For whatever reason, the MoaT didn’t go out yesterday. I wrote it, and posted it in the usual way, but MailChimp evidently didn’t hold up their end of the bargain. That said, given a skydiver’s primary parachute malfunctions, on average, once in every thousand jumps, having an email hiccup once in every 500’s not too shabby.
Anyway, the gist of yesterday’s post - I’m in the Front Range of Colorado, it’s staggeringly beautiful, and thank you to my friend and former Al Stone compatriot Greg Ehrlich for always encouraging me to “book a ticket and just go.”
I’m becoming more conscious of burnout, and thanks to my never having had a real job and Google Flights, an impromptu restorative weekend trip’s a worthy mission, should I chose to accept it.
And so, here I am, surrounded by outdoor enthusiasts in puffy jackets drinking cappuccinos. I’m recognized by a dude in a Motet shirt, who begins playing air guitar at me.
“Where’s Swaaaaatttttttty?!” he asks, with the enthusiasm of a veteran psychedelic adventurer.
“In Portland,” I say.
”NOOOOOOOO!” he says, pounding his fists against an imaginary desk. “THAT’S FUCKED UP!”
He wanders off. I return to phone scrolling.