Field of View

If you've never done it before, wherever you are, stop and focus on one area without moving your head or your eyes around. You'll soon become acutely aware of every swaying blade of grass, every crawling ant,.. every movement, every change, in your field of view. I think the same is true of friends and family and anyone or anything close to us.

Everything normal about these people and relationships slips out of focus and every... single... flaw... in our friends and family members sticks out like a sore thumb, no matter how small or insignificant. This is natural, but it is also something to be cautious of.

Let's not take the best of these familiar people and places for granted so much that all we can see is the worst in them.

HandShake

I don't know who in the hell told an entire generation of men that, to prove their manhood, they'd need to master the death-grip handshake and apply it every time they introduce themselves to another man. Seriously, if you want to prove you have a strong grip and are, therefore, a strong man, don't take the weak route of grabbing my FINGERS and squeezing.

Shake my HAND, jackass.

I don't do measuring contests.

Now BACK to ME!

Today, I almost embarrassed the shyt out of my girlfriend because I'm the kind of person who would (and did) do the following:

I was picking out a new body spray to keep fresh after all the bicycling I'm doing, these days, and the Old Spice brand reminded me of the commercials with the Black dude (y'know, "I'm on a horse").

Right then, a young, white couple walked by. The young lady was near me and her man was approaching. I spontaneously turned to her and said, "Look at your man. Now back to me. Now back to him. Now BACK to ME..."

She smiled. He nervously grinned.

They didn't know what the FUQUE I was talking about!

I briefly explained that it was a popular commercial, then suggested they ask their friends about "I'm on a horse." I then allowed them take their nervous, half-sincere chuckling back to the safety of strangerdom, as I looked for my girlfriend, to tell her the story.

"Sadly," she's so easily embarrassed (or so gun-shy from my silliness) that she even winced and turned away when I asked our cashier if he was familiar with the commercial.

All I did was ask. Oh well.

Always Look in the Box

Take a good look at that picture. That is a picture of what I received when I ordered a pepperoni and sausage pizza. Under the pepperoni and sausage is not cheese, but crust.

Yes.

Dude actually got some dough, put some pepperoni and sausage on it, then put that dry $#!+ in the oven, boxed it, and served it up to me. Luckily, I took a look at it first (a necessity for me, these days, no matter where I go).

That's the short version. More on the other layers to saga, another time.


Oh, and to be fair (although I'd rather not mention this as it's usually too distracting) I ordered a pepperoni and sausage pizza without cheese of any kind. I did this because cheese and I don't get along and because ordering "a little" of anything can result in ... well, anything.

But I certainly didn't order bread and meat. That's called a "sandwich."

He Lives!

I submit PROOF that I still live.

(click pic to enlarge)

Me and my Palm Prē,* that is.




* - Which I used to take the picture.

New Av?

I'm considering updating my avatar/photo, but it's hard to get a good picture - especially without someone else holding the camera. (Also, I'm too lazy to pull out the tripod.)

click to enlarge

This is the one I'm considering, at the moment, but I've got reservations.

How Bizarre

Let me start out by saying I'm no mumbler. When I'm relaxed, I'm sure my pronunciation and projection fall short of perfection but I'm far from one of those people who chews up his words and upchucks gibberish.

So.

Today, I biked to a grocery store and, as so often happens, found that I'd crossed the threshold... to the Twilight Zone - apparently marked in the real world by motion detectors and automatic, glass doors.

I saw a large, young, Black male who I suppose was a greeter or sample offerer. Since I was hoping to find a left-over newspaper to mark last night's historic events, I walked over to him prepared for bad news, but not expecting a negative encounter.

I asked, "If you had any newspapers left, where would they be?"
"Oh, you didn't hear what happened, last night?" Heh. Okay, he's got a quick wit (or he's been wearing that one-liner out, all day); that's cool.

He began walking to my left and gave me the impression that I should follow.
"Boy I don't know what this world is comin' to..." I looked at him. "But you're probably just as disappointed as I am," he continued.

I figured he, like most, was talking about the election and, although I know darned well there are young, Black conservatives and Republicans, I didn't expect him to be a card-carrying member of either club.

