Praise Jeebus
I got the car. I have a car. I am in debt because of a car. I couldn't be happier.
A supposed 1 1/2 hour trip to the shop of the mechanic who sold me the car turned into a six hour test of my nerves. Partly his fault and partly mine. I didn't have the proper insurance set up and he got caught up in some work and didn't have the car inspected when I got there. Then a wire to the starter went bad and he had to repair that. But in the end I left with a much smaller savings account and a nice little white 1989 Honda Civic.
Can I visit you now?
Wednesday, December 10, 2003
Tuesday, December 09, 2003
Monday, December 08, 2003
Car? You betcha
I have been without a car for over a year. The first nine months were freeing and it was interesting to live without a vehicle. The last six months have kinda sucked.
Saturday I went to see a guy about a car. This guy is Palestinian and he used to date my mom. He has a small car repair shop on North Tryon Street and he also buys, repairs and sells cars. I am getting a 1989 Honda Civic. I decided to take a chance and buy an older car I can pay off completely in a few months rather than bind myself to a new car or a more recent used car. Heck, if I can get this baby to last two years it will be worth it.
I am picking it up on Wednsday and will spend all day Friday trying to get my driver's license.
Savannah GA, here I come. I hope she missed me as much as I missed her. I haven't seen a live oak in over two years.
I have been without a car for over a year. The first nine months were freeing and it was interesting to live without a vehicle. The last six months have kinda sucked.
Saturday I went to see a guy about a car. This guy is Palestinian and he used to date my mom. He has a small car repair shop on North Tryon Street and he also buys, repairs and sells cars. I am getting a 1989 Honda Civic. I decided to take a chance and buy an older car I can pay off completely in a few months rather than bind myself to a new car or a more recent used car. Heck, if I can get this baby to last two years it will be worth it.
I am picking it up on Wednsday and will spend all day Friday trying to get my driver's license.
Savannah GA, here I come. I hope she missed me as much as I missed her. I haven't seen a live oak in over two years.
Friday, December 05, 2003
A friend's father
A friend of mine that I used to run with when I moved to Charlotte in the early 90's lost his father Thanksgiving morning. I met this friend over ten years ago and I've known his parents almost as long. I don't remember exactly when I met his parents but I got to know them pretty well. They had me over for Thanksgiving on at least one occasion after my family moved back to Michigan. They're good people.
In honor of the recently deceased John Goebel I would like to relate a story about an adventure I had with him and my friend, his son.
There was a sports bar out on Highway 74 here in Charlotte for a while. It was one of the first big sports bars in the area. It had four or five big screen projection televisions on the wall behind the bar. Each would be showing a different event and you could choose which event to focus on by whichever audio selection you made on the speaker at your table. That speaker in the center of the table always reminded me of the personal jukebox that you used to find in the booths at Big Boy's.
When I say that Jeff and I ran together that means, of course, that in our mid-twenties we were each others main drinking buddy. I loved to watch football with Jeff and one night his father accompanied us to the big sports bar to watch football. I don't really recall why Mr. Goebel came out with us that night. It may have been a big game or because it was the holiday season or both.
After the football game we decided, somehow, to go to a topless bar. I have no idea whose idea it was but we were all drunk and feeling a good intergenerational male bonding vibe and decided it would be best capped off by locating and ogling half-nude women who would dance for our money.
The only topless bar in that part of Charlotte is this scary little place called the Palace Lounge. It's the type of bar you expect to read stories in the paper about concerning bikers knifing each other over the favors of redneck strippers with bad skin and scars. It was the only one within a twenty minute drive so we went, dammit. Sometimes you just gotta.
The Palace Lounge was an authentic shit hole. It was tiny and cramped. There was no real stage to speak of and I don't recall seeing a backstage dressing area for the girls. There was no annoying DJ. The music the girls danced to came from a shitty juke box in the back of the joint. There were four women. Three of them were either ugly or had a body that should not be displayed so (before you get mad I don't dance for tips for a good goddamn reason) and the fourth had a nice body but was almost old enough to be my mother. We got her to dance for us.
