I sold a bunch of bulky items from the basement on my steps yesterday. I feel very virtuous about this, for having passed on great gear at ludicrously low prices; but not entirely philanthropic, since I did make some cash too. In a very Burning Man sort of way, it was just the sort of yard sale that I would want to attend. Electronics, blacklights, a unicycle, a dome covering, a sleeping bag. The sort of event from which spouses had to be dragged.

Dylan, the guy who bought the boom box, was so happy. It was one of my first Californian possessions and still works great. He's a yorkshireman, of the african-drumming, yoga teaching, california dance scene hippie variety. He wanted to use it to play dance beats while busking djembe at Powell St. plaza. Last time he played solo two people put Ben Franklin's in the hat, so he had high hopes for the results with boom box backing.

Another of my first Californian possessions was the color changing, floral arrangement fiber optic lamp, which Laila happily took off my hands. She was entranced by it's rotating majesty in just the way that I had been when I first got it home 13 years ago, after wheeling it through the streets of Berkeley perched on top of my very narrow yard-sale bed. Oh happy day - the burden of my physical possessions has lightened, and they all went to good homes.