Somehow, this was not quite how I imagined spending New Years when I set out from Orlando to go to a party in Dallas. It’s 9:38pm, new years eve 2001, and I’m sitting in my car at a gas station. Quite thankfully, I got in touch with Karen Black, who lives not far from where I’m stranded in Tyler, Texas. As I was somewhere in Mississippi today, I was thinking about the possibility of my alternator dying. I only thought about it because someone had just discussed the demise of the alternator in her ’91 miata with about the same…
Got somewhat bad about this writing thing when people were here. Must be that Red Alert 2 syndrome, or something. Anyway, it’s back to the normal life of Berck today. Nothing exciting in the mail… My car is still in pieces, and my computer is in shambles. On Sunday, Dad just thought he’d let me know that there wasn’t a chance that I’d get my differential on Monday. His reasoning? “It’s an automotive repair. This means it will be late and overbudget.” “But it’s ALREADY late and overbudget!” (i.e., I was supposed to get it back by Wednesday (before thanksgiving)for…
The differential for my car came in the mail today. Interestingly enough, I got home and discovered that I had left my keys at the mailbox. This time I really had, and they were hanging out of the mailbox. So I took the differential up to Roswell Mazda, a nice 40 mile drive from my house. He said he should be done with it by Wednesday. And then I can start putting things back together, I hope… I’m really missing being able to drive. Not a whole lot else happened today. Dad and I went shopping. Bought a turkey. There’s…
It was quite a nice fall day. Even smells like fall. The sky was fairly gray today, I’m not sure why. Now that it’s twilight, it’s very grey. The treeline is grey and brown, the grass is brown. Winter is near. I like the smell of fall. Perhaps better than the small of Spring. I’ve felt somewhat gloomy today, and didn’t feel like doing much of anything. I’ve never quite figured out why I don’t like Sundays. It’s just an icky day. Everyday has a feeling about it, and I’ve never liked the feeling of Sunday. The Italians are the…
I’m really not much of one for thinking up subjects. The box in which one types this says “Entry (This will go down on your permanent record)” Ooooh.. My permanent record. When I was much younger, I was lead to believe there was this “permanent record” on which all ones transgressions were reported. It never bothered me that there didn’t seem to be any such authority to keep track of such a record. The concept was frightening enough. This was, of course, before I got old enough to care about things like civil liberties, and that such a permanent record…