Thirty-seven years ago today, I bought a one-way plane ticket from New York to San Francisco. I got on the plane with my guitar, my sleeping bag, a small backpack with maybe three changes of clothes, and three hundred dollars in travellers' checks, which comprised my entire net worth.
I had no plan, beyond a vague desire to make my way to Oregon, where I imagined myself playing guitar for beautiful long-haired women outside a geodesic dome in a clearing deep in the forest.
It's OK, you can laugh now.
Anyway, that's not what happened. Other things happened, and many of those things were actually a great deal more dramatic and intense than my lazy, fuzzy vision.
But it all started with buying that plane ticket on that one sweltering afternoon in Queens.
GERONIMO!
I had no plan, beyond a vague desire to make my way to Oregon, where I imagined myself playing guitar for beautiful long-haired women outside a geodesic dome in a clearing deep in the forest.
It's OK, you can laugh now.
Anyway, that's not what happened. Other things happened, and many of those things were actually a great deal more dramatic and intense than my lazy, fuzzy vision.
But it all started with buying that plane ticket on that one sweltering afternoon in Queens.
GERONIMO!
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