2022- Saying goodbye to year that felt as if it barely started.

 

Sigh. On average, I would day 2022 was a pretty good year for me. Of course, like all the others that proceeded it, ups and downs. My yearend (rear end) review:

I retired after serving on the same job for (almost) 23 years. With all of the feels that go with leaving my career, I think I miss the people I worked with (believe it or not) the most. An I.T. guy for nearly as long as the personal computer, I have seen both the good and bad of technology. Recently, it feels “more bad.” Part of my parting with my job has to do with the fact I believe we humans have mismanaged the real benefits of technology. Parents appear to be more concerned with CRT (A concept more a politician’s boondoggle than a real worry), than the fact their little darlings are dancing naked on tiktoc in front of the whole world.

Still, I miss the pretty teachers and their entire “oooh-ahhh” approach to seeing me fix something. And the kids that actually applauded me (at the teacher’s behest). “Isn’t mister Glaudell amazing, children? Let’s give him a round of applause!”  That part felt rewarding as hell. Also, their ever-so-innocent flirting and baking cookies (et cetera) to get me to look into their issue first. It was a good gig, and I’m glad I spent my time there.

This year I played some music. All by myself. I found myself on a couple of big stages this year. On my musical bucket list has always been the allusive “Brat Fest,” held annually on Willow Island in the heart of Madison. All the best local bands have graced the stages there. A last minute hole in the schedule, and a call from Natalie from The Crystal Grand (bless her!) and I was suddenly up on the program. I began the day’s music at 11am, and had a short, 40 minute set. During my set, the seats were mostly empty. However, some of my followers actually made it and said hello to me after the set.

Then, in October (thanks again to Natalie and all the folks at the Crystal Grand) I found myself on the big stage, actually opening for Tommy James and the Shondells. Again, a short 40 minute set of (mostly) original material. I was honored and humbled by the crowd, as they actually applauded much and laughed at the right places. (with me, not at me). Wow, what a ride that was.

I performed on several other outside shows during the summer, and all were well received. At one point, a winery owner saying, “Well, we had a pretty good day. And we can attribute most of that to you.” (I answered him in my usual smart-asse-ery): “Gee. I didn’t know I drank that much.

It was all good. No rainouts. Only a couple of small mix-ups. And all the rest went well. I appreciate the folks that came to see me. Thank you!

I purchased an RV. As per my “evil” plan, the idea was to walk away from work on that last day, middle fingers flyin’ high (to the “man”), board the SS RV DALEGOESAWAY, and sail off into the sunset. Well, it didn’t quite happen that way. But, I did get an RV. Big waste of money or gateway to a better life? You decide.

As the RV I could best afford was a gently used Airstream Basecamp 16-foot pull-behind. Small in comparison to most on the roadway. Still, from what I was able to glean from all my reading and comparing, this Airstream Basecamp 16x was a very road-worthy and worthwhile towable. Even my son remarked, “Gee, dad. You normally don’t go in for the top of the line stuff. I was expecting something else.” (I’ll bet. I’m not as “Uncle Eddie” as you think, son.)

The trailer (Christened “Shorty”) had nearly everything a camper might want: Wet bath. Shower. Full Kitchen with Propane stove, microwave and good sized refrigerator. It also has solar on the roof, off-road capabilities. A TV with antenna. Hot water and duel electric/propane heat. The people I bought it from also included a full-sized mattress kit (for the back), very comfy. All packed into a small-towable package. Good stuff. However, now it’s winter in Wisconsin and she’s in storage until April. Not quite the life-changing experience I wanted. Still we did get some good usage from her.  

Adventures: Judy and I managed to take some trips. In the spring (before we got the trailer) to Kohler- Andre state park, east Wisconsin shoreline. Nice area. Highly recommended.

We picked up the trailer from a nice couple that lived in Indiana. (Small town not far from Indianapolis). It was windy on the way back and as it was my first time hauling anything, it was quite a challenge. Thanks to Judy, we made it there and back in just a day.

We took Shorty out for her inaugural “camp” nearby at Skillet Creek just down the street. Nice campground. Though the weather (rainy and cold) had much to be desired. Finally figured out how to operate the furnace in the trailer, and having an alternative heat source (Hello, Mr. Heater portable heater) also really helped.