Mr. Goebel was having a blast and he was trying to chat up our aged beauty and at one point he smiled and said to her, "You must have seniority here, huh?" I don't recall a time in my life where I have had as hard a time stifling a gut laugh. After about half an hour Jeff and I were able to convince his dad to leave. We ushered him the hell out of there as quickly as we could.
Like I told Jeff on the phone the other night, "I always liked your Dad, he made me laugh."
Jeff made my day when he said, "He liked you too."
A friend of mine that I used to run with when I moved to Charlotte in the early 90's lost his father Thanksgiving morning. I met this friend over ten years ago and I've known his parents almost as long. I don't remember exactly when I met his parents but I got to know them pretty well. They had me over for Thanksgiving on at least one occasion after my family moved back to Michigan. They're good people.
In honor of the recently deceased John Goebel I would like to relate a story about an adventure I had with him and my friend, his son.
There was a sports bar out on Highway 74 here in Charlotte for a while. It was one of the first big sports bars in the area. It had four or five big screen projection televisions on the wall behind the bar. Each would be showing a different event and you could choose which event to focus on by whichever audio selection you made on the speaker at your table. That speaker in the center of the table always reminded me of the personal jukebox that you used to find in the booths at Big Boy's.
When I say that Jeff and I ran together that means, of course, that in our mid-twenties we were each others main drinking buddy. I loved to watch football with Jeff and one night his father accompanied us to the big sports bar to watch football. I don't really recall why Mr. Goebel came out with us that night. It may have been a big game or because it was the holiday season or both.
After the football game we decided, somehow, to go to a topless bar. I have no idea whose idea it was but we were all drunk and feeling a good intergenerational male bonding vibe and decided it would be best capped off by locating and ogling half-nude women who would dance for our money.
The only topless bar in that part of Charlotte is this scary little place called the Palace Lounge. It's the type of bar you expect to read stories in the paper about concerning bikers knifing each other over the favors of redneck strippers with bad skin and scars. It was the only one within a twenty minute drive so we went, dammit. Sometimes you just gotta.
The Palace Lounge was an authentic shit hole. It was tiny and cramped. There was no real stage to speak of and I don't recall seeing a backstage dressing area for the girls. There was no annoying DJ. The music the girls danced to came from a shitty juke box in the back of the joint. There were four women. Three of them were either ugly or had a body that should not be displayed so (before you get mad I don't dance for tips for a good goddamn reason) and the fourth had a nice body but was almost old enough to be my mother. We got her to dance for us.
Mr. Goebel was having a blast and he was trying to chat up our aged beauty and at one point he smiled and said to her, "You must have seniority here, huh?" I don't recall a time in my life where I have had as hard a time stifling a gut laugh. After about half an hour Jeff and I were able to convince his dad to leave. We ushered him the hell out of there as quickly as we could.
Like I told Jeff on the phone the other night, "I always liked your Dad, he made me laugh."
Jeff made my day when he said, "He liked you too."
Wednesday, December 03, 2003
The outhouse on Lime Lake, part two
The public access area we were playing in was lined on two sides by evergreens, one side by the lake and the other by a narrow drive that emptied onto a rural road.
The Voice was deep and mean like my step-father's and all of us were immediately stilled. Those in mid-throw stopped. I had a rock and it dropped thoughtlessly from my hand. We froze for a tick. I looked at Greg, the oldest. He bolted into the woods behind us. We all followed.
We didn't scramble far into the woods because we had all left our bikes in the gravel by the outhouse. You don't desert your steed even in emergencies. I guess we imagined the furious adult would see an empty area and move on. We were wrong.
He saw our bikes laying on the ground and judged correctly that they belonged to kids.
We heard the voice again. He wasn't yelling but he was closer. "Alright, you kids, come on out or I am going to turn your bikes over to the police."
We could see him through the trees. Greg identified him in a hushed voice as the new high school principal. Even those of us that went to the Catholic school had heard of this guy. He was like a old western sheriff that had been brought in to rein in the rowdy northern Michigan rednecks that had been terrorizing the school. When we knew who it was we slunk out of the woods and all we were sure of was that the police would be called and then our parents would be notified but only after this guy was done hurting us.
