 


When someone leaves the room, what you don't want to do is look at their email. The tab was open, and I didn't want to look at it. She's back on OkCupid. Fuck. Fuck that was fast. It's none of my business, and I felt like I punched myself in the stomach. I felt sick, and I wanted to run away. I wanted to go home and stop talking. I didn't want to be mean, I just wanted to preserve my own feelings and take care of myself. Instead, I opted to shut the fuck up and be cool about drowning. It's ok. These are the rules. She ditched the best guy ever for a dice roll on a dull-normal. I don't like her odds, and I don't like the way I'm feeling. 


The night was nice. I liked being with her, and wondered if this would be the last time.

Feeling shitty and learning about propane.

I'm feeling like shit about Kristin. I don't need to get back together, I just want to feel normal again. I researched more bullshit about off-grid housing. Wood stoves are out; installing my own propane system is in. I care about my health, and a certain article gave me pause.

I could be better.

I feel kind of like a ghost. I'm watching myself from beside myself and observing my emotions. Kyler is a good guy. he knew I was feeling terrible and he gave me a hug and invited me to hang out in his garden this week. it's going to be okay.

Working, saving.

I've been working some 9-hour days. I'm scraping along on eBay having already sold my best hoarded nonsense. I'm still making enough to deposit entire paychecks into the savings plan.

Console me, friend.

"Awww, man..... there's other fish in the barrel..... you just have to shoot 'em"

When I'm a little bit sad, it's words like these that replace grief with relief. I'm glad to know the people who I know.

Money. I'm doing pretty good here.

I'm getting older and trying to stay true to myself. I don't want to trade my precious conscious time on Earth. You can't trade me that for a bucket of bullshit. No deal.

I'm thinking - as always - about the Van-Land Savings Plan. It's a good plan with a dumb name. Where will I end up? West Chester, Philadelphia? Somewhere else? When I have $10,000 I'll start looking closer. Until then, it doesn't matter much. No money, no land. I'll have nearly $3,000 by the end of the month. I have no idea how that's possible. I know that it helps to quit drinking and start taking Adderall. But these numbers seem suspect. I double checked: yes - I'm doing pretty good here.

Tacos, hours, smoking. I'm good.

It's good. I'm happy.

The shop is open more hours now with the warm weather coming. I worked a long shift and stopped by a friend's house for a smoke and some talking. I made tacos and downloaded some TV shows. It's alright.

Research study = $125

I'm talking to Jim. In the kitchen. We're catching up in our kitchen as he smokes a cigarette and I yap my jaw loose.

I participated in a research study at UPenn today. I traded some blood and my time for $125. They also did an MRI.

Generally flummoxed jackass = me.

I fully lost my shit several times today. I screamed "motherfucker" at a printer about six times because it wasn't plugged in. I printed my own shipping labels - which is great - and then went apoplectic when some photo files were corrupted.

More boxes than food.

I ate 2 pbjs in 2 days. Maybe a cookie or something.

I drove out to Kennett with too many boxes in a beat up van.

Different futures break up the present.

I broke up with Kristin. I went kind of explanatory and catatonic. Plans and exact science made no space for feelings or emotion. We have different futures. She picked the scab, and then we had to talk about it. Those different futures leaked back in time to destroy the present.

She stayed over. I didn't look at her. I tried not to touch. I went to bed early and didn't say much or move unless I absolutely had to. I was frozen. Sunken and frozen in place. I'm fine.

I'm fine. I should be with someone who wears practical shoes. I should be with someone who wants to get dirty and sleep outside. It doesn't mean I don't love her.

Now I'm focused on the Van-Land Savings plan, and that seems to have dredged up an old conversation: the future. We're good now, but we'll have different needs later. I knew that. She's a smart cookie too. I don't want to lose this friendship. We have this great strong wonderful communication. I want to keep her under my arm and relish any connection we can retain.

And I want to feel okay. I don't want to sadly conclude it.

Poker Night

Poker night. The buy-in was $10. I smoked and had a good time, and nobody cared all that much about the game. I lost $3 and went home happy.

Selling a Centera.

Selling a black and yellow "Centera" bicycle out of the back of my van. $80.

eBay business is good.

Today was mostly a day off. I took some photos of another bicycle for Craigslist, and listed a frame pump I found laying around in my van. The eBay business is great. I've made much more with eBay recently than with my real job as a manager-mechanic-ish guy. The only thing to slow me down is running out of parts to sell. The big swap meet is a month and a half away, and I'm already daydreaming about spending my ass off to invest in a (fingers crossed) huge payday.

I bought some shipping supplies online that will make shipping easier. When the next batch of auctions is finished, I will attempt to delve into the world of shipping from home. All I have to figure out is printing labels and buying postage online. A package scale and a fat stack of boxes in a useful size are on the way. I'm also getting comfortable with knowing what factors effect shipping costs, and how to estimate and package items efficiently.