We drove it all the way to Door County, where we spent the weekend at the Wagon Wheel Campground in Rowley’s Bay at the far north east tip on the peninsula. I like Rowley’s Bay, partially because the history of Mr. Rowley, himself. (from the Rowley Bay resort web site:  is named after Peter Rowley, a curmudgeon of a man who searched for solitude on a scale hard to imagine in today’s world. If another settler pitched camp a few miles away, it was enough to send Rowley packing and searching for a new homestead. Making his way up the Door Peninsula in the late 1830’s, his last stop was Rowleys Bay.)

A man after my own heart! 

The weekend went well, save for a big storm that rolled through. But, we discovered the little cove acted as a hedge against bad weather from the West. We managed in the little trailer, with electric and watched movies while the winds and rains blew around us.

Our next camping adventure was just that. I was warned that when you reach a certain age, it’s probably not incumbent to tent camp, unless you’re really “that type.” We discovered with some dispatch, we were not “that type.” Judy wanted to continue a family tradition, and to honor her dad which passed away earlier in the year. So, I got to meet her cousins. In the rain. In the pouring, frickin’ rain! It’s like the stupid Wild Cat Mountain State Park instinctively knew we were going to tent camp.

From the moment we set up the footings of the tent, it rained. And not just a little. It came down in sheets. Probably the most rain that area has seen in some time, all at once. Judy fell on her ankle (twisted and bruised, but thankfully no break), and I was left to setup tent in the mud in the cold, in the wilderness. It was awful, and I was grumpy all weekend.

Still, the canoe trip (my first) down the Kickapoo was much fun and her cousins all were great people. The top of the end of the trip was watching the majestic sun set in the west from “Lookout Point.” The views were breathtaking. Then later, we popped over the star observatory where they were giving a talk about the stars. The rain clouds gave way to a velvet sky filled with a thousand points of light. Made the whole crappy weekend so much better.

The next camping weekend we went to Turtle Island County park just South of La Crosse. We endured the mosquitoes and skunk and beer-seeking raccoon. It rained. The best thing, was getting to see and chat with Mike (from Checkered Past) for a few minutes. He talked mostly politics, but it’s still good to see him looking svelte and hale.  

When we returned, it was only a few days away from my retirement day. A day I never really expected would come. It was (appropriately) a Wednesday afternoon, August 31^st, when I shook the hand of my co-worker (friend) Dan. The next week was the start of a brand new school year, and the hallways were spotless and the rooms all finished, awaiting the new charges. The place smelled clean.

My office was located in the Spring Hill Elementary school, which, besides the new high school was a newer building. For the last time I locked the door, and shut out my office lights. I just had to end my day at Central Office to turn in my master keys, FOB and work phone. I was extremely proud of the fact in the near 23 years of work, I never lost my keys…. Well, I miss-placed them a time or two, but never lost them.

I never got a chance to say goodbye to the District administrator, whom I was grateful that he made a good deal with me to stay on through the summer, to help the district ready for the next year, at least technology-wise. He wasn’t in his office when I dropped off the keys… Lee and set myself free.

He also didn’t make it to the retirement party a few weeks after that. I guess I know now which side of the “please, Dale, don’t go” he stood on. Oh, well. Life is way too short to hold any grudges. And I don’t. After all I was hired on from “before.” Before he was the district admin, and even before his predecessor. So, I’m sure I was viewed as a bit of stale air, blowing through the district.

And he would be right about that, too. To be honest, I had long-ago ran out of forward-thinking ideas and resorted to giving “history lessons” to Dan, and started too many sentences with “Now, when I first came here…”

Part of it was that damned COVID. Part of it was my not-terrific boss. Part of it was I was tired of technology. I fell in love with computers in the 90’s. I fell out of love with computers when kids started TIKTOK-ing, and other awful so-called “social media” BS which is now on our screens every blasted day. Technology (and the Internet, specifically) was meant for us to mass-communicate, and collaborate. Not to instigate.

