To be Concluded

I don't want to tell you my fears
but I've claimed my own tears
from a broken heart that knows
"Honesty, is the best policy"
for a perfect, harmless world of flawless people

And I cried as those words were thrown
around the room like paper airplanes
tumbling, crashing, falling to the ground
Tell me what you see
Tell me what you see, my dear

What's Wrong With Hybrid/Electric Vehicles?

So I've been thinking lately... upon graduation and successfully gaining employment, I plan on buying a new car. I would really, really, really love to have an electric car. I just think it's a neat idea. Anyway... here is my question: Why are they designed to be such an eye-sore? I mean, really. Honda, your hydrogen car looks disgusting. Toyota, I expected more from you, but your Prius is almost as good looking as a long-haired cat that's just come in from the rain.

My theory tends to be that these manufacturers don't really want to sell these cars... they just want the gubberment to say "Good job. Here's some money."

Make me a good looking (and by good, I mean normal-looking), energy efficient vehicle that I can call my own.

Please complete by 6/01/2011.

Sincerely,

Your unhappy prospective customer.

To be continued...

I wandered into that room tonight
to find you resting in the soft light
hoping not to wake your sleeping soul
I laid down there at your side
just to gaze across the threads
to the gentleness in your face

And I smiled as those eyes that lay still
rose from their slumber to find me there
for a moment my soul felt bare, unprotected
tell me what you see, my dear

The Great Struggle

Friday afternoon, I skipped out of Calc 3 to head home a measly hour earlier. I wanted to go home to see a couple of friends, and then head back to school on Saturday.

Maybe I was being punished for skipping, I don't know, but on Friday night my car stalled while I was headed down Main Street of good old Rdubbs.

Well, for once I was glad that I was speeding (45/30) so that I could at least coast to a good place where I could pull over. I pulled into the local movie rental parking lot, and attempted to start the SOB.

No good... and then that great smell of something burning.

So I called home and let my mom know what happened and that I was going to leave it there and head to a friend's house. She told my dad about it when he got home from work at 10:30.

Two hours later, I am watching Sex & the City with friends, and my dad calls to tell me that he got the car home with smoke billowing out from under the hood and through the exhaust.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

So after watching S&C, I headed home to sleep, fearing the nightmares of my car on fire and not being insured for a car fire.

Saturday morning I get up and grab an apple and walk outside to see the damage.

There's good old dad--what a grease monkey.

It's seven-thirty in the morning, and he's checking compression for each cylinder... whatever that means, I don't know. "It's a bad fuel-injector, I think," he says.

Well, I guess he was right. So we go junk-yard hopping, hoping, just hoping, that we will find my car in a junk yard.

No such luck. Apparently, the 3.5L engine that Mitsubishi decided to put in my car was not in ANY other model sold in the U.S. Well, looks like we'll have to go to a parts store and see what they can do for us. Keep in mind, I wanted to head back to school today so that I could get some studying in for a couple of tests on Monday.

"We can have it in by next Wednesday," says the grubby-looking man behind the counter, who is, perhaps, much too young for my dad to completely trust when it comes to cars.

"Can you check to see if any of your other stores in the cities have one?" dad says, irritably.

"I did," says the counter guy. Maybe he knows what he's doing after all, I think.

So we mope out of the store, our hope, demolished. Until....

"Dad, let's check a dealership," I propose. So we think of the few-and-far-between Mitsubishi Dealerships in MN. Hmmmmm... Bloomington.

Damn. Their parts department is closed on Saturdays.

So then we call home to have someone look up dealerships.

Brooklyn Center.... what the hell.. let's go.

YAYAYAYAYAYAY!! Parts department open--check. Fuel-injectors in-stock--check!!!!

The guy says, "We go through a lot of these."

Oh great.

"That's $240... how many do you want?"

How many do I WANT!?!?!?! What the hell is wrong with you!? I just want one!!! How many do I want... Jesus.... $240... how many do I want??!

"Just one," says dad as he pulls out the Visa.

Thanks dad.

"We are probably even for that bumper, huh?" He asks, referring to his mishap with my car over the winter.