I couldn't help prompting him for clarification, "What do you mea..."
"Oh. We don't have none left," he offered, with a redundancy that dwarfed the very large, very empty newspaper rack we'd been approaching.
"Oh well. I figured I was out of luck."

"But yeah, this world is going down the tubes."
Ahh, we're back on-track now. "Howso?"

"Huh?"
"What's wrong with the world?"

"What?"
"Nevermind."

"Yeah, this world, y'know, it's a mess."
"Yes, you said that. Why?"

"Huh?"

It was the kind of "huh?" with which I'd become far too familiar. It was the default response used by a subset of the population whose habits were the conversational equivalent of salting one's food before tasting it. It was the cart before the horse - a request for clarification that preceded confusion.

This is usually followed by a statement that quickly reveals that the listener indeed heard what was said... right around the time the speaker has begun repeating himself.

Patience may not be my greatest virtue, but I felt I'd given this young man too many irreplaceable seconds of my life and in-return I'd gotten nothing but pissed.

As a parting gift, I gave him a look that even a dog can communicate to someone who does something so stupid or confusing that one figures it would HAVE to make more sense when viewed sideways:

"R u stoopid?"

It Has Begun

Barack Obama won the Presidency of the United States of America.

And Florida went Blue*.

I couldn't be happier. Actually, I could. I should have been elated, last night, instead of just happy. I would have been, too, except that I too busy not being heartbroken and depressed. I guess that was my version of exultation because if John McCain had won, I'd have been a blubbering mess.

And then there was the concern that, on one side or the other, unhappy people would do unhappy things to other people. So far, I've seen none of that here... but I worried and wondered, for a while.

I wasn't going to stay up late to see the final result because (and here's another reason for my limited emotional response) we've already seen the networks call one opponent, then reverse it. I wasn't interested in riding that rollercoaster, again.

Anyway, my girlfriend was watching which effectively meant that I was watching. Besides, I was still amped-up from spending most of the day volunteering for the Tallahassee branch of the campaign that erased Senator Obama but gave birth to President-Elect Barack Obama. More on that another time.

When we got the "projected" results, I was still reserved. And it didn't help that CNN apparently kept "projected" up much, much too long. I talked to my grandmother, who voted for the first time that *I've* ever heard of. I talked to my mom, who told me how much it meant for her to risk her life to go to school amidst race riots but grow up to see a Black man gain the keys to the White House. I also talked to my father, who yelled at me and called me someone else's name. But it was meant in love.

I know. I know. Trust me.

Eventually, we took a chance, grabbed the camcorder, and hit the road to see how Tallahassee was reacting to the news.

Dead silence.

Apparently, though, this was just because so many were at the election party. So we headed over there, recorded some speech material, observed the celebration, shed some tears (well, she did anyway), and interviewed some folks to find out how they were feeling and what this moment meant to them.

One thing is represents, to me, is a chance to vote FOR, not just AGAINST someone. As I said... a year and a half, ago... I would be PROUD to have Barack Obama be the President of these United States of America.

It feels like the world started over. Continuity rebooted. We got a green mushroom, an extra life.

Now, let's see how we use it.

It has begun.






* - And Tallahassee did its part.

Duck Tales - Labor Day

Happy Labor Day!

This Labor Day, I was flying solo. After taking care of some stuff at home, I hopped on my bike (bicycle, not motorcycle) and biked to Sonic for a "Happy Hour" special discounted price on a (non-alcoholic, of course) cherry lime-aid beverage.

From there, I biked to the grocery store to buy some cheap bread to feed to ducks at a local lake. I put the bread in the sack I carry on my back while biking, then headed to and biked around the lake.

Because of the recent, semi-nearby hurricane(s), those of us in Tallahassee and surrounding areas have received a ton of rain. I read that local sewage systems were compromised due to the increased water flow. My nose can confirm this as I bike through certain areas. I believe the water treatment representative said that they usually deal with 17 million gallons per unit time, but recently it's been more like 41 millions gallons.

