I’d ordinarily have a picture here, a picture of the Scout on a flatbed truck at the end of my driveway, waiting to make a right turn into traffic and out of my life. I’d have a picture of that here, but it wouldn’t capture the ache in my heart at the sight of my girl being taken away, or the sick feeling that I let her down for the last three years because I couldn’t afford to keep her under a roof, someplace warm and dry, so that her cancer wouldn’t get exponentially worse to the point where both doors wouldn’t open. I had to crawl into the liftgate to make sure the transmission was in neutral for the tow truck guy, and that old familiar smell of rubber, vinyl, oil and dirt hit me, the one that made me feel good when I got in and she fired right up, choppy and unsure, until the 30-year-old engine warmed up and flattened to a smooth purr. No picture could capture the feeling of freedom and youth that I felt when coasting down the highway with the top down, barely able to hear myself think over the dull roar of the engine and the whistle of the wind. No picture I took could have described the pang of guilt I felt when I saw that the left rear tire was dragging, leaving a skidmark on the driveway as the guy winched her onto the flatbed, as if to say, I don’t want to leave. I’ve tried to post the last picture I have of her along with the first, but the fucking Internet is slow as dogshit today. I have many pictures of my Scout, and that’s all I have left. She’s on to a good home, where she’ll be restored and loved and treated well, and I have to console myself with that.
This evening I stopped into the Forest Diner for a burger and a cup of coffee. There are fewer things I enjoy more than sitting at a counter and reading a paper with my dinner.
Jeebus, it’s getting so that I can’t listen to NPR anymore without getting totally scared out of my head about the economy. Gas is at $100 a barrel, some Chinese government dude mentioned selling off some of America’s ridiculously huge debt, mortgage companies are imploding like crack whores after a day in the drunk tank, and our state and federal government are bickering over budget shortfalls. Meanwhile, the President is rattling our debt-leveraged sabers at Iran. I wonder when this country’s creditors are going to call in their chips and start repossessing aircraft carriers and national monuments?
It’s funny—all this stuff is happening, and there are still twenty or so retards running around the country shaking hands and making speeches, angling to be the next President. I don’t know what’s going to happen next year, but I’m thinking whoever “wins” is going to get handed a big shit sandwich when they take office. And, if the current talk is to be believed, we’re all going to be in a world of hurt by that point. All of this talk is enough to make me stockpile water and ammunition in the basement to wait out the Big One.
What I’d like to see tomorrow is for the Dow and all the financial analysts and the brokers and the Fed to take five, pass around a big fat joint, snack on some Doritos, and agree to chill the hell out. Because I don’t want to run a business in the middle of a recession.
Not much to write about here at Idiot Central…not much that’s exciting, anyway. Yesterday I spent about twelve hours at my desk working on various projects, and things are progressing slowly but steadily on most fronts. It suddenly got nail-bitingly cold here in the Mid-Atlantic region, cold enough that I’m praying every night to the Fleece Fairy for more layers. Plans to upgrade some of the windows here at the manse have been put on hold until further checks roll in, at the risk of a mutiny led by my chilly feet. Leaves are changing color and beginning to cover the lawn, which means I have to bust out the blower and start bagging before Christmas. Thankfully, I was able to fix the carburetor on our crappy lawnmower last Sunday, and cut the back half for the first time in two months (you laugh, but with the drought, it wasn’t growing anyway). Three hours later, it was covered with leaves again.
Popular Mechanics recently published a list of 25 things that every man should know how to do, and this made me think back to a conversation I had with Jen about her skydiving experience and things we’d like to do before we die. She asked me what was on my list, and I could only think of a few things in the moment, which kind of disturbed me. I know I’ve got a bunch of things I still want to learn to do and experience, and I’ve crossed a couple off the last couple of years, but I haven’t edited The List in a long time. So I’m going to come up with the 2007 version this week and post it here.
In the meantime, I reviewed the Popular Mechanics list and noted what I’ve done and what I’ve not done, for your enjoyment:
1. Patch a radiator hose
I did this in the Scout with a couple of spare hose clamps and some duct tape until I could limp to a Wal-Mart and get a fixit kit. That was a white-knuckle ride home, lemme tell you (the spare was in my basement).
2. Protect your computer
Um, duh.
3. Rescue a boater who has capsized
If righting an overturned canoe counts here, I’ve had plenty of experience. If we’re talking about a big cabin cruiser, I’m throwing ’em a life jacket and calling the Coast Guard.
