I have no love or deep appreciation of space. It doesn’t thrill me. I have no real interest in ever visiting even though that might be possible by the time I die. I wouldn’t mind going to a five star resort on the Moon. That’d be extra and surely a good story, but I have no desire to shoot off to Mars and die. Why go anywhere without a Hilton or an Olive Garden?
Every summer I have a purpose, a goal, an intent. This summer, I don’t have that. And it’s making me absurdly stressed out. I have places I could go and things I could see, but there is nothing pulling me to a new continent. Romania did for a spell, and it still does, but I’m trying to be fiscally responsible. That’s why I’m not going, and that’s why I’m not going to UCLA. Will somebody please give me buckets of money? It’s for a good cause. I’ll buy a cute archaeological wardrobe and take intense courses and be a better Ben. But until then, I’ll just be the same me in very nice shoes.
LOVE: Turbans: I don’t remember when my passion for turbans began. It was long before one was wrapped around my head on the Giza plateau when I rode a camel […]
LOVE: Apple Watch Activity Monitor: I am still getting into the groove of the Apple Watch. I have alternately loved and loathed it. This depends almost entirely on how well […]