The City of Angels adventure

(Note: It’s advisable to read the previous post, The New York City Adventure, before reading this one.)

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GETTING OFF the Greyhound bus from New York City, there I was in Nashville, Hillbilly Heaven, and where my parents had relocated three years earlier.

My father picked me up at the bus station, drove me back to their apartment, phoned my mother where she was working, and said: Brace yourself.

Those very words.

I soon had a job at a small firm that refurbished mattresses. I and another guy would drive a truck to homes and pick up tatty mattresses that would be cleaned and returned to the owners. I worked there just long enough to save money for another Greyhound ticket, back to California.

My parents were still bracing themselves when I headed west again.

The ride from Nashville was not quite so long as the earlier trip from Los Angeles to New York, but it was a long haul nonetheless. Only a few months had passed.

I got off the bus in downtown Los Angeles, and a friend from the Air Force met me. I quickly found a studio apartment in Santa Monica and a job parking cars in a Beverly Hills lot. Things went downhill fast, economically and emotionally.

Just a few weeks later, I was broke. And living in Los Angeles without a car ain’t no cakewalk. I phoned my parents and asked for bus fare. Soon I was back on a Greyhound heading east to Nashville.

Shortly after my return, I enrolled at the University of Tennessee in Knoxville, but that did not last long. Nothing lasted long for me in those times.

My parents were in Nashville because my father was working on The Tennessean newspaper. Within a year after my second return, my parents moved to New Orleans. I jumped into the Rambler’s back seat, going along for the ride.

New Orleans. Now that was a place where I felt at home.

For 18 years.

Two wives, one divorce, two (almost three) degrees, the newspaper business, bars, motorcycles, airplanes, raw oysters, Dixie Beer, crawfish and ketchup, hangovers, Mardi Gras … and even more Dixie Beer. It was a city that suited me.

A declining day

streetTHIS IS WHAT late Monday in my hardscrabble neighborhood looked like. It’s the first corner down from the Hacienda.

It’s not Beverly Hills.

Recently, when I got irritated by WordPress, I started looking for some blog alternatives only to discover there’s a reason that WP is the big cheese. The competition isn’t even in the running, at least the free options.

First, I considered returning to Blogger where I opined for years, but on checking that option out, I thought: Yuck! It hasn’t improved a lick.

I really don’t understand why people use it when it’s easy to jump to WordPress. Well, that’s not quite true. I do understand. It’s inertia.

So I will be staying here at WordPress. But during my investigation, I discovered that Tumblr, where I  opened an account years ago and saw nothing of interest, has developed some interesting options.

I have updated my account there, opened a blog with the name of Satellite Moon, and will be posting things there now and then, even though this will remain my main website, Moon No. 1.

At present, I have dropped a few of my favorites from the Pearls of Zapata there, and I’ve added a video and photo, which is what I likely will do more than anything, videos and photos, and Lord knows what else.

The internet is fun. It keeps me off the street and clear of a life of crime. I’m thinking of buying an iPad, for Pete’s sake.