Even a week after the worst of the downpours stopped, about a week, ago, the lake area had overflows like the following:

(click picture to enlarge)

Below is a picture of what appears to be a street cave-in or sink hole or something (feel free to correct my terminology) - probably due to the flooding from last week.

(click to enlarge)

After biking around the lake, I chose a spot and took my back sack off. Immediately, before I could even open the sack, a group of ducks headed toward me. The more I handled the bread bag, the closer the ducks got. Around the time I got the bread out, the crowd of ducks around me was unbelievable. Take a look at the 40-something ducks that all but chased me around out there.

(click to enlarge)

It's true that I haven't fed the ducks in quite some time (well over a year) but I've done it often enough to know that they were much more aggressive this time than ever before. Eventually, people started crowding around watching these ducks follow me. There were so many ducks at different times that they were blocking the flow of automobile and human traffic through the area, so I'd have to herd them this way or that so that people could walk or drive through. I didn't even have to use the bread to accomplish this. If I walked somewhere, they were right behind me - adults and ducklings.

I walked about 50 - 70 yards in one direction to see how far they'd follow me and they hardly strayed - especially if I kept tossing bread. It was quite the spectacle. After I ran out of bread, I biked back to the store for more. At the height of the mallard craze, I know I had a good 60 or so ducks around me. It may have been more but I had a hard time taking pictures while feeding and avoiding them (and their waste).

Here's a pic to give you an idea of how much their ranks swelled:

(click to enlarge)

It may not seem like it but that really is a picture of almost 60 ducks. There were people walking by and pulling over, taking pix with their mobile phones, of me playing Pied Piper.

The duck response was so unusual that I wondered if the flood had affected their natural food supply. Some of us theorized about the reasons for their reaction, but who knows the real answer.

When I ran out of bread the second time, I biked back to the store (couldn't help myself) but I saw a police officer on the way. I asked if he knew if I should call the city, county, or whatever about the ducks. He said there's actually a local ordnance against feeding the ducks because they've become something of a logistical nuisance, if I understood him correctly.

So, that was good to know and it saved me the cost of another cheap bag of bread.

But it was really fun little Labor Day adventure. If nothing else, I was able to keep a couple of cool points as I initially attempted to flee without *looking* like I was fleeing from a bunch of ducks.

So that's my long Labor Day duck tale. I'm sure it wasn't as fun to read about as it was to experience but trust me... big fun.

Ironic Buggin' Out

This won't give the best impression of us or our abode, but...

Just yesterday, I was in a chatroom telling some folks about a big-ass mutant cockroach I'd just smashed. We started talking about pests and I mentioned the poest control dynamite in our home.

I'm the one who takes care of any bug or potential bug in our home because my girlfriend gets the freakin' heeby jeebies. I added however, that in the rare instances that a lizard or something gets in, I'm the one who jumps on the table, holding my skirt out, while my girlfriend goes and grabs the little bugger and sets him free outside somewhere.*

Most are mildly amused by that fact, but a fact it is.

Well, fast-forward to today when I had some errands to run. I grabbed what I needed, jumped on my bicycle, and took off. I was gone for two or three hours, then returned, grabbing some McNasty** along the way. When I got home, I noticed something on the floor.

I looked down to see a dead, upside down lizard, with his guts spilling out while the smell of bug spray filled my nostrils. Yuck.

Helluva coincidence innit?*** Also hella gross.

Best I can figure, the pest control spray I put outside disoriented the lizard and, ironically, lead to him entering our place instead of deterring him. I also gather that, I was so anxious to leave that I didn't notice an upside-down lizard in front of the so I promptly, and quite accidentally, stomped the shit out of it.

Over the next couple of minutes, I sports one of those Peanuts-style gross-out faces, as I grabbed a broom n whatnot to kick the poor lil bastard outdoors. Blech.

Just thought I'd share. Have a great weekend.



* - Whenever possible we opt to eject the creature instead of smooshing it. Ain't that nice?
** - Otherwise known as McDonald's.
*** - It's funny that spell-check pointed out "freakin'" and "heeby jeebies," but ignored "helluva" and "innit."