Well, much was made about a speech I made at the goodbye retirees lunch before the summer. I did it pretty much off the cuff. Made a joke (some got it) and then told a couple of stories. Lots of folk seemed to enjoy it, especially that for the past 23 years I had been fooling everyone into thinking I knew what I was doing, when essentially… all I did was unplug it, waited a few seconds and then plugged it back in. By the way, this is mostly true. Of course, it took me 2 degrees, about 40k and a lot of work to get to that point.

In any case, I did what I could in the waning days of my employment. Tried to say goodbye to folks and generally kept my head in the game. But, frankly… and for some odd reason…I don’t seem to miss it at all (yet). Still, that last day was a big lump in my throat.

We move on smartly.

In August, I finally broke down (literally) and traded in the little mini Cooper for a big azz truck. I still miss the little car. But, the truck (Chevy Silverado) pick up will safely haul “Shorty” and anything else I need.

September, we took Shorty to the little hamlet of Blair for Judy to see her daughter and grandkids. They let us park in their back yard. Very good and very bad. Turns out, Blair in late September is big on Cheese Fest. Light on the cheese, heavy on the tractor pulls. Tractor pulls. Tractors. And more tractors. Son, you ain’t never seen tractors until you’ve been in Blair for “Cheese Fest!”

In all seriousness, it really wouldn’t have been all that bad, except where her daughter lives in right on the main drag and the Tractor pulls go nearly all night long. Main Street is where the tractor vs. heavy weight machine takes place. Hours upon hours of smoke, gasoline, diesel, burning rubber and destroyed transmissions. And we inhaled it all.

Then, just to add to the cacophony of the noise, just one block over bands were busy serenading the locals with the latest rock and country songs at ear-ringing volumes (God, I miss those days!). Judy spent the first night ogling the lead singer (or bass player, not sure which one) and dancing, whilst I went back to the camper to try (try, try) to lower my blood pressure by reading and napping in between pulls.

The best parts of course, was that she got to see her kid and her grandkids and doggie and kitties and….did I mention tractors? Why, I even got my son to come out of his cave of solace to travel down from cosmopolitan Eau Clare and join us for a meal. I tried to apologize to him for the “red-neck-ness of it all” and I think he took offence to that… he told me he had a great time. I was glad. But, if I taught him anything, it was to be polite.

After three days and two night of tractors, seems like the town finally ran out of ammo and had a parade instead.  In true Blair style, the tractors came from across the land for one more showing, along with marching bands (her granddaughter played in one of them). Ignoring latest convention, candies were tossed from the floats, as some gave out Busch beer to the (probably) hung over adults lodged in their lawn chairs.

“Son, run and grab me a beer and run it over to back to me…. “

I managed. We dislodged from our parking spot and headed home. It was nearly dark by the time we got home. It took only two days for the noise of those tractors to get out of my head…

Visited my brother, Nobel in late October and it was so good to see him. My one niece (her very cool teen daughter) and nephew were also there. We all went out for lunch in Glen Ellyn at a nice restaurant. It was a nice family visit. I have a cool family.

Finally, I closed out the year in a fine form as the NYE entertainment at a small wine bar in Baraboo. I only played until a bit after 9pm, and then we headed over to Michael’s Italian Restaurant for a delicious meal. We decided to stop down at Gem City and catch Baraboo favorites “Blacker Brothers” for a few numbers. We made it home just in time to catch the NYE Rockin’ eve on TV.

So long 2022. Moving onward.

 

 Excerpt from "The Kiss at the End of the World"  

Chapter 40 - Mars Base Freedom

Commander William Tahoe had taken his chief engineer aside

“Okay, you’ve been grousing around for the several days here. Now, I’d like to know what your problem is, Grief. Out with it.”

“Sir, I cannot until I am sure of my data,” Grief wiped his nose with his ever-present hanky, and back into the back pocket it goes.

“Come on, out with it. Damn it man, I’ve known you for thirty-five years. I know when something is up in that little engineer head of yours. Now, spill it.”

“Sir, I cannot be sure…”

“Grief, this is an order.”

 “Okay, then. Sir, it is this report I’ve been checking over from logistics.”

“Yes, so? We went over that. We seem to be sitting pretty, as far as resources go.”

