Highlights of a Tuesday
Mason calls this afternoon:
Oh my God! You’ll never believe what I just saw!
(excited) What?! What!
Three bees doing it! It’s a bee three-some!
(non-plussed) That’s, um, fantastic. I saw some flies do that once.
Yeah! One on top, one in the back. I’m going to go take a nap now.
Okay. Sweet dreams.
Ah, good to be me. *sigh*
When you ride MUNI, thank me Bitch!
…ugh, property tax day. A mere week ahead of income tax day!
This will be a marathon bending over week.
Crave
10.1MP, full-frame, 3″ LCD with Live Preview, and machine-gun rapid fire (check out the video):
It’ll be about $4000, but I just might have to bite on this sweet DSLR.
Technorati Tags: camera, canon, eos-1d mark iii
Personal Thank You
To Officer Alviso of the Burlingame PD. Sure, it was just a meter violation, and technically I was in the wrong, but never the less were understanding and let me go with just a warning — and you were pleasant too!
A hell of a guy.
Attention SF DPT parking nazis: those $50 tickets and most of all your shitty attitude is why people get SOOOO angry. I of course don’t condone hurling urine or rocks your way, but would it wouldn’t kill ya to be professional and courtesous. (And issue valid citations — you used to ticket my correctly stickered car all the time when I lived in the Duboce Triangle, ya bastards… and you knew what you were doing, you just didn’t care.)
Oh, that itch…
I’ve got that new car itch. I hate that. Took me 2 years to scratch it last time. Oprah turns 5 in May, and I think it’s time to get me some new wheels. Going to see exactly what the 2008 M3’s got before I make a decision. (Note to BMW: spare me the pumped up HP with the weak comparable torque.)
The RS4 is a non-starter, too fugly and speed-racer for my taste, M5’s too big. Caymen needs more guts. Any suggestions? I don’t drive for my commute, or I’d be looking at some hybrid, a Civic or something along those lines. Although, those hybrids… ehhh. I just can’t bring myself to drive something more akin to a kitchen appliance than a car.
Also, for sale: 2003 Acura CL Type-S Manual w/Nav. Black/black. Only 40k miles. One of only 820 ever produced in this configuration!
Home Sweet Home
Back in SF.
Nice Christmas, albeit a bit trying.
An example: We had dinner with my cousin last night (she turns 60 next year, mom’s sis was 11 years older and I came late)… anyway, I had to listen to my Dad rant the entire time as I drove us to downtown Summerville, SC about how much it irritated him that people couldn’t pronounce words correctly such as “foyer” (it’s “foi-yeh”, not “for-your”), then not 30 seconds after getting out of the car he used the term “usetacud” twice. (As in, “used to could.”) “Usatacud drive yer car down this here street.” Natch, that raised an eyebrow, yet my opposition was unacceptable. “Winder,” “sammich,” “yonder,” and “usetacud”: fine; “for-your”: bad. Gotcha.
Oh, and dude on UA flight 1229 today, seat 1D: keep your snot rags off our shared armrest. You managed to gross out the flight attendant who had to collect your bugger napkins 3 times and then come over with a microwaved towel and attempt to sanitize the arm rest. (And I loved her for it.) Did you not notice the pile of napkins she used to guard my drink from yours? Get a clue.
Spain
Come February or March, I think I’m going to take two weeks in southern Spain, probably not far from Barcelona. Anyone else interested? Airfare seems about $100 more than it cost me to come out to South Carolina. Nutty.
Probably somewhere around here or as close to Barcelona as I can get. My mother needs me to use up one of her condo exchanges, and who am I to turn up free lodging?
[UPDATE: Map was bugging me, so I removed it.. was the wrong location anyway. I’ve opted for a secret bunker instead.
White Guilt
I somehow got suckered into making dinner tonight for my parents, which actually turned out quite well — shrimp burritos with chipotle adobo and seasoned rice — but that wasn’t the highlight of the evening.
Earlier I trotted off to Publix for ingredients. It’s the grocery store which usually has the slightly better merchandise, but of course lacks the charming name of say a “Piggly Wiggly” or the obviousness of a “Bi-Lo.” It was an irritating experience, but I blame myself, because obviously the Mexican specialties are next to the brownie mix, cooking oil and Folger’s. I mean, um, duh!
So, anyway, I’ve got my stuff and head for checkout. The nice girl is scanning through the various merchanise then picks up a bag and with a thick southern drawl asks “Hehe. Can ya, uh, teller me what’ha got he’re?” (Scout’s honor, I’m not embellishing)
“It’s a habanero pepper,” I say. “They’re used to abort Christian babies.” (perhaps I made that last part up)
Simple enough.
I’m all finished and the bag boy, a nice 15ish black guy lacking at least 3 inches and 50 lbs on me, says “Can I carry these out to your car for you?”
I’m used to this question. It’s a stable of the lowly paid bagger contingent in grocery stores these days — those in SF are required to ask even if entirely unnecessary. It’s actually nice, and I see some use this courtesy who would probably struggle otherwise. But I’m at least 30 years this side of osteoporosis.
“Ah, naw, that’s okay,” I say, “it’s only 3 bags. Thanks!”
“Eh, I got to. I need to look busy,” bag-boy retorts keeping a firm grip on my bags.
Long pause. I’m in the South, I’m a healthy guy, I can carry 3 bags… but he insists. Christ.
“Um, okay, knock yourself out.”
So, there we are, walking out to the car, bag-boy having a light load and getting needlessly wet in the pouring rain.
And in toe of whitey doing his bidding. It just feels terribly wrong.
I turn around and snark, “You’ve got 3 bags and I’ve got 3 hundred years of guilt. I really should of just carried those bags myself.”
Bags safely in the trunk, he says “You have a nice day sir.”
“You too,” I say.
I’m quite sure he’s long forgot about it. Why haven’t I?
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