I'm back to full time hours at the bicycle shop. We're getting busy as the weather gets nice again. With eBay and Craigslist sales generating a decent income, I might be able to stash the entire sum of my paychecks into the Van-Land Savings Plan.

Listing eBay. No stone unturned.

I worked somewhat steadily from 1pm to midnight. I listed 29 auctions for the bicycle shop, and about 10 more items for myself. I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel looking for personal bicycle parts that are worth any money. But listing items has become easy, and I'm content to sell a few things too cheap if a few more things make some money. It adds up, and I'm leaving no stone unturned.

I started to get tired and cross-eyed, but I picked through the pile of parts and it felt great to be finished.

Working hard and looking at wood stoves.

I'm going to be selling stuff on eBay for the Bicycle Shop now. It will be a supplemental income, and I'm looking to take advantage of all opportunities. We worked out a fair cut, and I do all the work.

It's 7:21pm. My van is packed to the brim with bicycles to sell on Craigslist and a batch of tools and parts to sell for the shop. I will be busy as hell tomorrow. I will be busy, but it won't be stressful. It's not like I'm working in a coal mine or something. I'll be snapping photos and drinking coffee with a computer in my lap. I can do that.

I found a wood stove that should work nicely for a medium-sized decommissioned transit bus. It even has a cute name: The Sardine.

Ordering wings to stuff myself.

Grubhub is totally boss. Click a few buttons, wings show up, no talking to anyone. It could only get easier if they slipped it though the mail slot. 

Savings and Penn Studies

Studies get you money. I signed up for a study being conducted at Penn University where they dig into the details of your dialect. I'm required to make 12 calls for 10 minutes each. If I do that, I'll get paid $150. Every bit counts.

I'm saving hard for the Van-Land Savings Plan. I'm beyond my goals, and I've surpassed my expectations. If I stay on track, I'll be successful sooner than I ever thought possible. But I still have a road ahead.

At 7:21pm I'm talking to Bob about today's topic: holiday traditions. We try hard to keep talking. We pass the ball back and forth coming up with new things to say for the whole ten minutes. He sounds older, and I sound drastically different with every person I talk to. I hope that helps...

Smoke n' cheese.

I came home and my house smelled like cigarettes. Smoke doesn't bother me, but I guess my roomie started up again.

If you spend $.50 on macaroni, I guess you can expect it to stick to the pot real bad. I put in the cheeze and dealt with it.

Wings Night at Victory Brewing in Downingtown, PA

Wings are half price, and I have my family around me.

Jitter's Bar in West Chester, PA.

It's Taco Tuesday, and it's at Jitter's which is a shitfuck bar in West Chester. Everyone in my presence seems decent, but I might just hop out a window.

I'm a pretty damn decent person.

I'm really not all that bad. Maybe I can be a little bit of a dick, but in the big scheme I think I'm alright. I'm a nice guy. I try. I'm not going to defend myself too hard, 'cause I think I'm fine. In fact, I think I'm a pretty damn decent person.

Su Tao in Malvern. My favorite place to eat.

This is a good one. This is a good night. A nice array of people who I care about are assembled around a table. Bottomless plates of gourmet vegan food surround us on three sides. One side has dessert, and another side has a sushi section. Everything is good.

Mac n' cheese n' Lucky Charms.

Mac n' Cheese? Lucky Charms? Prison Break? Makes for a swell evening. As predicted, the person interested in buying a bicycle - who contacted me through Craigslist - did not bother to show up at the agreed upon time or give me a call. Predictable. I continued to eat more Lucky Charms to celebrate.

Eating cereal and making fish necklaces.

I have a necklace with plastic neon fish beads. I made it for myself. I get plenty of comments on it, presumably because most people who aren't 7-year-old girls don't wear stuff like this.

7:21pm. I'm eating cereal and making more fish necklaces.

Tandem sales are my new bag.

I got a new connection. Nice and local. Friendly and affordable. I sat around for awhile to chat, but had to excuse myself to sell a tandem.

Tandem:
Bought for: $100
Work into it: $0. (Five mins of adjustments and a wipe-down).
Sold for: $250

Also:
My apartment/room rent: $250 (which I just paid an hour earlier).

And the joy of rolling a tandem bicycle out of the van's side doors to show it to a prospective buyer? Notable. My van is currently a full-on Craigslist showroom.

Jeopardy is on at 7:21pm

Watching Jeopardy with my folks.

Giant Nutra is outta here.

7:21pm. I'm boxing up a Giant Nutra frame that I'm selling on eBay. I'm wishing it was a Giant Nutria instead, for the purpose of adding excitement.

Hot coffee and hilarious flotsam.