4. Frame a wall
Done it, several times, over wood and concrete. Concrete is a pain in the ass.
5. Retouch digital photos
Are you kidding?
6. Back up a trailer
I actually did this today in the Jeep. I’ve also done it in a Ford F350 stakebody with no rear visibility on a county highway. Big fun.
7. Build a campfire
Come on. I smelled like woodsmoke every day from the ages of 11 to 16.
8. Fix a dead outlet
Heh, I got a whole house to show you. I also have the remains of a circa 1935 two-prong bakelite outlet which crumbled in my hands as I pulled it from the wall.
9. Navigate with a map and compass
This one is on my list. I have an idea of how it works, but I’d like to get educated.
10. Use a torque wrench
Another one on my list. I know how it works and what the theory is, but I’ve never used one myself.
11. Sharpen a knife
I’ve done this poorly several times, but I know how it’s supposed to work. I’m assuming one needs to practice.
12. Perform CPR
I want to take a class in this. Never done it.
13. Fillet a fish
No, I’ve never fileted a fish. I’d like to learn how.
14. Maneuver a car out of a skid
I can both bust the rear tires loose and get them back under me again.
15. Get a car unstuck
Which do you prefer, snow, mud or sand? I’ve dug out more cars from the snow than I care to remember, and unslogged the Scout from both muddy fields and Assateague sand. Given the choice, I prefer snow.
16. Back up data
Do it every week. Don’t you?
17. Paint a room
If I had a nickel for every room I’ve painted, I could put myself through grad school.
18. Mix concrete
Done this a bit; I even got my future wife to mix it with me, bless her heart.
19. Clean a bolt-action rifle
I don’t know how to do this, but I very much want to learn. Also a revolver and an automatic.
20. Change oil and filter
Yep. A VW bus, Nissan Sentra, Mazda pickup, Honda CRX, the Scout, and the Tortoise. I’ve never changed the Jeep’s oil, though.
21. Hook up an HDTV
*sniff* I don’t own one, but I’d like to practice.
22. Bleed brakes
I did this once, reading from a shop manual, and was very nervous about it. But I’m still alive, and the car stopped when I told it to.
23. Paddle a canoe
Yep, I’ve done this quite a bit too, and sunk them as well (see above). I’d like to own my own canoe someday, too.
24. Fix a bike flat
Many flats been changed, both in the woods and in the city.
25. Extend your wireless network
Is this for real? I can think of so many other things that are more important than this. For example:
1. Drive a stickshift. Then learn to double-clutch a stickshift.
2. Cook a steak dinner
3. Disassemble and clean a carburetor
4. Select the proper wine for dinner
5. Handmake an anniversary/birthday card
6. Change a tire (it astounds me how many men I know cannot do this)
7. Plant a garden and grow vegetables
8. Shingle a roof
9. Hang drywall
10. Cut, install and sweat copper piping.
11. Wash and fold laundry (I’m still working on this one)
12. Iron a dress shirt without burning it
13. Hang a door
14. Change a diaper
15. Play a musical instrument
16. Change brake pads
17. Give a foot, back and scalp massage
What have I missed?
Apparently, our little ‘ville is #49 on Money Magazine’s top places to live in 2007. It must be the picturesque Friendly’s downtown that tipped the scales. Or, maybe it’s the drunks stumbling out of Bar at 9AM. Whatever their criteria, the fact remains: we still don’t have a good restaurant within walking distance of the house. (Word has it that the one restaurant that’s actually worth a damn has been chasing off other prospective restaurateurs with obscure liquor ordinance rules, something that has soured us on ever ordering crabs from them again.)
I was talking with a client who’s in a semi-related field a few weeks ago, and he mentioned the recent implosion of the Baltimore advertising community. He compared this town to New York and DC, and said that we’ve never fostered a real advertising community here because all the shops in town are founded on a burning hatred of one another. Everyone steals clients from everyone else, the employees bounce from place to place, burn out, and eventually all the firms blow up and reform into other firms.
If that’s how it actually is, then they should take a chapter from the bustling restaurant scenes downtown, in Fell’s Point, and over in Canton. Having one good restaurant in town is great, until the regular patrons get sick of the menu. Having two restaurants across the street from each other is better, because A. if one is full, people can go to the other, and B. people flock to areas where multiple restaurants are concentrated. We are Americans. We want choices, because we’re fickle Wal-Mart shoppers, not Soviet citizens waiting in lines for soap and toilet paper. Look at every homogenized strip mall erected in the last twenty years: there’s a mexican chain, a steakhouse chain, and an italian chain. Around them are smaller fast food chains. None of them are hurting; on the contrary, there’s a two-hour wait for an overcooked, underflavored slab of meat, and there’s only Miller Lite on tap. But there are choices, and that makes us happy.