Wrist Sling Match

Just an update on the wrist situation:

I thought it was a bad sprain, but there's a chance that something broke, fractured, or was chipped. I've been a bit impaired, lately, without the full use of my right hand. Showering, in-particular, is a bear. In fact, I'd imagine the right side of my body is just a tad bit cleaner than the left, on most days.

Let's not even get into other bathroom concerns.

These days, my wrist is wrapped in elastic bandages, a guard, and the occasional sling, although I may need to switch to a wrist guard (the kind for carpal tunnel syndrome) for more support. We'll see.

Gotta run, but I hope to be back very soon.

Forever in a Day

I went to the Post Office, today, to send off a graduation gift card. As I tried to one of the doors in the facility, a man noticed my arm was in a sling and was about to help me. I was all but through it, though, so I just thanked him and then got in line behind him.

Because of his kind gesture, I noticed him more than I might have, otherwise. I noticed when he and an associate of his unexpectedly saw each other and began talking (but I didn't eavesdrop). I also noticed when he reached the counter and then asked the clerk for something called "Forever Stamps."

I didn't hear a lot of what they said, but I became curious. When I was called to the counter, I asked what "Forever Stamps" were and how they worked. She said, "They are stamps you can purchase today, at today's rate, but that you can use in the future, after rates increase, without having to pay the rate increase."

I said, "Okay. Is that it, though? It seems like there's got to be something else to it."

"Nope. That's it," she replied. "If that were the case, I don't see why anyone would ever buy anything else."

She went on to explain that they come in packs of twenty, so I said, "Oohh. So, I have to buy twenty to..."

"No," she said with exasperation. "You can get however many you want."

"So, I could buy ten or these, now, and use them to..."

"No, they come in packs of twenty. You have to buy them in packs."

"That's what I've been saying all along - that I have to buy a minimum amount of them. Like twenty."

"No,..." she continued, but I was tired of this semantics (ha!) exchange by then. I hadn't even done what I'd come there to do. By this time, each of us thought the other was an idiot, so I was ready to cut my losses.

I did what I went there to do, bought a pack of Forever Stamps, gathered my belongings in my one good hand and got the heck out of there. You can read more about Forever Stamps here, if you like. I hadn't heard of them, so I thought it was worth mentioning, but I also just thought there was a certain irony in the name since it seemed like it took forEVER just to find out what the hell they were.

Wipe Out

Hi. I wiped out on my bike, luckily only messing up my right hand (seen above) and wrist. Unfortunately, that means I'm typing pretty slowly these days. Luckily my girlfriend is kind enough to type this for me, so we'll keep this quick.... or not

I was on my way home from buying a Sock It To Me cake,... on a bright and sunny, very dry afternoon and my bike slipped out from under me. There was no puddle of water or oil or anything else anywhere to be seen. As I went down, I must have put my hand down to stop and protect myself, but instead I slid... on my hand and hip. Although I scraped up my hand and sprained my wrist (which is in a sling), my head never hit the ground... not because I was wearing a helmet (which I wasn't), but because of my Bizarro-Fred Flintstone breaking style.

As I was still sliding to a stop I remember calmly thinking, "Damn. I'm getting fucked up."

By the way if you'd like to see how far I slid, take a look at the white groove my pedal left in the street (pictured below).


As soon as I came to a stop, a guy who witnessed the whole embarrassing episode ran over to me, at top speed, to help me and my bike get vertical, again. I must admit, though, that my feelings bounced back and forth between gratitude and suspicion - just in case ol' boy saw that as an opportunity to do more than offer a little help.

He was very considerate, though, and I jumped my embarrassed ass up, grabbed the pieces of my now-damaged, but still functional tail-light, thanked him for his help, and said, "Well, I've been biking for a while, now. I guess I had to wipe out, eventually," before jumping BACK on my bike and hauling wounded ass. I left my pride back there on the street, though - what little was left of it.

Since then, I've washed & disinfected my scrapes, purchased a sling, unsuccessfully searched for my wrist guard, and alternated between protecting my swollen, very sore wrist at all costs and trying to use it to keep it from getting too stiff.

