What It Feels Like Inside the Goodyear Blimp
The vibration-heavy gondola of the Goodyear Blimp is not what you'd call serene. It's what you'd call a religious conversion on an engine mount.
Essays, memories, and the occasional repair manual for a life well-lived.
The vibration-heavy gondola of the Goodyear Blimp is not what you'd call serene. It's what you'd call a religious conversion on an engine mount.
It sat on my desk like a beige monolith. Steve wanted it to glow.
The earth didn't just shake. It threw a tantrum.
Grandma called it fried chicken. We called it nirvana on a plate.
The paprika-colored chaos of the restaurant business taught me everything about people and nothing about sleep.
A biblical baptism in fiberglass and salt water.
I didn't write this to prove I made the right moves. I wrote it because I loved every glorious, stupid minute of it.
The most important thing anyone can ever design is their own exit strategy.
Grazing horses, sea glass in my pockets, and the ghosts of the many lives I was foolish enough to live.
The exit strategy is optional. The story is not.