I interacted with three car dealership service department employees this week. Each was friendly, articulate, and helpful. Kudos, Regal Nissan. I’m still a service-it-yourself sort of fellow, so I don’t plan to visit you folks often, but I hope this is the norm.
Remember those compasses we all had in grade school, on one end of which was the very sharpest point you’d ever encountered in your entire (short) life? Do kids still have those? I can’t see how, with all the zero tolerance hysteria. What do they do instead? Trace jar lids?
Speaking of jars, the correct order of preference for what kind of jam or jelly to use for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich is: grape jelly, strawberry jam, apple jelly, blackberry jam. Lacking these, apple butter produces an acceptable, though unambiguously inferior, sandwich. Raspberry jam is probably fine if you like raspberries, but I don’t. Peanut butter and orange marmalade will open a portal to hell into which you will be immediately sucked.
My single favorite piece of college football band music—besides “Yea Alabama,” of course—is “Chinese Bandits” (recently neologized to “Tiger Bandits”), an ominous little fanfare the LSU band plays whenever the defense forces fourth down. It’s perfect for the purpose in that it’s chilling, short, and omnipresent when they’re rolling.
I ate lunch at TGIFriday’s, one of the stuff-on-the-wallingest of the stuff-on-the-walls, today. We sat exactly one table away from where, on a lunch date sometime in 1993, one of the sexiest women I ever went out with proceeded to tell me she was a Mafia princess. Creative blowoff? Perhaps. It worked. And how. I wanted in her pants bad, but not that bad.
When I was about 8, my dad had a tape recorder that he’d talk about work into while he was traveling. About five years ago I bought a voice recorder and tried it for a while, but soon sold it to a friend. I do a lot of great thinking counting mile markers on the interstate, but giving voice to my thoughts doesn’t work well for me. Interesting how differently we’re all wired.
I’m pleased to finally see some serious dissent on the gigantic federal bailout (did you notice they switched to calling it a “rescue plan” sometime in the last day or so?). It gives me hope that we’ll merely be fucked hard instead of being fucked really hard. Pass the K-Y.