I'm typing, again, at the moment, but I'm going to put my arm back in the sling and back on-ice in just a minute.

I guess that's that. I hope I'm not leaving anything out.
Thanks.

EDIT: Please post any questions here and I'll try to answer them as best as I can. By posting questions and answers here, that will save me some typing (i.e. discomfort) later on.

Dreams of Death

WEST3MAN: the other night, i dreamed i died.
WEST3MAN: not the first time, but this one was particularly scary.
TNunRoy: you know
TNunRoy: i donno why, but dreaming one has died somehow doesn't seem as scarey as dreaming one is Dying/in a Deadly situation . .
TNunRoy: i mean, if yer dead, what's done is done . .
TNunRoy: right AnotherChatter?
WEST3MAN: i've never dreamed that i was already dead.
AnotherChatter: yeah
WEST3MAN: i have dreamt of my death, though.
TNunRoy: ah, i see
AnotherChatter: there are a lot of thngs worse than dying in dreams
WEST3MAN: shitty scary
TNunRoy: AC: like dreaming of being chased by clowns?
TNunRoy: West; So how did you dream of your death this time which was particularly unsettling?
AnotherChatter: troy: exactly
WEST3MAN: i dreamt that, probably due to existing real-life ailments, i experienced spontaneous paralysis,
WEST3MAN: while sitting in a chair in a room my gf had just left.
TNunRoy: West; ahhhh
TNunRoy: i see
WEST3MAN: so i couldn't call out to her, as my arms shook, then i was unable to move
WEST3MAN: and slowly fell out of the chair, KNOWING that i was dying.
WEST3MAN: then resigning myself to that fact and "thinking" my last words.
WEST3MAN: and then dying.
AnotherChatter: so, what were your last words?
TNunRoy: bah
TNunRoy: you ask the obvious question
TNunRoy: the more important question is . .
TNunRoy: what was your girlfriend doing so as that she wasn't there for you?
WEST3MAN: she'd left the room.
TLJohnson0: you're going to have to break up with her, she obviously is not concerned about your well-being . . . dreams don't lie!
WEST3MAN: i couldn't see or hear her.
TNunRoy: West: and you had no impression of why she left? it was just the natural course of things for her to get up and go?
WEST3MAN: yes
WEST3MAN: she left before my symptoms started.
TNunRoy: i think what this means . . deep deep down . . . at the very Root of things is . .
WEST3MAN: why is this of-interest?
TNunRoy: you feel she runs the A/C too much and leaves you frozen
WEST3MAN: A.M.: My last words were telling her that I loved her (by thought).
WEST3MAN: ahh
WEST3MAN: sound reasoning, as always
WEST3MAN: you and TLJ should be couples counselors
WEST3MAN: better yet, you should be a couple!
TLJohnson0: "stop . . . touching . . the damn . . .thermosta. . . ."
TNunRoy: yes, we play Good Counselor/Bad Councelor
TLJohnson0: I don't remember my dreams too often any more . . but some of them are really strange
AnotherChatter: hmmm
WEST3MAN: i think i'm gonna put this in my blog
WEST3MAN: do you guys mind if i use your names?
TNunRoy: West: nah -- not really
AnotherChatter: west: your last thoughts before dying after you got abandoned is "i love you"?
WEST3MAN: i'll assume the rest of you aren't willing. i'll be sure to change the names.
WEST3MAN: A.M. dunno if you're joking or not, but i wasn't abandoned.

Too Comfortable

WEST3MAN: I got caught in the rain, today,
WEST3MAN: while biking to the comic shop.
WEST3MAN: I went to a nearby bar to use their restroom's paper towels, to dry off.
WEST3MAN: A guy was already using the dispenser, so I stood behind him and waited.
WEST3MAN: I noticed the back of his black t-shirt
WEST3MAN: had a Confederate flag with "SS" in that special font
WEST3MAN: printed across it.
WEST3MAN: the shirt said something like, "the few and the proud."
WEST3MAN: Just one of those wake-up moments, for me.
WEST3MAN: "Don't get TOO comfortable."