We lined up orderly in front of him without being told. He examined us with the dispassionate eye of the established authority figure. He asked us our names, what grade we were in and where we lived. I considered lying but gave him my real name. I was pretty sure he didn't know my Dad. He didn't.
When Greg told him he was in seventh grade the principal smiled and said, "I'll be seeing you real soon, won't I?"
"Yessir," Greg stammered.
The rest of the conversation is a haze of dread and terror. I believe he just told us not to damage state property and to get the hell out of there.
He was still at the high school when I got there and I never mentioned the incident to him. I doubt he even remembered it. I do remember him as being someone people might refer to as "tough but fair" like Vince Lombardi. He was very big on hall passes. He'd twist your nose if you didn't have one on you if you were wondering the hall during class.
The public access area we were playing in was lined on two sides by evergreens, one side by the lake and the other by a narrow drive that emptied onto a rural road.
The Voice was deep and mean like my step-father's and all of us were immediately stilled. Those in mid-throw stopped. I had a rock and it dropped thoughtlessly from my hand. We froze for a tick. I looked at Greg, the oldest. He bolted into the woods behind us. We all followed.
We didn't scramble far into the woods because we had all left our bikes in the gravel by the outhouse. You don't desert your steed even in emergencies. I guess we imagined the furious adult would see an empty area and move on. We were wrong.
He saw our bikes laying on the ground and judged correctly that they belonged to kids.
We heard the voice again. He wasn't yelling but he was closer. "Alright, you kids, come on out or I am going to turn your bikes over to the police."
We could see him through the trees. Greg identified him in a hushed voice as the new high school principal. Even those of us that went to the Catholic school had heard of this guy. He was like a old western sheriff that had been brought in to rein in the rowdy northern Michigan rednecks that had been terrorizing the school. When we knew who it was we slunk out of the woods and all we were sure of was that the police would be called and then our parents would be notified but only after this guy was done hurting us.
We lined up orderly in front of him without being told. He examined us with the dispassionate eye of the established authority figure. He asked us our names, what grade we were in and where we lived. I considered lying but gave him my real name. I was pretty sure he didn't know my Dad. He didn't.
When Greg told him he was in seventh grade the principal smiled and said, "I'll be seeing you real soon, won't I?"
"Yessir," Greg stammered.
The rest of the conversation is a haze of dread and terror. I believe he just told us not to damage state property and to get the hell out of there.
He was still at the high school when I got there and I never mentioned the incident to him. I doubt he even remembered it. I do remember him as being someone people might refer to as "tough but fair" like Vince Lombardi. He was very big on hall passes. He'd twist your nose if you didn't have one on you if you were wondering the hall during class.
The outhouse on Lime Lake
Where I grew up in Leelanau County in northern Michigan was a small round lake called Lime Lake. It was a shallow lake with water that always seemed murkier than the water in the dozens of other lakes in the area. I do remember there was a good fishing spot near the middle of the lake where you could see the tops of some still-standing trees. I always thought the thin dead trees that, instead of arriving at, seemed to appear in the water below were creepy. I felt that if I fell out of the boat I would be impaled on those dead knobby fingers.
In the years before middle school my boyhood chums were Greg, Bobby and Brian. They were three brothers who were all eventually sports stars in our high school. Bobby and I were the same age and Greg was a year older than us. Brian was three years younger than me and Bobby. The summer after my sixth grade year the four of us were hanging out at a public access site on the shore of Lime Lake. We were throwing rocks in the water, tromping through the woods, hanging around and just hoping for something to happen that would be stimulating.
Near the graded area that allowed folks to back their boat trailers into the lake there was a wooden outhouse. I don't know who started throwing rocks at the outhouse but before the first person really got started we were all throwing rocks at the outhouse.
Let me clarify that we were not attempting to knock over the outhouse. We were not even trying to put holes in it. There wasn't anyone inside that we were trying to scare, surprise or deafen. Just know that rocks rebounding off a sturdy wooden outhouse make a hell of a satisfying noise. Smaller rocks have more a crack to them. Bigger rocks tend to thud. We started laughing and running around the gravel drive searching for rocks that would fight nicely into our fists.
