It feels vaguely illicit when I do this. I cruise the streets of a small town, laptop open in the passenger seat, looking for a wireless signal to parasitize. Any more, there are never less than half a dozen or more wireless signals at a given spot. Many are security enabled, locking me out. Some are unsecured, but land you in a fee-zone, like by a MacDonalds or a Starbucks. Then there are those that seem like perfectly good signals, but I get a "Limited or No Connectivity" error, which I don’t understand.
The best bets seem to be at independent or low budget chain motels. Which is where I just was, on the edge of Twentynine Palms in the California desert trying to park inconspicuously by the motel office. I was uploading a mailing list to Andrew Parker Realty in Ballard, who is going to host a show of my Ireland work for this Saturday’s Ballard Art Walk. I also uploaded a photo to a client, then headed back to the motel to pick up Robin (she got a nap) to catch the evening light among the rocks in Joshua Tree National Park. Watch the daily photos—I’ll be uploading one by the side of the road in a few hours.
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