The Other Foot

About a month, ago, my girlfriend and I were driving down the street and stopped for some gas. When I finished pumping the gas, I walked back to the door to find my girlfriend to a 45- to 55-year-old, disheveled, white male through her window. The window was about half-way down, so he had plenty of clearance to reach through and grab her in some way.

When he saw me, he said, "How you doin', man?"

"I'm good, but I'm gonna need you to step back a little."

My initial impression was that he was asking for money. When I saw the clipboard, I was reminded of a time when a previous girlfriend opened the door to someone asking for census information. She gave him all sorts of information, which concerned me, but not as much as the fact that she stood there in the doorway talking to this stranger while I was away. He could've pushed her inside and done anything to her.

He complied and my girlfriend explained that he had some kind of election-related petition. While walking away, he said, "Sorry, man. I just wanted to know if you were registered voters.

I wasn't askin' fer money or nuthin'."

He sounded so damned pitiful. And his general demeanor suggested that plenty of people had similarly misjudged him in the past... and that he'd more or less learned "his place."


Plenty of times on this blog, I've gone on about how unfair it is that people see me and grab their purses, cross the street, follow me around the stores, etc. Basically, taking a look at me and assuming the worst said more about them than it did about me... but it still made me feel like shit.

Well, now I'd done the same thing to someone else... and, once again, I felt like shit.

That's all.

Pop Corn

During a study session from a couple of weeks, ago, somehow my father was mentioned in-conversation. I responded by sharing the fact that I hadn't had contact with him in about three years.

I don't remember if my classmates reacted with mouth-gaping expressions of incredulity or not, but I felt the impact of their hypothetical stares, anyway. I imagine they stared, searching my face for signs of hurt because of this estrangement, callousness perhaps marked by my casual mentioning of this sad fact, or maybe they were wondering what trait I might possess that'd make me one of those people who doesn't realize that family is much more important than any petty squabble you could have with any of them at any given moment.

It wasn't an expression of hurt that I was sharing and I'm not completely unmoved by this voluntary paternal absence. It's just become a part of my reality - one that I occasionally feel the need to verbalize, perhaps because it's too big to hold inside all of the time.

My father and I have suffered these communicative droughts multiple times over the years. Sometimes we stumble upon a familial oasis where logic and plain ol' good manners dictate that we converse on some level and so the drought is broken for a day or maybe even for as long as a year, but the relationship always dries up and cracks.

Typically, at least a couple of Christmases pass before we somehow make contact, again. I've called him on one or two of his birthdays, but he didn't answer or return the calls.

Until this week.

Yes, I spoke to my father for the first time in a loooong time, the other day. The conversation drifted in the usual places and was carried by what I consider to be his usual aggressive, invasive tones, but because it was his birthday and it WAS the first time we'd spoken in so long, I was determined to do what I could to maintain a bit of positivity. So, I didn't openly react to the words and implications that once would have and one day may, again, sparke mile-high flames.

For his part, he didn't immediately, openly indict me for my noncommittal response to his open invitation to visit and see his new home. From my perspective, we need to take baby steps. We are, after all, two people with the same name who've been unable to hold a civil conversation for any reasonable length of time. I wouldn't recommend diving back into that pool without first testing the waters - or at least making sure there's any water, at all.

From his perspective, though, it could very well be another example and sign of my rejection of him, my mother's inexorable influence, or our generations-long paternal curse of incompatibility. In any case, it's often painful and causes a knee-jerk reaction from him.

Not this time.

So, in the end, we got through a bit of small-talk, shared little, but accomplished a lot. In our relationship, we don't have the luxury of measuring the success of our interactions by the number of positives, but instead, by the absence of negatives.

I'll take it, for now, for as long as it lasts. If nothing else, as corny as it may sound, I've found a something to be thankful for, this year - my Pops.

I wish you the same and more.

Practicality & Prejudice

It's that time of year, again. The weather's transitioning from warm to chilly and from chilly to witch's titty.

This is hard on a bald head, so as in years past, I've taken to wearing skull caps. Along with that comes the looks from people wondering if I'm full of malt liquor and/or ready to snatch and grab purses and cash registers.

