Guilty of caring too much

Tomorrow, or more accurately, tonight is departure time for WDW '09 round 2. This is the first trip in 3 years that will not be centered around running a marathon. Accordingly, I've actually been able to look forward to this trip as a vacation and not an exercise in stupidity. So to speak. Which is not to say those recent trips haven't been fun and filled with much levity involving reasonably sane adults interacting with folks dressed as cartoon characters. It's just that before the marathon there's the fact that knowing I've got a good 5-hour run ahead of me which sort of puts a damper on my whimsy. The bulk of the post-race visit is spent trying to recover the energy I left somewhere between mile 18 and 21. The energy is usually found huddled in a corner, shivering and cursing me.

In order to squeeze the maximum amount of hap, hap, happiness into this trip, I have informed Marisol that the bus will be leaving at 4 am. Her response: We can leave earlier if you want. What a gal. My heart skipped a beat. But no, a 4 am call should put us through the gates around lunch. More to the point, it also means that my companions could (they won't) sleep much of the way down there, and no stops will be needed. Snacks will be provided and any major hunger issues will be dealt with via drive-thru. Should nature call, there will be a bottle. If privacy or discreetness is required, I recommend Depends and will roll down the windows. If we have a blow out, God forbid, I'll drive on the rim until we get there. Roadblocks? I'll be driving a Tahoe, 'nuff said. In short, my attitude towards driving is like being on the lam but without the danger of guns and knowing that I'll be headed to federal-pound-me-in-the-ass prison when I get caught.

I did surprise myself yesterday by going ahead and packing. I'd like to think it was to get ahead of the game, but it was really so when asked if I was packed I could say, "Indeed I am." Right on cue this morning, the EPJ had scarcely closed the door before the inevitable was asked. "So Jerms, are you packed?" She had already started the follow-up, "Well, when are your going to?" when I cut her off. "Yep, yesterday afternoon while you were probably taking a siesta. So in yer face, EPJ. I am unstoppable." She then fired me.

So while the world is sleeping this evening, I'll be heading out for Florida. I will be taking my laptop, but may not have internet access. Disney used to charge for in-room access which is ridiculous. Andy would say it's par for the course. Hopefully, there are some free wi-fi spots around. I love my readers dearly and generally don't put a price on our relationship but $10 is $10. If I was made out of money, it's all gone into this trip. With any luck there will be daily updates, but who knows. Regardless, I'll give a wrap up when I get back because if there's anyone who deserves to know what I did on vacation, it's random strangers or folks who stumbled on here through an internet search for learning French. In the meantime, world, please do not blow up.

What if it is cheese, indeed

In all the hubbub surrounding my car blowing up, deciding to get a new car, talking with actual, real, live salesman, deciding which car to purchase, eating several delicious bowls of tapioca pudding, entertaining second thoughts on a decision (cars, that is. When it comes to pudding, Je ne regrette rien.), ignoring obtrusive phone calls from overeager salesmen, wondering why I thought spending 5 figures for a new vehicle made more sense than spending barely 4 figures to get my Jetta fixed, and ultimately, scrapping the whole idea in order to better enjoy the Tour de France, I neglected to mention that I'm going to Disney World. In fact, one week from today that's where I'll be along with Marisol and Buster.

Sometime ago I had this crazy notion that I would try to take them this summer. Partly because they'd never been and partly because I'm always looking for an excuse to go back. I was not particularly demanding in my planning but did have a few modest goals in mind. Namely, go when the crowds would be their largest and the Florida temps would be their most hellish. I figure what better place to be miserable than "The happiest place on Earth." After much thought and prayer, I chose the final week in July. Yes, I am awesome. I know.

As this is Marisol's & Buster's first to Mouseville, I wanted them to get the full experience. And that includes long lines, tired feet and screaming kids. I can't lie. It's great fun when you can hop on rides with little wait or march right up to Mickey and shake his hand without having to kick a rugrat or two out of the way. But in order to truly appreciate those moments, one has to earn it. To be in the shit, as we said back in 'Nam. Admittedly, even on the best of days at WDW, Andy would probably rather be in Vietnam but then he's not invited. He (and us) will get our chance with Baby Zeigler in a few years. Andy's already started popping Valium for that trip.

Much like last fall's trip abroad, the EPJ has been expecting my bags to have been packed sometime ago. Each morning for the past 6 months, I've been asked if I was packed. Much like last fall's trip abroad, I expect my bags will get packed sometime Monday night. Unless the EPJ comes over sooner and does them, of course.


