Insurance.

I’ve ducked and dodged dependence on electricity and other utilities, and I definitely don’t have a home phone or Internet service. Insurance is the one recurring truck-related expense I'm stuck with. Given how little I drive the truck and my squeaky-clean, accident-free track-record, I would totally ditch that too if it weren’t mandatory in California. And while I may have dodged a bullet with the license situation, that frosty Boston speeding ticket was still looming overhead. So naturally I wasn’t ecstatic when I got a letter stating it’s time to renew my insurance policy, until I took a good look at my old policy.

Note: Throughout this post, I use phrases like “yesterday” and “last night”. In reality, it was two nights ago, but I’m slow to get my thoughts onto (digital) paper.

The Bay Area is a fairly dry place. In the past six months of my living out here, it has only “rained” a handful of times. I use the term rain lightly, because it’s barely ever more than a passing drizzle. In spite of the precipitation’s timidity, people have become so adjusted to the area’s micro-climate that they act (and drive) like it’s a flash flood. Yesterday, it rained. But it didn’t “rain”, no, this wasn’t Your Dad’s Rain™ at all. Yesterday, I experienced my first Californian downpour.

I promised a mega Q&A, I’m delivering a mega Q&A. I had upwards of 750 questions, so I took some of the most popular (and least creepy) ones, scrubbed out the personal info, fixed some spelling, did a bit of rephrasing, and tossed them up here.

Why don’t you have ads? / Why don’t you monetize the blog? / Have you considered selling your soul to the highest bidder?

It’s midnight and my flight has just landed in Boston, two hours behind schedule. I step out into a crisp September night; the air never tastes like this in California. It’s refreshing, but despite it only being 9 PM on the coast that I left from, I’m exhausted. It’s been a tiring few days of tying up loose ends before the trip, and staring at a dim screen on a dark plane wasn’t exactly conducive to sustaining my consciousness. After counting out 27 complete revolutions of the baggage return carousel, I find my suitcase. I try my best to muster a smile at the rental car kiosk, but the attendant’s reaction makes it clear I didn’t exactly sell it. The car keys dangling from my index finger, I heave my bag onto the backseat. All that stands between me and sleep is a 100 mile drive down a deserted highway. I sync the car to my phone over Bluetooth, and throw on a playlist. I opt for a “noise rap” playlist, that should keep me awake. A few tolls and I’m on the Pike.

One of the perks of the truck that I always mention is its mobility. Regardless of where on the planet I put it, the box is still my room, and once I’m inside, the details of the surrounding world are reduced to nothing more than background noise. Theoretically, I can just park anywhere and make that my home for the night. In reality however, I very rarely spend the night anywhere other than a corporate parking lot, save a few digressions parking downtown after a late night at the bars. The lack of nearby, easy to access showers/facilities is a pretty strong deterrent for me. Tonight however, I find myself in a mildly amusing situation. I’m currently sitting on my bed writing this post (that’s not the amusing part), but I’m almost 20 miles away from my usual hideout, and I can hear rhythmic bass thumps coming from the Quinceañera happening not 50 ft away (that’s totally the amusing part).