On top of that, we just moved so life is moving toward stabilization, not quite there, yet. (This is also a big factor in my recent absence - sorry Liz.) When I move I don't worry about shaving my head of face, so I'm sporting a pretty thick beard, right about now.

For anybody who needs help with the math,...

Beard + Skull cap + Black man = Purse clutching + Increased surveillance.

I've gotten more suspicious looks in the past few weeks than in the last six months or more. I complain about this crap every year, so I'm sure this is no surprise to some of you.

For what it's worth, I think this type of reaction is due to one part prejudice and one part practicality, but when you're on the receiving end - and innocent - it makes the Winter that much colder.

Failed Identity

They say it's not who you are but what you do, but what if what you did was fail at something?

Today I (very likely) failed at something that was fairly important to me. Unfortunately, there's a huge part of my self-image that's directly tied to how well or how poorly I do this or that. I guess that's not the worst thing in the world, but, as with most things, I think it requires a certain amount of balance.

In my case, I really feel like crap for days after making decisions that turn out poorly or (as in this case) I failed to fully execute a plan I'd put together in-advance. There are a number of pretty good reasons why things turned out that way and I really do think I put forth a decent effort, but failure is almost a certainty (I'll know in about a week).

I tried to tell myself to focus on the positive elements of my presentation and the on-the-spot moments when I seized an opportunity to further my point by using my opponents' words against them. Ultimately, though, I just had to, as I say, "Feel that shit."*

I had to experience a day's worth of depression (plus whatever remnants follow me into the weekend) to stop feeling like a waste of protoplasm.

Anyway, I guess there's no easy answer to this one, either. Maybe I just have to train ourselves to keep things in the proper perspective and realize that hitting a few potholes doesn't make me a bad driver.

It's much more easily said than done, but it's something else I'm working on. I hope I've made some progress, so far, but I really hope there's much more progress to-come... even if there's bumpy road between where I am and where I want to be.




* - My rather crude way of saying that life's value is in the experiences - good and bad - that we gather along the way. Sometimes I think it's best to be in that moment and really feel how good or bad it feels. It probably sounds stupid, but I think life's about the good times AND the bad times that make the good times feel so doggone good.

Ghost of Chryslers Past

If you ever sell a car (especially for a really low price), I highly recommend that you get the title transferred at the same time that you complete the sale - or immediately afterward.

Why?

Well, about a year ago, I sold a couple of cars that had transmission problems. Because of the repair issues and the fact that I didn't want to be bothered with them anymore, I practically GAVE them away.

Even still, the buyer haggled a little. Oh well. It happens.

I had enough sense to write up a quick little bill-of-sale (for whatever it's worth), but I didn't think to have the title transferred at the same time. I figured I'd leave that in the hands of the new owner.

Bad idea.

According to my insurance company, if a you sell a car and the new owner never officially transfers ownership/registers the vehicle, you could still be held responsible for the vehicle. If the new owner runs over someone, that someone could decide to sue YOU... assume s/he survives the assault.

Well, it seems that at least one of the vehicles wasn't immediately registered, since I received a notice that it was parked on the side of a local road and would be towed with x-amount of time. Of course, this message was forwarded through the U.S. Postal Service, so I didn't get it for a couple of weeks.

I called the buyer and he said they'd already moved the car. I asked him to go ahead and register it so I wouldn't have to deal with that kind of thing, anymore. Apparently he never did (in fact, I think he sold one of the cars) because yesterday, I received a letter saying that the car was parked... in some Florida town, illegally, and subsequently towed.

Towing and storage fees had already reached closed to $400, by this point, although this is the first I'm hearing of it. (I really think they delay notification so they can make more money on storage fees n whatnot.) The letter also said that an auction would take place at the beginning of November (presumably in the event that I do not pay for and pick up the vehicle).

Good.

I'd LOVE for someone to win the auction and officially transfer ownership to themselves. Maybe I won't have to worry about these Ghosts of Chryslers Past coming back to haunt in the years to-come.