"Dang, Dad," he said, "that's sure a lot of lost dogs!"
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Lost Dog
Son1 pointed out this light pole at lunch today.
"Dang, Dad," he said, "that's sure a lot of lost dogs!"
"Dang, Dad," he said, "that's sure a lot of lost dogs!"
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Backwards Masking
The little bride tells me that I'm crazy.
While I won't argue that point, I will insist that something just ain't right with the folks that do the closed captions for Christopher Lowell.
The bride likes to watch his show for "decorating tips" but I think she really has fantasies about "converting" him. Just a theory. But back to the point at hand.
If you turn the sound down and start the closed captions, it really seems like some kind of backwards masking is going on. Or something. Something evil. Here's an example of what I'm talking about, you tell me if I'm wrong. If you need a better look, click on the picture and it will get scary big.
ackbards smakcign
Not convinced? Okay, here's another example. What the hell is he saying? Whatever it is, he seems pretty confident about it.
smo asking bamarks
There's something evil afoot. I don't know exactly what. But I don't like it...
While I won't argue that point, I will insist that something just ain't right with the folks that do the closed captions for Christopher Lowell.
The bride likes to watch his show for "decorating tips" but I think she really has fantasies about "converting" him. Just a theory. But back to the point at hand.
If you turn the sound down and start the closed captions, it really seems like some kind of backwards masking is going on. Or something. Something evil. Here's an example of what I'm talking about, you tell me if I'm wrong. If you need a better look, click on the picture and it will get scary big.
ackbards smakcign
Not convinced? Okay, here's another example. What the hell is he saying? Whatever it is, he seems pretty confident about it.
smo asking bamarks
There's something evil afoot. I don't know exactly what. But I don't like it...
Self Taser
via email this morning...
Last weekend I saw something at Larry's Pistol & Pawn Shop that sparked my interest. The occasion was our 22nd anniversary and I was looking for a little something extra for my wife Toni. What I came across was a 100 000-volt, pocket/purse-sized taser.
The effects of the taser were suppose to be short lived, with no long-term adverse affect on your assailant, allowing her adequate time to retreat to safety.... WAY TOO COOL!
Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. I loaded two triple-a batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button.
Nothing! I was disappointed. I learned, however, that if I pushed the button AND pressed it against a metal surface at the same time; I'd get the blue arch of electricity darting back and forth between the prongs.
Awesome!!! Unfortunately, I have yet to explain to Toni what that burned spot is on the face of her microwave.
Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that it couldn't be all that bad with only two triple-a batteries,. right?!!!
There I sat in my recliner, my cat Gracie looking on intently (trusting little soul) while I was reading the directions and thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh & blood moving target. I must admit I thought about zapping Gracie (for a fraction of a second) and thought better of it. She is such a sweet cat. But, if I was going to give this thing to my wife to protect herself against a mugger, I did want some assurance that it would work as advertised. Am I wrong?
So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a tank top with my reading glasses perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one hand, taser in another. The directions said that a one-second burst would shock and disorient your assailant; a two-second burst was supposed to cause muscle spasms and a major loss of bodily control; a three-second burst would purportedly make your assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of water.
Any burst longer than three seconds would be wasting the batteries.
All the while I'm looking at this little device measuring about 5" long, less than 3/4 inch in circumference; pretty cute really and loaded with two itsy, bitsy triple-a batteries) thinking to myself, "no possible way!"
What happened next is almost beyond description, but I'll do my best.....
I'm sitting there alone, Gracie looking on with her head cocked to one side as to say, "don't do it master," reasoning that a one-second burst from such a tiny little ole thing couldn't hurt all that bad.. I decided to give myself a one-second burst just for the heck of it. I touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and HOLY MOTHER OF WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION@!@$$!%!@*!!!
I'm pretty sure Jessie Ventura ran in through the side door, picked me up in the recliner, then body slammed us both on the carpet, over and over and over again. I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the fetal position, with tears in my eyes, body soaking wet, both nipples on fire, testicles nowhere to be found, with my left arm tucked under my body in the oddest position, and tingling in my legs. The cat was standing over me making meowing sounds I had never heard before, licking my face, undoubtedly thinking to herself, "do it again, do it again!"
