Reinventing the Wheel

Inside it's warm and cozy and I have a scotch and ginger ale to sip on. Outside it's snowing, the first time it's snowed in Atlanta in a few years. I dislike winter; I'd much rather be too hot than too cold. There's something about the cold that just penetrates down into me and makes me instantly miserable. All that said, I adore snow.

When it's snowing outside, I'm downright giddy. This is good snow we've got tonight, too. Big flakes that shatter into white dust when it hits a dry roadway and stand out on a black wool coat like spring's first dogwood blossoms. I'm not the only one, either. Big men the size of linebackers stare up at the flakes with a look of pure delight. I love that I live somewhere that snow is novel and special.

Of course, when a few flakes fall in Atlanta, the city grinds to a halt. Supermarkets sell out of milk and bread and eggs, because the only way to survive a snowstorm in Georgia is (apparently) to make french toast. The normally atrocious traffic doubles its wrath not because the roads are slick, but because we tend to keep our eyes on the flakes instead of the cars in front of us.

There's sleet and frozen rain on its way tonight, which could make things rather interesting. I remember the last freezing rainstorm we had back in 2000. The power went out in September's and my apartment overnight. We woke up listening to the eerie, hollow, echoing crack of trees breaking under the weight of the ice. The darkness outside was periodically and dazzlingly broken by the blue flash of an exploding power transformer. As it turns out, though, Matt and Stephen had power, so all of us packed up some clothes and our pets and had a campout and sleepover, complete with Sega Dreamcast and cards at the kitchen table. It's easily my favorite memory of their apartment.

Tonight is a good night to be home. I've got a lot of work on my plate and will enjoy taking some time off for World of Warcraft now and again. And every once in awhile I'll glance over at the window and smile.

Posted by Dave at 06:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Dearest television,

We've had a good long run, haven't we? I remember many nights spent laughing at your antics. Occasionally you told me something that got me thinking. You've even managed to teach me a thing or two.

We've had our share of fights as well. I still remember the cold, dark winter of 2002 when we had our worst fight ever. I've still never really forgiven you for cancelling "Firefly" and "Boomtown," but to do them both in at the same time spoke volumes of your cruelty.

I have a confession to make, television: I've been talking about you behind your back. I've been telling my friends for some time now about my plan to scale you back. You cost too much and you don't really add a lot of value to my life. You've hung on this long due to some combination of patience and apathy. Tonight, however, was the last straw.

I've been that guy all weekend. You know, the guy who tries to bend all those around him to his will. You see, I trusted you with recording the SEC championship game on Saturday. I know it's longer than you're used to handling, but I felt comfortable in your abilities. I had to ask everybody in Chattanooga not to mention the score around me.

After my drive home, I settled down for a nice evening catching up on football. You teased me, that's for sure. You took me all the way to the first touchdown before you started in on your old tricks. Soon, I realized that the remainder of the recording was damaged beyond repair, cast to the winds. The worst thing, though, is that this isn't the first time you've done it. Oh, no, we've been through three of your crummy Comcast Motorola Peesacrap DVRs, and every one of them gave us the finger on the way out the same way you did. This is the very definition of an abusive relationship.

Well, no more, television. I'm making the call tomorrow and taking you down. How do the words "basic cable" sound to you, wiseguy? Oh, yeah, once you were "Silver Premium Digital" or some other code name for a hundred dollars a month of vapid agony. How's the view from the cheap seats, jerk? You'd just better hope that writer's strike works itself out soon, or you'll be staring at the inside of the armoire doors from now until the next Presidential adminstration.

I'm glad we've had this little chat.

Posted by Dave at 12:06 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

It's hot. I love summer, and I love living in Atlanta, and I even love summer in Atlanta, but it's hot. Unusually hot. When it's a hundred degrees during the day, you can count on it being in the high seventies at night. Of course that's fine by me; hot summer nights are my favorite time to go topless in my del Sol.

(The magnetic number on the side is from a road rally we did back in July. No Speed Racer illusions here.)

Last night I was driving back from a friend's house at about eleven at night. Dark country roads, half moon on a cloudy night, a warm breeze as I cruise my way home. It sounds cliche, but every time I take the top of that car it makes me smile. We've had Sunny for most of eight years now, and the novelty still hasn't worn off.

I always wanted a convertible, even when I was a kid. As it happens, I never got to ride in one until my first date with my wife. We've driven Sunny to Miami and back, to our hotel the night of our wedding, down the Blue Ridge Parkway, and on countless road trips through the Georgia mountains. She's eleven years old, has almost a hundred and sixty thousand miles, and is still going strong.

I auditioned to be a contestant on "Jeopardy!" a few months ago. A friend warned me that I'd be asked what I'd do with the money should I win. Of course, knowing me, I'll pay off debt and be responsible, but that's not a good interview answer. When the time came, I told the story of our del Sol, and that I'd like to use the money to repaint and reupholster and restore her. The interviewer asked why we wouldn't just buy a new car. It's obvious he's never been in love with an automobile.

I see del Sols fairly frequently around Atlanta. In fact, there's another one here in our apartment complex. It could just be that it's a distinct looking car, and therefore you tend to remember one when you spot one. I probably saw a hundred Celicas today; I don't remember any one of them. When the newest del Sols are now ten years old, however, seeing them so readily speaks to the loyalty they inspire. We get offers from people wanting to buy Sunny from us on the order of once a month. And while some people may think our average condition 1996 Honda del Sol is worth a couple of grand at best, in my heart Sunny's priceless.

Posted by Dave at 12:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)