Hiking is for everyone, not just for those like us who are toned, able-bodied, in possession of favorable genes, and have the money to constantly travel. There’s something for you too, we’re almost sure of it, and we want to help you find the perfect location and all the gear you will need for your next adventure. Or at least feed your armchair fantasies as you dream about what you may (or may not) do when it stops raining.

2008–2011: Writers’ Strike & Depression

I thought I’d get paid more after the writers’ strike because that’s what me and my bedazzled Writers’ PAs are the backbone of the industry! signs were for. But a bunch of writers’ PA jobs were cut, so I had an important decision to make: move back to my parents’ mansion in Bethesda or dumpster dive for Subway sandwiches near the Santa Monica Pier. So, dumpsters it is!

Last night I couldn’t sleep. The holidays do that to me. I went downstairs, figuring I’d make myself a little snack. A chocolate chip cookie and milk, maybe – nothing crazy. But even before my hand gripped the stainless-steel handle of my smart fridge, its display lit up: Wouldn’t it be better to just call your mother?

“It’s two-a.m.” I said. “I’m just hungry.”

There they are again, unboxing their fucking noise-makers. Attaching long orange snakes from my walls to their things, horridly neon things. God, what an endless din. I watch them through gaps in the lath, peeking out between its cracks. Rattling vibrations shake me loose from my nap and I slipped through a fresh hole in the plaster.

Leila’s front wheel wobbles when she cycles over a crack in the tarmac. A car behind blares its horn as she struggles to steady the books in her basket and keep her summer dress from flaring up.

‘You daft old cow,’ the driver yells as he overtakes. He waves a flabby arm at her, blurry tattoos stretched all out of shape. She gives him the finger back.