Note: If you ever feel compelled to "mug" yourself with a taser, one note of caution: there is no such thing as a one-second burst when you zap yourself. You will not let go of that thing until it is dislodged from your hand by a violent thrashing about on the floor. A three second burst would be considered conservative.
SON-OF-A-.. that hurt like hell!!! A minute or so later (I can't be sure, as time was a relative thing at that point), collected my wits (what little I had left), sat up and surveyed the landscape. My bent reading glasses were on the mantel of the fireplace. How did they up get there??? My triceps, right thigh and both nipples were still twitching. My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, and my bottom lip weighed 88 lbs.
I'm still looking for my testicles. I'm offering a significant reward for their safe return.
Still in shock,
Tommy
Last weekend I saw something at Larry's Pistol & Pawn Shop that sparked my interest. The occasion was our 22nd anniversary and I was looking for a little something extra for my wife Toni. What I came across was a 100 000-volt, pocket/purse-sized taser.
The effects of the taser were suppose to be short lived, with no long-term adverse affect on your assailant, allowing her adequate time to retreat to safety.... WAY TOO COOL!
Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. I loaded two triple-a batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button.
Nothing! I was disappointed. I learned, however, that if I pushed the button AND pressed it against a metal surface at the same time; I'd get the blue arch of electricity darting back and forth between the prongs.
Awesome!!! Unfortunately, I have yet to explain to Toni what that burned spot is on the face of her microwave.
Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that it couldn't be all that bad with only two triple-a batteries,. right?!!!
There I sat in my recliner, my cat Gracie looking on intently (trusting little soul) while I was reading the directions and thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh & blood moving target. I must admit I thought about zapping Gracie (for a fraction of a second) and thought better of it. She is such a sweet cat. But, if I was going to give this thing to my wife to protect herself against a mugger, I did want some assurance that it would work as advertised. Am I wrong?
So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a tank top with my reading glasses perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one hand, taser in another. The directions said that a one-second burst would shock and disorient your assailant; a two-second burst was supposed to cause muscle spasms and a major loss of bodily control; a three-second burst would purportedly make your assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of water.
Any burst longer than three seconds would be wasting the batteries.
All the while I'm looking at this little device measuring about 5" long, less than 3/4 inch in circumference; pretty cute really and loaded with two itsy, bitsy triple-a batteries) thinking to myself, "no possible way!"
What happened next is almost beyond description, but I'll do my best.....
I'm sitting there alone, Gracie looking on with her head cocked to one side as to say, "don't do it master," reasoning that a one-second burst from such a tiny little ole thing couldn't hurt all that bad.. I decided to give myself a one-second burst just for the heck of it. I touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and HOLY MOTHER OF WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION@!@$$!%!@*!!!
I'm pretty sure Jessie Ventura ran in through the side door, picked me up in the recliner, then body slammed us both on the carpet, over and over and over again. I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the fetal position, with tears in my eyes, body soaking wet, both nipples on fire, testicles nowhere to be found, with my left arm tucked under my body in the oddest position, and tingling in my legs. The cat was standing over me making meowing sounds I had never heard before, licking my face, undoubtedly thinking to herself, "do it again, do it again!"
Note: If you ever feel compelled to "mug" yourself with a taser, one note of caution: there is no such thing as a one-second burst when you zap yourself. You will not let go of that thing until it is dislodged from your hand by a violent thrashing about on the floor. A three second burst would be considered conservative.
SON-OF-A-.. that hurt like hell!!! A minute or so later (I can't be sure, as time was a relative thing at that point), collected my wits (what little I had left), sat up and surveyed the landscape. My bent reading glasses were on the mantel of the fireplace. How did they up get there??? My triceps, right thigh and both nipples were still twitching. My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, and my bottom lip weighed 88 lbs.
I'm still looking for my testicles. I'm offering a significant reward for their safe return.
Still in shock,
Tommy
Sunday, March 26, 2006
Blog tribute
Waiter Rant
The young couple seemed innocent enough when they stepped into the Bistro around 4:30. Certainly no reason not to seat them in the prime window table they requested. After all, it wasn’t reserved until 7:00.
But now they’ve been cooing and making goo-goo eyes for over two hours and I desperately need to free that table up for Mr. Big’s party that is soon to arrive.
“Looks like they’re moving in,” whispers Saroya as she glides into the kitchen. Her section is turning like a clock and I can see her mentally tallying the tips in her head as she chuckles about my misfortune.