Yeah, I know I'm a day late. It took that long to clear the publishing clearing house. Which is not the same as Publisher's Clearing House, just so you know.

Finding out your birthday is wrong

It had been pretty slow around here today which is generally the way we prefer it. It's not that we're lazy, but after all these years we've found that a boring workplace is a happy workplace. Sometimes work must be done though. Even on Friday afternoon, especially when there's a wedding to be held.

I've never thought of Friday after lunch as being the optimum time for a wedding. I've also never really had dreams of getting married in the friendly confines of these concrete walls either by the EPJ. I'm the first to admit she does a bang-up job giving the vows and the happy couple do save a fortune on all those cute cocktails wieners and booze. Plus, a moderate amount of amount of our weddings stick. Not sure how our figures stack up with the national rate, but we've only had one that didn't make it through the honeymoon. As a result, we briefly considered implementing a "first week free" policy but ultimately went with "all sales final." It's all about the benjamins with us.

The couple just now were a gregarious enough bunch, full of life. The groom even mentioned they'd have a stripper tonight and I was invited over. I thought this quite neighborly and was definitely intrigued. Unfortunately, he never said where "over" was. Dang. My evening would have been set otherwise. I did mean to ask him if strip clubs give group discounts for wedding receptions. My guess is yes. A recent survey of newlyweds found that the one thing most missed at their reception was the pole dancing of Kandy Kane. Surprising.

Before I could get the full details on the post-wedding throwdown, he started telling the assembled throng about how he'd just gotten Season 1 of Alf on DVD. Like most dudes, I loves me some nekkid women. But when you start talking Alf, we're talking a-whole-nother level of bliss.

Since some of the assembled throng were unfamiliar with Alf (whatup with that?) a brief explanation was in order. He's "like an anteater but an alien" was all that was offered. It's doubtful a career as a Hollywood pitchman awaits, but I can't argue with his succinctness. This was enough to grab the assembled throngs attention, and he continued on telling exactly how he got Season 1 of Alf on DVD. It involved a van or something. Seriously. Feeling a connection with me since that whole stripper business, he asked me if I liked Alf. "Does the Pope poop in the woods? Melmac (Alf's home planet) is like my second home." We then high-fived as I wondered just how my life had arrived at this point.

Alas, his bride-to-be didn't share his enthusiasm. A development that could present trouble later on after the stripper and everybody else leaves, but right now I think he's OK. May want to hold off on Season 2 of Alf on DVD for right now though.

Regardless, he knows how to save face. He quickly added to no one in particular that he's also got Season 1 of Walker, Texas Ranger on DVD as well. Whether or not this involved the same van as Season 1 of Alf on DVD I don't know, but it definitely lifted the bride's spirits. That's understandable. I often think of Chuck Norris' moustache when I feel blue. A hunch that she'll be thinking of that moustache a lot in the coming days, weeks and months.

I no longer have a feel for my automobile

Hopefully the blogger godz won't destroy this post. Still not sure what happened yesterday but I'm pretty sure someone just didn't want my truth to be heard. Please know that even though the posted post was short, I spent much time crafting a much better one that probably said even less.

Since this car-buying process has dragged on for a few weeks, i.e. too long, I'm coming close to pulling the plug on it for now. Maybe I'll just get the compressor on the Jetta fixed and drive it for a few more years until the rest of the engine explodes, taking me and half of the town with it. There's something to be said for going out in a literal blaze of glory. That you'd be dead is probably what I would say, but others may have a different take. I digress.

While nothing is set in stone, that's the direction I'm leaning towards today. This time yesterday I was lining up the finances. So who knows what tomorrow holds. By then, I may be in the market for a hovercraft or the Earth may have exploded. I suspect neither will be the case.(There seems to be a recurring theme of explosions today) Ultimately, I guess I decided I couldn't make Sophie's Choice after all: Taurus or Aztek. Both are of such a quality that to purchase one, or both, would be to deprive some other sad, sappy sucker of the thrill of driving the median of what Detroit has to offer. I just can't do that. I love people too much.

And while I was prepared to throw around the mad sums necessary to procure such a vehicle, my miserly ways appear to have won this battle. The war is by no means lost. It's just going to be more of an Israeli-Palestinian millennia spanning conflict than Israel's uber-concise Six Day War with Egypt, Jordan and Syria. Maybe I should get Netanyahu to help me buy a car.