There is strength in numbers, in both advertising and local restaurants. When an area has enough of one thing to reach a critical mass (quality advertising shops or locally-owned restaurants) then people will start showing up. People will come from the other side of the country and the other side of town to check out the scene. And if the food is good, they’ll keep coming back.
Sorry I haven’t been around here much lately. Just as I was getting a little daily momentum going, life got very, very busy. I’m on the road next week, and I’ll try to find interesting things to take pictures of in the Land of the Rat. And then, hopefully, things will slow down a little.
We went to see the new Harry Potter movie this weekend, and everybody in our party enjoyed it very much. I’m going to have to read all those books after all.
Usually, after the Catonsville Parade is over with, Jen and I spend the evening recovering from heat prostration in the comfort of air conditioning, with eight or nine beers each. It’s usually at this time that we make solemn promises to each other that we will NEVER do the parade party again, because of the ever increasing preparation time it takes and the triple-digit heat that always accompanies Independence Day. (Jen wryly pointed out that our prep time increases with the addition of completed rooms in the house. By my calculations, when the whole house is finished, it will take us 364 days to get the place ready for the parade, and then the whole mess will start over again the following day.)
Somewhere around Thanksgiving we start talking about it again, and by Christmas we’ve forgotten our promises and begun making lists. Then, somewhere around the middle of June, she pokes me and asks if I’ve remembered that it’s bearing down on us like a crazed rhinoceros. I give her a look of dazed panic, she gives me the oh-for-the-love-of-GOD-you’re-daft look, and we start preparing.
This year’s celebration was a departure from years past on several fronts. The first crucial difference was that we decided not to make so much food: we bought burgers, dogs, and buns, and made a gallon or two of guacamole. And that was it. In years past, we’ve been cutting and mixing and baking up until the sirens start up outside, which usually means we’re hosed.
The second difference was that it was a balmy 85° which made human life tolerable. In years past, after having busted ass for the week leading up to the party, by the time the floats have disappeared and the crowds have dispersed, most of our guests are arranging transport to local hospitals for treatment of heat exhaustion. This year we had a thunderstorm which punctuated the end of the parade, cooled everyone down, and washed away plans for the local fireworks display. That was kind of a drag—we’d been hoping we could convince some friends to check it out with us.
Taking full advantage of the weather and the rain date, last night we packed a bag with water, a blanket, camera gear, and bug spray, and set up a spot on the grounds of the Children’s Home of Catonsville to view the spectacle. The field was covered with families, children, dogs, and hooligans lighting off bargain fireworks, so we figured we were in good shape. However, as the official display began, we realized our vantage spot was behind too many trees (they weren’t shooting them very high, either) and we hiked down the street to camp out in front of someone’s house, where the view was much better. I’m proud to say I didn’t spend the entire time behind the lens of my camera, even though I snapped about fifty shots; somewhere in the last 3/4 of the show I leaned over and gave my wife a kiss as the colors lit her face full of wonder and beauty.
In 2003, I asked Jen to be my wife in a quiet, misty square in Georgia, and I was lucky enough to marry her a year later. We’ve had a hell of a trip since then, watching many things come to a close and enjoying many new beginnings together.
On Saturday we went to Sotto Sopra to celebrate our Savannahversary and enjoyed a wonderful dinner, then spent Sunday in the yard together planting our garden, cleaning out the beds, and trimming the hedges out front. While this doesn’t seem like a very anniversary-ish way to spend a weekend, we were looking forward to the time together, away from the office, planting vegetables in our little plot of earth.
I have learned so many wonderful and amazing things from my wife, it would be impossible to list them all here. In many ways, when I met her, I was like those seedlings: full of promise, and ready to grow. We have carefully tended to our garden and made it stronger, taller, and hardy. For all the mistakes we may have made, we’ve learned how to make things better and help each other bloom. I still feel like I have miles to go, but the person I am today is a long way away from who I was four years ago, and I thank her for all the guidance and support she’s given me.
Thank you, baby, for marrying me, and for the three great years we’ve had together.
(Of course, the Sky Pilot is laughing at us, because yesterday was a balmy 70° while our wedding day felt like the surface of the sun. With locusts.)