"Yeah, probably," I say. Four tires, three oil changes, 6 spark plugs, two oil filters, and a fuel-injector later, I guess I can call that even to a $450 piece of plastic.

So we take a quiet ride home... satisfied with our journey of great labor and frustration... but still wondering whether all of this work will fix the problem.

We're home, dad has to work in an hour, but calls in to say he will be late.

Thanks, dad.

So we take out the old injector, put the new one in. We change the spark plugs, change the oil, which was dirtied with gasoline, change the oil filter, and put 'er all back together.

Uh-oh. "Where do these go?" I think to my self while holding two bolts.

"Whew," It's just for the plastic cover that goes over the manifold.

So here's the moment of truth. Let's start 'er up.

*chugga, chugga, chugga, vrooooooooooooooom!!*

So then we watch as blue smoke comes out of every crevice you could possibly think of, and feel slightly nauseous as asphyxiating gases fill the air. The engine rpms slowing down... slight hesitation... it's going to stall, again... but dad knows what to do.

So he stands there under the hood for a couple of minutes, holding the throttle to rev the engine, trying to get it to blow all that shit out.

Then he lets it be.

"It needs to run for at least two hours," he says.

Then he goes and gets his, whatever it's called, code-reading device, and clears all of the codes on the car.

"It's going to need to re-adjust.. all the O2 sensors, the whole works," he gets up and walks over to put things away.

Two hours later, after dad has gone to work, I sit in my car and it's running fine.
No smoke, no weird noises, just perfect.

I've used a quarter of a tank of gas on just 58 miles, but it's okay... filling up at the station is easy... easier than walking back to St. Peter.

This morning, I woke up, took a shower, ate breakfast, and headed back to school. I am very thankful for my dad. I joke sometimes that he could open up his own garage. The funny thing is, he really could do just that.




P.S. Anyone want to buy a car?

Through Keyholes

There is a saying that goes like this:

“People who look through keyholes are apt to get the idea that most things are keyhole-shaped.”
- Anonymous

With all of his choice words and bold romantics, my heart fell softly into his hands. What a great love I had known and returned. Until that night, I had such adoration for the compassion he portrayed so consistently. And now my heart just aches... you know... when you feel so much pain that you get a stomach ache? It is in my heart, where his love once laid my troubles to rest and dissolved my senses, he left me feeling like I could withstand any pain. And so pain arrives now, teaching me how to shed tears and bend my knees to the floor, wondering whether it was all counterfeit. I replay those statements in my mind and I am not sure that I listened to them in their entirety; the tone, the context, or the timing. I feel slightly naive for being so enthralled and engrossed in his attention that I forgot to be sensible. For I knew all that he had done, and yet I pursued his love endlessly, hoping that perhaps I had been to quick to judge his character based on the thoughts of those who knew him. And so I now look at his past through a new keyhole, one that has been molded over time with a mixture of betrayal and brokenness. And I see that his past is his present, too. His character has evolved into one that hides his true color, and layers itself with numerous facets to reflect a pleasant light for all to see.

BARNA!

Jason, this post is dedicated to you.

Congratulations on your acceptance to the Troy Police Department.

Good luck in the Academy!

Don't forget to shine your shoes.
Iron your shirts, slacks, and uniform.
Always, always, always remember to call if you have problems with any of the above.

p.s. I want to go on a ride-a-long when you're sworn in. :)

Thoughts...

What makes a person "the one?"

I mean, you hear all the time, "You'll know, when he/she is the one."

Is it good looks and a good personality?
That can't be right.... I know a lot of good-looking guys who are also pretty rad... in fact, there are probably millions of dashing young men out there who are also very intriguing.

Is it a common life-goal?
Hmmm... I'm pretty sure more than one person wants to be truly happy, travel the world, and eat tapioca pudding in a hammock.

Maybe it's something bigger than that....
Like matching souls....

...or maybe it's something simpler?
Like favorite movies and music.

Who knows.... oh wait, I guess married people do.... or at least they're damn good at pretending to know.