“That’s the problem, sir. The numbers…”

William looked back down at his tablet, as another message flashed across the screen. This one about pressure fronts from the Martian weather. Bored, he said, “Yes. The numbers. They can’t be too far off, right?”

Grief grabbed his arm and said, “Sir, from what I can tell they are way off.”

This stopped the Commander cold, “What? We went over all logistics several times already. Everything looks good. Food reserves; water; air recirculation, all look good for as long as we have to remain here. We can stay here forever, right?”

“Commander, what were the original compliment of settlers here at Freedom base?”

“You know as well as I do. You were with us. Four hundred of the heartiest souls to ever live.”

“And how many joined us in the next waves of ships?”

“You know all this too. Three waves of ships delivered two hundred more souls.”

“Any more?”

“Yes, we’ve had fourteen engineers join us. Regrettably, three accidental deaths. One dozen that have been, shipped back to earth, also regrettably. Oh, and one new, healthy baby boy born just a few days ago.”

“Right. I read that as a total of five hundred and ninety nine people in which live upon our little island here.”

“Okay, go on.”

“The numbers that we have been crunching have been derived from the original four hundred original settlers. Not the nearly six hundred here now. And certainly not including those that will hopefully join us from the ISSB.”

“Oh? Are you sure?”

“No, I’m not commander. That’s what I said. But this is what I can gather from these numbers I’ve been crunching the past several days.”

“Well, that is bad. We’ll have to figure out a way to get by with less, I guess,” he started to turn away.

“But this is not the worst problem, commander.”

“Damn it, man. There’s more?”

“I’m afraid it’s much worse than that, sir.”

Blarney now had the commander’s full attention, as he stared at him with absolute dread, “Go ahead.”

“As you know, Commander, the Mars atmosphere is very unforgiving. On earth, there is the atmosphere which protects us from the worst radiation. Here on Mars, we are not only shielded, but also underground, so our water and food resources are protected.”

“Yes. Years of research was done on this and it was determined that we could reside here with no injurious affects from the radiation topside.”

“Yes. Yes. And for how long?”

“What in the hell are you getting at, Grief?”

“I’ve been running these numbers too, and they don’t look good.”

“Okay. Which numbers?”

“Well, sir, I have been using the Sieverts sliding Scale for long-term low-level radiation exposure. You see, a modern CT scan would probably expose you to less than 10 Millisieverts. Our daily input here, even under the ground with full shielding gives us about half that. The worst exposure is in the one thousand range.”

“Okay, I see what you’re saying.”

“Over time, that scale slides upwards. 5 Millisieverts per year for, well, say a hundred years has a cumulative effect of around half of the worst. So, in one generation of living here, we could all die of radiation sickness and cancers.”

“We, or our progeny may be stuck here for hundreds of years, Grief. How the hell does that configure?”

“It doesn’t, sir.”

“Is there anything we can do to now to mitigate this?”

“Probably not. Of course, if you could create a massive electromagnetic atmosphere to completely surround us, or the planet, we could probably adapt to stay here forever.”

 “Anything else sunshine? What do you suggest, then?”

“Pray, sir. Pray the Earth is not burnt beyond redemption and we may be able to visit her in a few decades, or less.”

“Okay, Grief. You are hereby ordered to take two days off. Keep off from any sort of networking until I tell you, it’s okay.”

“What, sir?”

“Is there anything we can reasonably do right now to change this?”

“Not really, sir.”

“Exactly! Grief, we are now living in extraordinary circumstances. We’ve all lost loved ones, family and friends. Hell, everything we ever knew is now taken from us. So, Chief Blarney I order you to relax and take two days off. I will keep you informed if there are any crucial and immediate developments.”
“But…”

“No buts, Grief. Forty eight hours. And if I see you anywhere near engineering, I’ll personally throw you in the brig. Understand?”

The big guy got a saddened look on his face, like he just lost his best friend.

The Commander repeated, “Understand?”

Blarney reached to his back pocket, pulled out his hanky and blew his nose, as an acknowledgement. Then, suddenly his face brightened considerably. He looked up at the Commander and said, “Well, okay then. There is a whole set of engineering manuals that I’ve been aching to get to but have been too busy. I’ll see you in a couple, Commander.”

