Halfway through this roadtrip I had given myself a loose plan: I would make it to Alaska, eventually. I would go North. I never made it to the last frontier. Instead, California chewed me up and spit me back over the continent and across the Atlantic.
I’m currently in Paris and frequently dazed at how I got here, and I’m sure you are, too. It’s been six months since I’ve written. Last seen I was shaken up and on the Eastern border of California. For all you know I have been standing at that exact border, tight-lipped and melancholic for six months now, an elbow on the roof of my car, a hand on the open door, breathing in that crisp Pacific air I swear wafts, not to be remiss, all the way over from the other side of that Golden state.
Unfortunately, reality is never as glamorous as the movies make it. As soon as I crossed the border, I did indeed stop, but only because I got pulled over. The cop wanted to see if I was bringing any drugs into the state. I asked him if it wasn’t more likely that people would bring drugs out of the state, rather than in. Perplexed, he let me go. I made it through to San Francisco undisturbed after that.
I can’t say much about San Francisco, though, because most of my time was spent just South of it in the Silicon Valley. While San Francisco was toiling away at being the most expensive city in the world, I was experiencing what it would be like to be one of the peddlers of that extreme gentrification at 42, an obscure computer programming school of no grades, no teachers, and no classes. Why? Because I need money, man. The first month was spent experiencing the school’s grueling entrance exam: a 4-week crash course on C. Students worked 8+ hours a day, everyday, of their own accord, staring at computer screens. It was crazy. Most days, we failed the assignment. Most exams, we failed, too. It wasn’t about passing, though, it was about learning. Which is something that cannot be helped at this school.
Needless to say, I kind of fell into this program. I mean, I was headed to Alaska. It was free and I was there and so I said why not and took a break from my roadtrip only to get swept up in the atmosphere. The culture was enough to lose myself, and my path. I got into the school and did that for a few months as I lived in the school in the parking lot.
From this, there’s so much I want to write about my experience in California. There’s the time I almost moved into a 20+ person co-op in San Francisco, the whole experience of getting into 42, the first time I cleaned an R.V.’s septic tank, the time I changed my rotors and break pads, the time I slept very close to underneath the Golden Gate Bridge, and a few other misadventures and thought pieces. It’s all behind me now, though, and it’s a little painful to think about. A few months passed and something extreme happened, which I may or may not write about in the future, and it encouraged me to transfer to the other 42 campus in Paris. I’ve been here for the last couple of months.
What’s going to happen to this blog? I’m not really sure, as I’m not really sure what’s going to happen with the next phase of my life. I don’t even know if I’ll be staying in this program. But I am sure that I’m not sure. Those who know me know that’s pretty much my most productive state.
Stay tuned, but don’t hold your breath!
Until next time,