There’s nothing like buying the love of your life a Valentine. Just don’t tell your wife about it.
I didn’t get a golden ticket this year. I don’t get to hang out with the Veruca Salts and Augustus Gloops of this world. I don’t even get platform shoes, a green wig and sing questionable songs. Instead, I went to the NAIAS at Cobo Hall with the unwashed masses. I may need to shower.
This internet thingy is…. interesting. When I’m not looking at videos of cute kittens (which may or may not be a euphemism) or showing 1980s music videos to my kids, I watch car videos. I recently watched this video of a Corvette crashing followed by another video of a Corvette crashing. I would normally make a joke at this point, but Corvette drivers wouldn’t get it anyway, so I’ll just let that pass.
Ahh… Christmas. That special time of year. There’s a certain something in the air that makes me just a bit… crankier. Is it all the preparation? The stress looking for presents? The unrealistic expectations of holiday cheer? Nope, it’s all those @#$%^&* shoppers out on the road.
The entrance ramp was waiting for me, beckoning. It’s a challenging, imperfect ramp. It’s choppy in places, marked by crumbling asphalt. There’s a pothole on the racing line (I have to remember that). The first curve is slightly off-camber, and the guardrail is pretty close on the exit.
Traffic finally clears, and I make my turn.
“Every curve is exciting, if you go fast enough.”
–EMan’s sister
There’s a Simpsons episode (season 16, episode 13, “Mobile Homer,” for those that care) where Homer and Marge are on the freeway chasing Bart and Lisa, who are in a recreational vehicle. Marge is looking ahead and says, “I can’t see past all the SUVs.”
I’ve already mentioned how much I like rubber. This tire fetish of mine is seasonal—I get afflicted whenever I switch the tires on my cars. This November was no different. Over the Thanksgiving break, I changed the tires in two of my cars, switching to winter tires in preparation for that dreaded white stuff, snow.
Every car I’ve owned has had a manual transmission. I don’t see this changing in the foreseeable future, as my wife won’t let me buy a Ferrari 458 Italia, which doesn’t come with a manual transmission. Something about not willing to sell our house and live in a cardboard box. Women.
I’ve just returned from a week long trip from Germany, and experienced something that makes me even crankier than driving—flying through Charles de Gaulle (CDG) airport in Paris.