William shook his head, as his head engineer hurried off to his quarters. He started to walk the other way down the corridor, when an engineer’s assistant passed him, and he grabbed the young man by the arm, “What’s your name, ensign?”

“Woodruff, Sir.”

“Well, Woodruff. Please do me a great favor; in my cabin behind the book cabinet there are two bottles of Bourbon Whiskey. Please take these, and send one to Head Engineer, Grief Blarney in his room. The other one you may enjoy with your mates. Please do not drink on the job. Got that Woodruff?”

“Yes, sir. But, sir? I do not drink.”

“Well, good for you. You’ll live longer. And, I predict you will be very popular with your friends for the evening. Now, scat.”

“Yes, sir!” The ensign scurries off the same direction that Grief headed.

The Commander shook his head and though he felt good, he knew that his friend and Engineer was probably right. They were absolutely doomed.

 The meeting: This is based on a story told to me about a hard-working guy that I know, just trying to get by when his micro-manager boss decides to call him on the carpet for the latest infraction of his overreaching rules. Any resemblance to others living or dead, is purely coincidental.

 Boss: “Well, I’m looking to hear why you did not do those first four trouble tickets in the queue.”

Me: “I don’t know, boss. I don’t have an explanation. We have been really busy, if you haven’t noticed. And the one other boss lady told me to put her in front of the line for tickets. In my defense, we’ve had only half of the tickets this year, compared to last. Isn’t that something?”

Boss: “Yes, but you take twice the amount of time to do any ticket compared to your co-worker. Why is that?”

Me. “Again, I do not know. I did not know how to do some of this stuff, so I was learning on the fly.”

Boss: “Have you not had training? I recall paying for lots of training of the past couple of years.”

Me: “Yes, that’s true but…”

Boss: “But nothing. If you were having trouble you should have asked for help. Co-worker managed all of that while finishing all of the tickets he was assigned.”

Me: “Well actually, he has the same number of tickets I have now.”

Co-worker looks up from his phone that he has been staring at during the entire exchange… “That’s true, we both have the same number of tickets.”

Boss: “Don’t correct me.” Turns back to me: “I want nightly updates from you about every ticket you do from now on. I want a detailed description of each and every issue, when you accessed the ticket, who you spoke with and what steps you took to resolve the issue.”

Me: “But, that is going to take more time away from actually doing the work.”

Boss: “I don’t care. I don’t want to be caught unawares again.”

 

How I wish it would go:

Me: “Look, boss. I’m paying off one of my two credit cards in two weeks. In two more I’ll pay off my second card. After that, all I have left in debt is my school loans. God willing and the cricks don’t rise, by February I pay them off. Then, I don’t own a soul on this planet one single little cent, other than my monthly bills. Then, I save, save, save and I’ll enter my sixty-third year of life with a good ten grand in the bank.”

Me: “If my ticker holds out, my car holds out, my relationship holds out, and my job holds out…all of which are hanging by a string…I’ll retire and buy the fuckin’ RV and I’ll be saying an adieu to you and you and you and you. I’ll be leaving this bullshit so far behind, and so fast it’ll make your head spin.”

Me: “Now, until then, I’m going to play your little games to make you feel like a big man, much bigger than you deserve to be. So, until then, unless you have some objection and would like to write me up now, I’ve got work I’ve got to get to.”

How it would probably go:

ME: “Okay, I guess we’ll do whatever we can to make that work….” 

Boss: “Okay, then. Let’s get to work.” He gets up from his chair to leave.

Co-worker again looks up from the phone, “Yeah. I have to run to one of the other buildings to do some things. I’ll come with you.” Co-worker stands up and follows boss out the door.

End.

Aged Cheese

Life Lessons from an old and stupid man

 

Chapter one: Wear the Condom

Love and other diseases

The ONE

Old movies and Alone-ness

Finding your Balance / Finding yourself

 

Chapter two: The state of the stupid world

Stupid little people

Traffic

Government

Taxes

 

Chapter three: I’ve got the Music in me

 

Chapter Four: Negatives and Positives

 

Chapter five: Drinking problem

Alcoholism’s

Old Style, bowling and cigarettes

DUI’s and the incarceration shuffle…

 

Chapter Six: Stupid Politics

What’s the real difference between democrats and Republicans? Well, Democrats will tax you, take all your money, and give it to everyone; whether they need it or not. Now Republicans, they will never raise your taxes. But they will raise what they call “user fees,” take all your money, and give it to their rich friends. In the end, it doesn’t matter which side you are on, they will take all your money. DEG 2020

 

Chapter Seven: Oh, my aching… Medical woes

Plaque Psoriasis and Skin Changes

The BIG E-D

Gimmie a head with hair (or lack thereof)

Care of Colon

Doctors, Tests and Checkups, oh my!