I'm back out in Kennett after a lovely slow-paced morning. I did my favorite thing. I woke up in my awesome room in my awesome apartment with Kristin. I laid around with the sun coming through the window. I have warmth in abundance with a strong heater and a 'utilities paid' rental agreement.

We got going, and got coffee. She took her bicycle, and I manned the adult tricycle with bright crocheted handlebar coverings. After coffee comes knick-knack acquisition. We root around looking for $.90 Garfield mugs and other humorous jetsam. Today I struck gold.

I found a Saris Bones 3 bicycle rack for $12.97. I'll put that up on eBay later and sell it for $80+ dollars. I know because I have an auction for another one going right now.

Detailed post.

This helps... in my notebook: "Chinese food."

MacBook Pro, bro.

I got a sweet MacBook Pro with some of my eBay earnings. I'm also squared up with some money I owed the bicycle shop. The laptop is a few years old, and thus was a reasonably priced acquisition. ($533).

Don't worry about The Van-Land Savings Plan: I'm still fully on track with that, and I can pay rent, too.

I'll take this opportunity to underscore how this seems to be a happy time in my life, and I am excited about all the new developments and possibilities.

The Van-Land Savings Plan.

Next month is one of the secret months with an extra paycheck. March has five Fridays, and three of them happen to be a payday. If I do things right, I'll be able to stash an entire paycheck in savings.

The Van-Land Savings Plan. It has begun. I've started skimming money out of my checking account and putting it into savings. I've had the same tired $5 in my savings account for over two years. Now I have a few hundred. If I can keep the ball rolling, there will soon be more.

My current plan is to put at least $300 per month away for a new van, or a plot of land: whichever I decide on when I actually have enough to do something. I don't know whether I'd rather have a super nice van to live in, or a piece of land to construct a couple beat up van-cabin living structures. But - as I've reasoned - it doesn't matter. Both take money, so both options are out of reach right now. In the meantime while I'm thinking about it, I can do more research and start stashing money away.

The land option is appealing because land doesn't break down, suck gas, or get parking tickets. My plan would be to create a small off-grid homestead with vans as the structures rather than a cabin.

Quick list of thoughts:
  - No building permits. It's a van, not some looming onerous structure.
  - Van cabins can be decorated or scrapped at will. Versatile.
  - Non-moving vans can have both front seats removed for more space.
  - Composting toilet; propane heat; solar panels with battery bank.
  - Creating a level foundation is inexpensive and rudimentary.
  - Doors, windows, walls are already in place.
  - No bullshit homeowner headaches; no bullshit landlord headaches.
  - It's like living in a conceptual art project of your own making.
  - Definitely write some kind of book about it.

The details of this project are in much sharper focus inside my head. I have most of the answers to most of the obvious questions, because I've sorta been researching this for the past decade. I'm excited - to say the very least - to be currently throwing momentum behind this pipe dream that I've been harboring for ages.

Pizza party and a trike ride home.

I went to a pizza party at Shelly and Arden's. Make your own pie. Boom. Mike was there. Boom. All the ingredients for a good time. Not drinking is getting closer to being no problem. I was fine and happy and enjoyed myself. Then I pedaled home on my trike with my girlfriend standing in the basket.

For sale. Boom.

Borrowing my mom's nice camera and starting a Photobucket account have made eBay auction-listing much smoother. I listed more stuff. I'm selling my little Raleigh Folder bicycle. I listed stuff on Craigslist too. I found an acoustic Yamaha guitar that's been sitting around since I brought it home from work at 1-800-GOT-JUNK. That was awhile ago. Now it's for sale. Boom.

Hot chips and eBay listings.

I went to the Herr's chip factory with Kristin. In my estimation, the best dates are mid-day and include hot potato chips off a conveyor belt. Nerdy as sin? Count me in.

I shipped out a ton of bicycle parts from finished eBay auctions. I took one of my Adderall half-pills and listed 19 more items for sale. A titanium stem, a Bridgestone CB-1 frame, a Giant Nutra frame...

I got the official 'ok' to sorta move in with my folks while I finish up college in the fall. So if I want to do that... I can do that.

Adderall prescription: check.

Honestly, I doubt I'd've been getting so much done over the past few weeks without some help. But I also can't keep "borrowing" Ritalin. I was cut off with the terms that I had to make an appointment to get my own prescription.

I made the appointment, and it took about 10 minutes. I didn't need a therapist, I just paid $110 out of pocket to talk to a doctor for a checkup. I said I had ADHD. I said I had projects, and I couldn't get anything done. I'm happy and healthy, but I can't run an errand to save myself.

10mg of Adderall before a work shift, or when you need a brain that is able to prioritize and accomplish tasks. That's the prescription. I went to Wal-Mart, got the pills, and cut all them in half so they'll last longer. It was about the easiest thing I've ever done, and I am hoping that it will help. I'm hoping that this small bit of help will allow me to pursue my long term goals more vigorously. I've made a lot of money on eBay in the past few weeks, and I want to keep that momentum.