I mention to Fluvio that I’ve really got a problem.
“No problem,” he says.
“What do you mean, no problem, Mr. Big will be here any time now.”
I saw a flash in Fluvio’s eye as he reiterated, “no problem.”
My hopes for help were dashed as Fluvio got on the phone and started having what appeared to be an animated conversation.
But, it wasn’t long until Mr. Goo-goo-eyes’ attention was drawn to something on the street through his coveted window seat.
“Crap!” he yelled as he leapt to his feet.
Outside, I could see the tow-truck pulling up to a yuppie BMW.
“Your check, sir,” I smiled as he ran past me out of the door. Fluvio had come through for me after all.
Tracy X
I loves me my yummy frothy frappacino from Starbucks. I could drink them all day except that it would make my thighs as thick as the Michelin Tire Man. But I’m in line at the Starbucks and I’m thinking about how lovely it would be, exciting really, if the Korean Mafia were here and they were reciting haiku to me. And the homeless lady at the back table chimed in and it was like one of those Coke commercials where they teach the world to sing in perfect harmony and everything and then, well, except it’s in haiku and not harmony and then they all take me out for shots. And they’re like putting salt on my cleavage and licking it off and doing tequila shots, even the homeless lady, which is really cool except that my boss who is like the head of the Korean Mafia and all is getting jealous and he fires everybody except me, even the homeless lady, and now I’m in charge of the company but there’s nobody to do the work and everything gets all out of control, you know, and I feel like maybe I don’t really know what I’m doing and then I wake up and it was really a dream and my dog is licking me. He slobbers a lot. But I vaguely smell frappacino and I’m thinking, “WTF?”
Sandy
Me and Francis had been sitting on the porch, her in her swing, me on the other side of the porch in mine, both of us puffing on Virginia Slims cigarettes. I couldn’t see her face, but she let out a big old puff of smoke and said, “Sandy, what in the hell were you thinking when you set that pan of burning grease on my kitchen table? You done ruined it for good now!”
I knew she wouldn’t still be mad at me the next day, but it sure made me feel lower than a toadstool that night. And ever since that day I have known that when the grease catches on fire, you throw that pan out the window. You don’t set it down nowhere. And, if Ailey doesn’t learn another thing from me, I hope that she remembers that lesson for the rest of her life.
Bane
You all know that I am not one to embellish my stories. Everything you read here is the truth. I know that many of you are calling “bullshit” right now, and you’re welcome to go read a safer blog somewhere else. Maybe over at Instapundit or Disney dot com. For all I care you can just chuck your computer and give up on the whole web surfing thing all together. That’s not my problem.
I just know that when I pulled the sixteen inches of cold steel from his throat, the same sixteen inches of steel I had just plunged in to the hilt, the man transformed before my eyes into a crow and flew away.
I resolved that moment never to confront the invisible forces of evil in that manner again. Next time I would go for one of the sixteen pistols I have secreted about my body…
The young couple seemed innocent enough when they stepped into the Bistro around 4:30. Certainly no reason not to seat them in the prime window table they requested. After all, it wasn’t reserved until 7:00.
But now they’ve been cooing and making goo-goo eyes for over two hours and I desperately need to free that table up for Mr. Big’s party that is soon to arrive.
“Looks like they’re moving in,” whispers Saroya as she glides into the kitchen. Her section is turning like a clock and I can see her mentally tallying the tips in her head as she chuckles about my misfortune.
I mention to Fluvio that I’ve really got a problem.
“No problem,” he says.
“What do you mean, no problem, Mr. Big will be here any time now.”
I saw a flash in Fluvio’s eye as he reiterated, “no problem.”
My hopes for help were dashed as Fluvio got on the phone and started having what appeared to be an animated conversation.
But, it wasn’t long until Mr. Goo-goo-eyes’ attention was drawn to something on the street through his coveted window seat.
“Crap!” he yelled as he leapt to his feet.
Outside, I could see the tow-truck pulling up to a yuppie BMW.
“Your check, sir,” I smiled as he ran past me out of the door. Fluvio had come through for me after all.