Then we heard an authoritative, deep and scary male voice holler, "Hey!!"
Part II will come later, man. I gotta get back to work.
Where I grew up in Leelanau County in northern Michigan was a small round lake called Lime Lake. It was a shallow lake with water that always seemed murkier than the water in the dozens of other lakes in the area. I do remember there was a good fishing spot near the middle of the lake where you could see the tops of some still-standing trees. I always thought the thin dead trees that, instead of arriving at, seemed to appear in the water below were creepy. I felt that if I fell out of the boat I would be impaled on those dead knobby fingers.
In the years before middle school my boyhood chums were Greg, Bobby and Brian. They were three brothers who were all eventually sports stars in our high school. Bobby and I were the same age and Greg was a year older than us. Brian was three years younger than me and Bobby. The summer after my sixth grade year the four of us were hanging out at a public access site on the shore of Lime Lake. We were throwing rocks in the water, tromping through the woods, hanging around and just hoping for something to happen that would be stimulating.
Near the graded area that allowed folks to back their boat trailers into the lake there was a wooden outhouse. I don't know who started throwing rocks at the outhouse but before the first person really got started we were all throwing rocks at the outhouse.
Let me clarify that we were not attempting to knock over the outhouse. We were not even trying to put holes in it. There wasn't anyone inside that we were trying to scare, surprise or deafen. Just know that rocks rebounding off a sturdy wooden outhouse make a hell of a satisfying noise. Smaller rocks have more a crack to them. Bigger rocks tend to thud. We started laughing and running around the gravel drive searching for rocks that would fight nicely into our fists.
Then we heard an authoritative, deep and scary male voice holler, "Hey!!"
Part II will come later, man. I gotta get back to work.
Tuesday, December 02, 2003
Big Santa
Near where I work is this wants-to-be-ritzy mall called Southpark. Southpark Mall wants to be ritzy as bad as the Coneheads wanted to be seen as human. On the lawn outside the front entrance of the mall there is a tent set up where you can buy X-mas trees. Standing guard is a giant lit-up Santa Claus. I took a picture of it tonight after work.
Near where I work is this wants-to-be-ritzy mall called Southpark. Southpark Mall wants to be ritzy as bad as the Coneheads wanted to be seen as human. On the lawn outside the front entrance of the mall there is a tent set up where you can buy X-mas trees. Standing guard is a giant lit-up Santa Claus. I took a picture of it tonight after work.
Just a thought
Remember the hostages in Iran being released on the day Ronald Reagan was inaugarated? What do you think the chances are of us capturing Saddam near the date of the upcoming presidential election? Just a thought...
Remember the hostages in Iran being released on the day Ronald Reagan was inaugarated? What do you think the chances are of us capturing Saddam near the date of the upcoming presidential election? Just a thought...
Serial Mom
This weekend Lee came by and hung out at my place. Wendell was there and so was Chris. We played some music, chatted and had a few beers. We then put in Serial Mom and laughed our asses off.
I've seen the film before and I am still amazed by the facial expressions Kathleen Turner is able to wear and how quickly she shifts from her All-American Mom face to her face of murderous rage.
It's also the film what's-his-face wanted to make when he gave the world "Natural Born Killers." It's a great look at our love of gore films and our fascination with serial killers. These two movies came out in the same year, interesting.
Car?
I may also have a car here pretty soon. A guy I know who fixes and resells cars may have a good deal for me. Maybe I can restart my lagging social life.
This weekend Lee came by and hung out at my place. Wendell was there and so was Chris. We played some music, chatted and had a few beers. We then put in Serial Mom and laughed our asses off.
I've seen the film before and I am still amazed by the facial expressions Kathleen Turner is able to wear and how quickly she shifts from her All-American Mom face to her face of murderous rage.
It's also the film what's-his-face wanted to make when he gave the world "Natural Born Killers." It's a great look at our love of gore films and our fascination with serial killers. These two movies came out in the same year, interesting.
Car?
I may also have a car here pretty soon. A guy I know who fixes and resells cars may have a good deal for me. Maybe I can restart my lagging social life.
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