Five bikes and a lotta boxes.

Today, I headed to Kennett. Same as I do most every week for several days. After work, I loaded my van. An old goofy tandem, my Raleigh Twenty, a cheap old ATB... it all got loaded up, and it's all getting photographed and sold. I loaded up five bicycles (5.5 if you consider the tandem), and a ton of boxes and packing materials for eBay sales. I hit the road with a van and a transmission that works.

Another strong bicycle installation.

Work was finished for the day. I clocked out and perched myself on a stool for a moment of reflection. Work benches were cleaned, the floor was swept, and locks were locked. I looked out the front door and saw our best customer. Fidel had my co-worker's attention, and there was a plastic crate in his hand. It could mean only one thing. I retreated to the bathroom, as my co-worker made progress toward his bicycle and home.

I sat on the toilet with the lid down and my pants up. I hunched forward and rested my forehead on the heels of my hands. I sat there breathing and waiting; letting a couple minutes slip by. 

I sat long enough to form some thoughts and look at myself. I am not responsible for anyone but myself. The shop is closed. And finally: treat other people the way you would like to be treated. 

I stood up, and took long confident paces to the front door. I unlocked the door and opened it. It was a few minutes later, but Fidel was still milling about on the sidewalk holding a big blue box. 

"Fidel! Come on, my friend!" I motioned for him to enter the store.

We went through the usual process of explanation. By now, I get the deal. He shows up with some clapped out bicycle and a plastic box with a hinged lid that I think he gets from behind a CVS somewhere. He needs the box to stay on the bicycle so he can use the setup to deliver food. Fidel pointed to the crate and to the bike. 

I like him. He's a character. He shows genuine appreciation when you help him out. Even though I can't say that we can communicate using words, I think we both have an understanding. We're both reasonable and decent humans. He wasn't drunk. He wasn't drinking beer and he didn't seem to have beer with him. Maybe he quit too. He insisted on buying me a soda next door.

I put the heavy bicycle in the stand and lined everything up. I made some marks with a marker and some holes with a drill. I used some of the random hardware that he brought me, and some stuff we had at the shop. For the fourth or fifth time so far, I did a damned good job.

What's 45 minutes? I told him there was no charge, and he insisted on tipping. We smiled and shared a solid handshake.

Pasta and Kix cereal. Why not.

7:21pm. I stayed in and ate a ton of pasta and Kix cereal. I watched a lot of episodes of Prison Break.

Skipping Mates of State show.

I skipped the Mates of State show in favor of sitting in my golden chair. There was plenty of sitting involved, and not much moving.

Perkins has the weakest coffee allowed by science.

I was at Perkins with my folks. I sit on one side of the booth, and they sit on the other. I have my back to a wall whenever such a position is possible. I drank weak coffee and told them I have an appointment with a therapist set up for Monday.

Sometimes it's time for some pants.

I got some blue jeans earlier. First of all, it's Valentines Day, so there's that. I was at the Olive Garden for lunch with my parents and my girlfriend, and then I decided that I wanted some new pants. I only have one pair of pants that doesn't have some lousy aspect going on. Now I have two, and I've got high hopes for these new boxers as well.

I call this one "New Transmission"

I woke up with a girl under my arm and decided to go to breakfast. We listened to Green Day and Phil Collins in a double-wide diner until it was time to cross the street. I paid $1060.00 to another guy named Chris, and drove away with a new transmission. These are the times. This is when a breeze is music and tall grass is the hand of God.

Rides, and riding toward a ride...

Well, I wasn't going to ask for a ride, but if you're offering...

My Mom called me at work to ask if I wanted a ride home. I was going to figure something else out, 'cause I felt sheepish being van-less for a third Sunday. But she claimed not to mind, so I was happy to accept the offer.

I stayed after work to finish work on my KHS Professional road bicycle. It's a single speed with three cog choices and a bunch of spacers on an Ultegra hub. It's not too shabby. It rolls like mercury down a windowpane, and white handlebar tape is all the else I have to say.

I rode swiftly into a strong headwind to arrive at the rendezvous.

Knock-off Apple Jacks

If I actually rode a bicycle as much as I think about them, I'd be on the moon right now. Trust me. And tell me if you agree: a person who bids on your shit and doesn't pay you is an irredeemable motherfucker. To the moon! I ate mostly a whole bag of knock-off Apple Jacks.

Single speed KHS? Nearly complete.

I got a ride home from Mike. I was at the bicycle shop late horsing around and making myself a single speed. Thank goodness I didn't actually have to ride the thing home.

Pizza and soda in bed.

I'm sitting around on my bed. Me and my girl are rich with pizza and soda. We're practically famous with it. Internet ordering makes it so you barely have to mumble three words to another human before you're holding food.