Tracy X
I loves me my yummy frothy frappacino from Starbucks. I could drink them all day except that it would make my thighs as thick as the Michelin Tire Man. But I’m in line at the Starbucks and I’m thinking about how lovely it would be, exciting really, if the Korean Mafia were here and they were reciting haiku to me. And the homeless lady at the back table chimed in and it was like one of those Coke commercials where they teach the world to sing in perfect harmony and everything and then, well, except it’s in haiku and not harmony and then they all take me out for shots. And they’re like putting salt on my cleavage and licking it off and doing tequila shots, even the homeless lady, which is really cool except that my boss who is like the head of the Korean Mafia and all is getting jealous and he fires everybody except me, even the homeless lady, and now I’m in charge of the company but there’s nobody to do the work and everything gets all out of control, you know, and I feel like maybe I don’t really know what I’m doing and then I wake up and it was really a dream and my dog is licking me. He slobbers a lot. But I vaguely smell frappacino and I’m thinking, “WTF?”
Sandy
Me and Francis had been sitting on the porch, her in her swing, me on the other side of the porch in mine, both of us puffing on Virginia Slims cigarettes. I couldn’t see her face, but she let out a big old puff of smoke and said, “Sandy, what in the hell were you thinking when you set that pan of burning grease on my kitchen table? You done ruined it for good now!”
I knew she wouldn’t still be mad at me the next day, but it sure made me feel lower than a toadstool that night. And ever since that day I have known that when the grease catches on fire, you throw that pan out the window. You don’t set it down nowhere. And, if Ailey doesn’t learn another thing from me, I hope that she remembers that lesson for the rest of her life.
Bane
You all know that I am not one to embellish my stories. Everything you read here is the truth. I know that many of you are calling “bullshit” right now, and you’re welcome to go read a safer blog somewhere else. Maybe over at Instapundit or Disney dot com. For all I care you can just chuck your computer and give up on the whole web surfing thing all together. That’s not my problem.
I just know that when I pulled the sixteen inches of cold steel from his throat, the same sixteen inches of steel I had just plunged in to the hilt, the man transformed before my eyes into a crow and flew away.
I resolved that moment never to confront the invisible forces of evil in that manner again. Next time I would go for one of the sixteen pistols I have secreted about my body…
Monday, March 20, 2006
Friday, March 17, 2006
Lance Armstrong Frightens Children and Wildlife
Well, I don't really have any proof about children, but...
I suppose it's just that time of year. It started several weeks ago when I noticed a thumping noise coming from the kitchen. Investigating, I found a young robin slamming himself into the back door, over and over and over again. Which is kind of funny to watch.
He apparently sees his reflection and considers it to be viable competition for the ladies.
And I don't mind birds and animals kind of doing their thing around here as long as it doesn't interfere with my lifestyle too much, so I figured I could wait him out until he tired of it and finally got him some sweet bird loving to calm him down.
I didn't even mind the streaky marks he's leaving all over the windows so much.
But the problem I've got now, since it's going on for weeks on end is that he sits on the railing and poops in between bouts with the phantom rival.
Which we just can't continue to abide.
He's even taken to bringing a friend along to watch him slam into the window. I don't know if the friend poops on the railing or not, but I'm ready to put a stop to it.
I noticed that when I walk up to the window, they fly away and the thumping stops for a while. Then it starts back up in a bit and continues until I walk in again. This goes on pretty much all day.
So this morning, I see this ad in Newsweek Magazine, "Put on Your Lance Face." It has a big ole, nearly lifesize head of Lance Armstrong.
I tore out the page, taped it to the inside of the window, looking out, and voila!
No more bird headbangers...
At least for now.
UPDATE!
It appears that not only are birds not frightened of Lance Armstrong,
but now it seems to only infuriate the little guy more...
I've got to find myself some pictures of Chuck Norris...
I suppose it's just that time of year. It started several weeks ago when I noticed a thumping noise coming from the kitchen. Investigating, I found a young robin slamming himself into the back door, over and over and over again. Which is kind of funny to watch.
He apparently sees his reflection and considers it to be viable competition for the ladies.
And I don't mind birds and animals kind of doing their thing around here as long as it doesn't interfere with my lifestyle too much, so I figured I could wait him out until he tired of it and finally got him some sweet bird loving to calm him down.
I didn't even mind the streaky marks he's leaving all over the windows so much.
But the problem I've got now, since it's going on for weeks on end is that he sits on the railing and poops in between bouts with the phantom rival.
Which we just can't continue to abide.