If I only had a heart…

Lastly, keeping sharp – brain-wise

 

Chapter Eight: The Money Shot

How do you spell love? MONEY

Keeping up with the Jones’s

Saving vs. Spending

 

Chapter Nine: Stupid bosses and crappy jobs

The Peter Principle Revisited

Stupid politics (part 2)

PROCEDURES – YOU MUST HAVE PROCEDURES

The sharks in your office

Technologies – living the life of a “fixer.”

Where it all went wrong

 

Chapter Ten: Retirement

A primer for a lot of documents that will not make any sense

Dreams and dreamers

Saying goodbye.

 

Chapter Eleven: The Big Sleep

Death. Let’s talk about it.

Religion. God. And Faith.

 

Chapter Eleven: My conclusions.

Sex and Love

People

Alcohol and drugs

Politics

Medicine

Money

Working

Retirement

Death.

 

Aged Cheese

Lessons of life from an Old and Stupid Man

 

Preface:

My only son and I do not talk like we should. He’s over thirty years old now, and successful in his life. For some reason, it often feels difficult to reach out to him. He rarely calls me or stops over to say hello. I know that he has a busy life with his career, super-woman wife and dogs to attend. It’s a complaint I hear often from many men at my age, and in my position. The Cat’s in the Cradle, you know?

His mother is gone. She died several years ago from cancer. Her and I were cordial to each other, after the initial years after the divorce. At first, we got along for the kids’ sake. Later on, it felt like we were a couple of war veterans with a long history of battle in the trenches. We forgave each other, and that made it easier to talk like adults. So few of you do that.

My son could always talk to his mom. I learned of the real son mostly through her. He would call her and tell her all the rough patches he went through in his life. Whenever I speak to him it was, and still is, “Ah, everything’s fine, Pops. No worries.”

Now, I’ve lived enough of my life to know that not everything is fine. I know. His mom told me that he looks up to me, and does not want to disappoint me. Rare is the instance he confided to me his fears and dreams. I’ve tried to tell him that regardless of what he does, I’m proud as I can be of him. Still, it would be nice to have a deep conversation about the real things of life.

What makes a man a man? Why is love so flippant? Why is money so easy for some, and so hard for others? What is the nature of God and the universe? What is our purpose here in life? Is it really all about making money, and having the nicest toys when we expire?

I’ve had conversations like this with too few of my male friends. Some have surprised me with their insights. Some, I am convinced are full-on conspiracy nuts ready to storm the Capital again. But, at least they were interesting and chock-full of interesting ideas. That’s what I mean by real conversations.

All too many of my male friends resort to the tried and true male grunting known as guy-speak. Such examples are: “Yeah, look at the cans on that MILF! I’d look really good on her…” Or, “How about those Packers?”

I have certainly tried to regale my son with frank stories of my past. Lord knows, I’ve probably repeated many of them, and probably will here too. From these, I hope he takes bits and pieces of knowledge about real life. Or if not that, at least a cautionary tale of how not to live. He laughs (along with me) about my misfortunes and miscalculations. But, there in the heart of these stories are true heartache, and redemption.

Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “Learn from the mistakes of others. You can't live long enough to make them all yourself.” In just sixty-some years, I think I’ve finally learned to live a life. It has certainly not been without its’ divots. I still struggle with life’s ups and downs, even when I should be shrugging at it all and saying, “Yeah. So Fucking What?” 

Well, as a gift to my son… and to all the sons and daughters out there, I’ve decided to give this compendium of life lessons and opinions. Granted, these are from my point of view. As Groucho Marx once quipped, “Those are my principles, and if you don't like them... well, I have others.” But, maybe. Just maybe someone might read these stories and writings and take away something important from them.

