Archives for the month of: November, 2012

In the good old US of A, the word “pilgrim” conjures the image of a white man with belt buckles on his shoes sharing a turkey meal with used/abused Native Americans… Heavy junk.

Here is a picture of my friend Jeremy. Surprise, he is a pilgrim! Jeremy is originally from Sydney, Australia and he is a travel pro. He recently completed the pilgrimage in Spain with multiple names:  St. James’ Way, El Camino Santiago, and La Voje Ladee. The name La Voje Ladee was given pre-Christian history when it was just a trade route because the road appeared to follow the Milky Way in the sky.

Many of the pilgrims were in search of answers. Jeremy was one of them. He spent 35 days contemplating life along the trail. I have a lot of questions so hopefully he has answers. When a funk has you paralyzed, there is something to be said about physical movement and travel. Get out into the world and eff the funk! Read the rest of this entry »


My friend Walter is new to New York City. He understood that real estate was at a premium before moving, but once he tried to fit his life into a small one-bedroom apartment it was a clear that he would have to make some adjustments. No space. Space funk.

In the classic battle of New York City vs. man the city usually wins. You have to work with what you’re given. In this case, space, or lack thereof. Walter said eff the funk and made lemonade out of lumber. Here is his story:

Back in November 2011 I found out that I had been transferred to New York City for my job as an airline pilot. I had a few months to think about what was going on before I moved, but let’s face it: finding an apartment in New York is pretty difficult to do from outside of New York. After burning my vacation haphazardly looking, I broke down, hired a broker, and after a few frustrating days of hiking all over town, found a little one-bedroom first-floor apartment in Murray Hill. I told my broker: “This is it, I want this one.”

And boy, have I ever wished I had been carrying a tape measure.

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The neighbor who lives below my apartment is filled with rage. He carries anger like it’s a luxury handbag, waving it around whenever the opportunity arises. The smallest thing will set him off. A week ago my roommate dropped her laptop on the floor in her bedroom. Two minutes later she heard a loud banging on our door. She answered and standing there, flaring at the nostrils, was our downstairs neighbor. He started yelling, “What are you guys doing up here? What was that noise?”

My roommate, wearing her pajamas and holding a toothbrush in one hand replied, “Nothing, we’re getting ready for bed. I accidentally dropped my laptop.”

He yelled, “You broke four light bulbs in my apartment. They could have fallen on me.”

Pause. Where is this conversation going? I think it’s clear she didn’t drop her laptop on the floor on purpose.

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