The EPJ was reading of my car search the other day and though her opinion was not requested, offered "Germs, I really like that Aztek." These words speaks for themselves on a number of different levels. However, it was with great gentleness and humility that I told her I'm not really looking at the Aztek or Taurus. I need something hipper, brasher, bolder. A Toyota Camry, for instance, which is also not on my list. I hated to add to an already broken-hearted EPJ that no Ford Taurus' have been sold in 3 years though the line is still in production. As for the Aztek, Pontiac halted the line in 2005 after selling approximately 17 units. Apparently, they could have sold 18 if they had just held on 4 more years.

P.S. The EPJ has a sore throat. She wants you to pray for her. She actually requested I put that notice in this post. Not sure if the prayer request is for throat healing or just to help her be a more awesome person. It might as well be for the latter because I'm pretty sure the sore throat is God's punishment for liking the Aztek.

Laziness pt. 16

Apologies, I had a super nice, funny and oh so clever post that probably would have changed not only your world but the entire world we live in. It had already rocked my world and was everything that quality time wasting should be. With all the humility in the world I can safely say it was probably why you were born. Alas, blogger decided to crash for no apparent reason and the autosave failed. If you're given to hate, feel free to direct your blame towards whichever group you hate. Personally, I'm pretty sure it's these clowns below fault. Just look at that smug satisfaction. Regardless, it is lost to the mists of time much like El Dorado, Atlantis and the Ark of the Covenant. Boy, am I mad. Grrr. Grrr. Grrr. See?

Your account at a glance

The EPJ is gone today. Something about taking her granddaughter (lil' EPJ)to her first movie. This was apparently going to be a big deal. For the EPJ anyway. I suspect at 2 1/2, lil' EPJ will be more interested in the comfy seats in which to nap than any celluloid action. (Warning: predictable Hollywood slam straight ahead) Given what's available at your local overpriced, neon-encapsulated megaplex these days, that's just as well.

Nevertheless, the EPJ quizzed me intermittently about what would be appropriate for this particular outing. My first choice was Drag Me To Hell (which was actually pretty good for a mainstream, modern horror flick, btw), partly for it's title; I thought it to be fairly apropos. Plus, I figured it would probably scar lil' EPJ for life, or at the very least ensure that she'll not request to see another movie until she's about 24 years old. As a result, the entire EPJ clan would save a little scratch and be able to buy that pony for lil's 8th birthday. I'd feel really good about myself as well, which is probably the most important factor. Self esteem, it's not just for winners anymore. Alas, DMTH has already vacated screens across America so I think she decided to go with my second choice, the slightly more kid-friendly, Ice Age 3.

Moving on...

The great car search continues. While I am closer chronologically, I can't say that I'm all that much closer to an actual decision. One of the more good aspects of the interwebs is the ability to do everything but the test drive in the comfort of my pajamas. True, I could do that also but fear it might cause me to be taken less serious as a customer. There are times when being misunderestimated is a good thing, but the cutthroat world of car haggling is not one of them. I need to be completely on guard and wise to all the nefarious ways of the car salesmen. A car dealership is, as George Constanza correctly stated, "Thunderdome", a place where the normal rules of society are not so much disregarded as nonexistent and floor mats cost extra.

Salesman generally do not have the most favorable reputations. Most people would rather walk in front of a train if it meant avoiding listening to the sales pitch of some fabbo new product. Yes, people literally would rather die than have that Sham Wow tool screaming in their ear. And while I understand it's is the car salesman's job, I generally have no desire to be bombarded with all sorts of meaningless facts and figures. I couldn't care less about safety, foot pounds of torque and what have you. I just want to drive a car that looks cool and look cool driving a car because, let's face it, I'm not getting any younger. If oversized rims and curb feelers will stave off middle age for a couple of more years I can go along with that. So I can do all manner of research and build the perfect machine before even stepping onto a showroom floor.

In short, I can avoid Thunderdome until the last moment. There's probably a good life philosophy in there somewhere as well. Unlike for the floor mats, I'm not even going to charge extra.

Here in my car I feel safest of all

The search for a new car continues. I've pretty much narrowed it down to a couple of choices: a 1998 Ford Taurus and a 2001 Pontiac Aztek. I realize this violates my previously stated anti-American policy, but let me tell you after driving both of these dream machines, the rough part isn't going to be choosing one. It's going to be knowing I'll never get back all those wasted years of not riding in such style. Detroit, I take back everything bad I've ever said bad about you. Except for all that murder capital business. I know sometimes you just gotta kill someone, but the law's the law.