I have written down the sum total of what I have learned so far in my life. Take it as you may. Laugh at the jokes, feel bad for the stupid author. He is obviously not the sharpest tool in the shed. Yet, the fool may have something to teach us all. After all, it was a game that kept death at bay in the movie, “The Seventh Seal.”

Do you want to play a game?

Couple-ers. THE CAR.

 Couple-ers. 

 Okay, let’s talk about THE CAR. I know she loves THE CAR, probably more than anything else on this earth… except maybe her daughter. A 1991 Ford Mustang 5.0 V8 – Black as night. Nice ride. But, I don’t think I would tell her that, now. Oh, I love the car too…. It’s hard not to. The thing is from another era… gas, oil, rock n’ roll, burn out competitions. You know? I have a certain kinship with that era, as that’s where I came from… certainly more so than she ever did. 

She’s younger than me… by some amount of years, I must say. Hers was the era of big hair rock….  OZZY! And hard rock band names like TOOL… and SHED…. And RAKE… and BLOODYGUTSRIPPEDOUT.  Here too, I have a certain kinship.. after all, what self-respecting rock musician hasn’t played Ratt’s Round and Round? Or Crazy Train?

Still, it’s all about the friggin’ car. Of course, I get to hear (over and over again) about the stories where her and her ex-hubby purchased their Mustangs together… ah, sweet love in youth. Well, he had to sell his for one reason or another… and yet, the black ‘Tang rules this roost.

She has a regular, daily driver, so this makes her an admiral with two automobiles within her fleet. I, on the other hand just own one vehicle. We have one parking spot in front of our apartment, and one spot in the Garage. She also has a storage shed where she keeps the Mustang in hibernation over the winter months. That means in early April the beast comes out and stays parked in the Garage.

She parks her truck in the parking stall, car in the garage… leaving me and my little mini to fend for ourselves in the wild. We did strike up a deal where my car at least gets some egress in front of the apartment. Yet, the beast now rules the Garage area from now until late October.

The car itself is in some dire QT, as the doors don’t entirely latch, the left front headlight is out. Normally, an easy FORD fix.. but, these are not your stock headlights, no. These are special HID or “xenon” lights, installed by a “best friend of an Uncle of a brother’s friend who knew how to do these things…” AH, I see.

So, no headlight on the passenger side.

“Yeah, I gotta get that fixed someday…” Well, again I have a more-than-nodding-acquaintance with that expression. I understand.

The beast rumbles like a tiger, which is exciting of course. As long as you don’t have to ride too far or too fast in it. And of course, the appreciative looks from people walking or riding by gives one that Rock Star feeling….  “OOOH, Nice car!” they exclaim. She gets a look on her face, like that of many of the smug lead singers (no, not like me) get when they are loved by the crowd. “Thank you,” she says. What she means is “F--- yah!” and then she squeals around the corner.

Of course, there are the oil/gas/water leaks that happen invariably. This does not sit well with the landlady.. always on the lookout for potential “spills” – which they will charge you for any found. (Or, so they say).  It’s all because life and acreage is taken up by THE CAR.

There are the roads in which she will not drive (TOO BUMPY!), which means that to get from A to B requires a maze-like roundabout way to get to any destination. All the while, she is complaining about everyone’s driving.

All in all, it’s another one of those “extras” one gets to have in a relationship – The Girlfriend (s) from the past in which she must tell every.single.thing. (“Oh? Then he just rolls over? Really?”) and the family (mega-family with mult-branches) and the little patio baubles that light up (of course). The Mustang will forever haunt my nightmares, much like the Christine before her (UGH, I could hear her say… THAT’S a MOPAR product!)… but, I get it.

She would say, “AND HOW MANY GUITARS DO YOU HAVE?”  and I would have to agree that my little “hobby” (It’s not a friggin’ HOBBY!) is at least as expensive as hers. I remind myself it’s a better thing than hanging out in bars, or gambling. And it is nice to have folks notice when we drive by (the old Rock Star in me)… but just once, just once I wish she would let me drive the thing.  

WHY EBIKES WILL NEVER CATCH ON! // Why do some people hate eBikes?