He's even taken to bringing a friend along to watch him slam into the window. I don't know if the friend poops on the railing or not, but I'm ready to put a stop to it.
I noticed that when I walk up to the window, they fly away and the thumping stops for a while. Then it starts back up in a bit and continues until I walk in again. This goes on pretty much all day.
So this morning, I see this ad in Newsweek Magazine, "Put on Your Lance Face." It has a big ole, nearly lifesize head of Lance Armstrong.
I tore out the page, taped it to the inside of the window, looking out, and voila!
No more bird headbangers...
At least for now.
UPDATE!
It appears that not only are birds not frightened of Lance Armstrong,
but now it seems to only infuriate the little guy more...
I've got to find myself some pictures of Chuck Norris...
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Attractive Customers
Not in the usual sense, no.
But, I frequently go to lunch with one of my co-workers. And, both of us having adventurous palates, we like to try new and/or exotic restaurants. Today, we tried out a fairly new sushi bar here downtown, and when we got there the place was empty. In fact, two of the wait staff were standing in the doorway as if to try and flag down passing pedestrians.
So, as we're eating our bento, I notice the place is starting to fill up.
I casually mention that this seems to happen everywhere we go. It seems when we start eating somewhere new, it attracts more customers. As a matter of fact, I told him, restaurants should be willing to feed us for free just to get us to come there and increase their business. He, of course, thought that was a capital idea and I could see that he was thinking about how we could market such a concept.
When it came time to pay, he asked the hostess, "Is it always this busy?"
"No," she said, "today is a lot busier than normal."
I gave my friend a knowing look.
"You should feed us for free," he said.
The hostess looked a little confused as she counted out my change. "Well, I guess people are starting to find out about us," she muttered.
So. If you are in the greater Little Rock area, have a restaurant and would like to see your business grow, leave particulars in the comments section of this post about when and where you will feed us for free.
Our guarantee: you must be completely satisfied with the results of feeding us for free and increasing your business, or we won't eat for free in your restaurant ever again!
But, I frequently go to lunch with one of my co-workers. And, both of us having adventurous palates, we like to try new and/or exotic restaurants. Today, we tried out a fairly new sushi bar here downtown, and when we got there the place was empty. In fact, two of the wait staff were standing in the doorway as if to try and flag down passing pedestrians.
So, as we're eating our bento, I notice the place is starting to fill up.
I casually mention that this seems to happen everywhere we go. It seems when we start eating somewhere new, it attracts more customers. As a matter of fact, I told him, restaurants should be willing to feed us for free just to get us to come there and increase their business. He, of course, thought that was a capital idea and I could see that he was thinking about how we could market such a concept.
When it came time to pay, he asked the hostess, "Is it always this busy?"
"No," she said, "today is a lot busier than normal."
I gave my friend a knowing look.
"You should feed us for free," he said.
The hostess looked a little confused as she counted out my change. "Well, I guess people are starting to find out about us," she muttered.
So. If you are in the greater Little Rock area, have a restaurant and would like to see your business grow, leave particulars in the comments section of this post about when and where you will feed us for free.
Our guarantee: you must be completely satisfied with the results of feeding us for free and increasing your business, or we won't eat for free in your restaurant ever again!
Monday, March 13, 2006
Do I know you?
From time to time I notice folks here in Little Rock that have been by to read my drivel, and from Conway and other towns about Arkansas. If you're a local reader, would you drop me a line and let me know how you found me and maybe a little about yourself?
Okay, I'm really curious, who is with GHB&W? Come on, you can tell me...
Okay, I'm really curious, who is with GHB&W? Come on, you can tell me...
Friday, March 10, 2006
Ebay Advice
I have a soft spot in my heart for early glass. I like blown and pressed glass and particularly the Ashburton pattern. There's something about a hundred and fifty year old glass that just feels good. Something that fragile that has survived all those years and I'm drinking wine in it. Or whiskey, or beer...
And, if you come to my house you can drink out of them too. Just don't toss it in the fireplace when you're finished.
It was a really cool thing when I found five water tumblers on eBay in my Ashburton pattern. I placed a ridiculously low bid on them, approximately as much as you'd normally pay for one, and crossed my fingers.
Well I won, and I was pretty pleased with that.
But let me give you a clue, you wannabe ebay tycoons:
If you sell something fragile, don't wrap it in newspaper and toss it in a box.