The Taurus (seen below--Old Glory is a nice touch, no?) is probably the more sensible of the two choices. The resignation that oozes from the car's everyman design is all too relative to me. The plush cloth seats, AM/FM radio/cassette remind of a simpler time when the endless choices of satellite radio and ipods were solely the realm of old Flash Gordon serials. What the engine lacks in power it more than makes up for in safety and adequate gas mileage. Plus, I shan't have to worry about those pesky speeding tickets anymore. And should they ever be needed, I feel confident that the seat belts and driver airbag--both standard--will provide sufficient protection. The older I get the more safety and economy counts over power and general badassness. This is one of the more boring, if useful, characteristics of adulthood. In other words, kids, kill yourself now.

I want to be adult and sensible and everything that the world expects of me but this Aztek pulls at my devil-may-care side with a grip that is reminiscent of something that has a powerful grip. Though I have a general aversion to fun, I'm not wholly allergic. Indeed, this hair does come down occasionally; the Aztek is the perfect vehicle to drive me to such points that approach frivolity. A little too hip to be just an SUV. A little too cool to be a station wagon. It's the perfect vehicle for any rapidly approaching middle age dolt who wants to drive around in a vehicle that assures no one will ever say, "Hey, let's take your car tonight." That's a sort of exclusivity that money can't buy. Well, technically it can, but I trust my point is understood.

I've always had a soft spot in my heart for titanic failures like Crystal Pepsi and, um, the Titanic. Though it has yet achieved the cultural status of those mistakes, I like to think of the Aztek (above, hastily on its way to be traded for scrap) as the Edsel of my generation. However, I'm fairly certain there were more Edsels on the road at its peak than Azteks at its. That may still be the case. I can only hope that the Aztek's designer got the firing for which he/she was obviously going.

Since buying a car is one of the more expensive purchases I'll make this year, I'm not going to rush. I may insouciantly buy that mink stole, but a car is entirely different. Its purchase requires deep thought, research and some consultation with a higher power of my choosing. The bright side of narrowing things down to such contenders is that I can take my time. There's little danger either machine will be sold before next Christmas because folks nowadays place too much significance on aesthetics. That's an unfortunate side effect of modern life and one that I'd like to change. Michael Jackson told us lo those many years that change, for him, started with the man in the mirror. He also told that if you ain't bad, you ain't nothing, but that's not really relevant, I suppose. After all, we are the world.

Adorableness pt. 2

This is Sam. While you coo at his adorable Mickey ears he will claw your face off with his Wolverine claws. There will be blood.

He thought of cars

Fun fact #1: There are precisely two local people who drive a Volkswagen. Whether this is because most folks around here hate affordable German engineering or simply hate Germans in general is currently unknown.

Fun fact #2: Both of said drivers work in the same office. I drive a Jetta. My radio is held in place with a screwdriver whose handle has faded due to 9+ years of exposure. The EPJ drives a bug. I suspect it goes without saying, but it's a convertible. I got my car in 1999. Hers is a demon from 2007. Neither have flames running down the sides. Both have similar mileage. This is surprising as I hate the environment far more than her and often drive around aimlessly for hours.

Fun fact #3: We may both be about to get new vehicles. Ooh, scary. The compressor in my car has exploded or something. Though my grease monkey credentials are a little lacking, I believe the compressor is an important part of the internal combustion engine. This, as the kids say, sucks. As for the EPJ, I'm not really sure why she needs a new one. Perhaps because July came in on a Wednesday. As I told Andy the other night, when it comes to me getting a new car, I can see the starting line in the distance. Using that same metaphor, I suppose the EPJ has just signed up for a race that may be held at some undetermined point. Impulse being one of her stronger assets.

I've made no decisions on exactly which international motor conglomerate will get my hard-earned dollar. However, it will almost certainly be an international because I hate Detroit or maybe it's America. Marisol asked me if I had any ideas and I replied I wasn't really sure. A combination of simplicity, sensibility and sophistication are my main objectives. I told her I was leaning towards a Maserati. I've always had a thing for them since Joe Walsh talked about his in "Life's Been Good."

Chevrolet has brought back the Camaro just in time for its Chapter 11 fire sale so that's an option too. I would be willing to break my anti-American stance if I could wrap my racing gloves around the wheel of that screaming yellow beast. Marisol would undoubtedly have to share me with every female, and most males, I come in contact with. But in order to be seen in such a sweet, sweet ride I think she'd be cool with that. She'd have to bring the Journey though.

As an aside, I can think of no better way to save GM. Bring back a car whose potential market consists entirely of 16-year old spoiled "princesses" and over-tanned, lunk-headed dudes struggling through some mid-life crisis. Perhaps that's why I'm not a CEO.