There's something really sad about opening your box that just came in the mail and finding little neatly wrapped packages of 150 year old glass shards...
And, if you come to my house you can drink out of them too. Just don't toss it in the fireplace when you're finished.
It was a really cool thing when I found five water tumblers on eBay in my Ashburton pattern. I placed a ridiculously low bid on them, approximately as much as you'd normally pay for one, and crossed my fingers.
Well I won, and I was pretty pleased with that.
But let me give you a clue, you wannabe ebay tycoons:
If you sell something fragile, don't wrap it in newspaper and toss it in a box.
There's something really sad about opening your box that just came in the mail and finding little neatly wrapped packages of 150 year old glass shards...
Sunday, March 05, 2006
I remember...
Sandy will tell you, I don't do the "me-me" thing very often. And I never pass on those emails that implore you not to break the chain. But I saw this me-me over at Junebug's place and it made me think about all the crap I wrote in people's yearbooks back in high school. If someone asked me to sign their yearbook, I would write a half page or so about all the stuff we had done together. Of course it was stuff like being on the cheerleading squad with them and b.s. designed to make them scratch their heads in future years muttering, "who in the hell was this guy?"
So, without further ado, (and I expect both of the people that read this to respond!) here's the poop:
"If you read this, if your eyes are passing over this right now, (even if we don't speak often or don't really know each other) please post a comment with a COMPLETELY MADE UP AND FICTIONAL memory of you and me. It can be anything you want - good or bad - BUT IT HAS TO BE FAKE. When you're finished, post this little paragraph on your blog and be surprised (or mortified) about what people DON'T ACTUALLY remember about you!"
So, without further ado, (and I expect both of the people that read this to respond!) here's the poop:
"If you read this, if your eyes are passing over this right now, (even if we don't speak often or don't really know each other) please post a comment with a COMPLETELY MADE UP AND FICTIONAL memory of you and me. It can be anything you want - good or bad - BUT IT HAS TO BE FAKE. When you're finished, post this little paragraph on your blog and be surprised (or mortified) about what people DON'T ACTUALLY remember about you!"
Thursday, March 02, 2006
Won't you be my neighbor?
The neighborhood I work in is, for lack of a better term, eccentric. Naw, a better term might be weird.
And, as the fellow once said, it might be easier to just show you than to try and explain it.
First stop on our tour is just behind our building. All I can say is this guy must be a real fan...
Kiss Car
And then, going down to 15th and Main, there's... well,
discount hookers
I've never actually seen anyone there, so I can't vouch for the quality, but if anyone knows, please fill me in...
And, as the fellow once said, it might be easier to just show you than to try and explain it.
First stop on our tour is just behind our building. All I can say is this guy must be a real fan...
Kiss Car
And then, going down to 15th and Main, there's... well,
discount hookers
I've never actually seen anyone there, so I can't vouch for the quality, but if anyone knows, please fill me in...
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
The Boy's Ride
Okay, some of you remember last summer when son1 bought his dream car. Only trouble was, it didn't have an engine, a transmission, tires, and well, lots of things that most of us take for granted. Yeah, he said he was going to save his money and buy all those things and fix it up.
I wasn't really enthusiastic about this plan, knowing that the boy is a lot like me in the procrastination department. And I advised him at the time that he would be better off buying one that was already mostly there, or at least running. Of course he would hear nothing of it. This was, after all, his dream car. And I believe in letting children fail.
So, here we are, the better part of a year later and the only thing he has done to his dream car is install an inner cooler he bought from a junk yard (wtf???)and taken the lenses off of the primered lights. BUT!!!
He did do the saving part.
And, last night he went and bought another car of his dreams with the cash he had saved.
"mitsi"
At least this one has an...
engine!
I wasn't really enthusiastic about this plan, knowing that the boy is a lot like me in the procrastination department. And I advised him at the time that he would be better off buying one that was already mostly there, or at least running. Of course he would hear nothing of it. This was, after all, his dream car. And I believe in letting children fail.
So, here we are, the better part of a year later and the only thing he has done to his dream car is install an inner cooler he bought from a junk yard (wtf???)and taken the lenses off of the primered lights. BUT!!!
He did do the saving part.
And, last night he went and bought another car of his dreams with the cash he had saved.
"mitsi"
At least this one has an...
engine!
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