I Woke Up In A Car

Some people get up and run every morning, some people read their Bible, some people even go so far as to floss, but I think the best thing I could possibly do for my day would be to spend half an hour every morning just dancing around to Daft Punk's "Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger."

Queen of the Road

Gretchen is in the shop. My accident happened over three weeks ago, so it's about time. While the ol' ball and chain is getting a final once-over to determine if she's headed to the big junkyard in the sky, I'm driving what I like to call "The New Hotness." While it isn't much, and definitely not a car that I would consider masculine, it's about a flight* or two up from Gretchen. Right now I'm thinking of calling her Betsy, but maybe I should go for something a little more exotic.

She's a Saturn Vue, whatever the crap that is, and she's BRAND new. I'm talking plastic still on the floor mats, presets still set to deadair, only 15 miles on the odometer, the whole shebang. Plus, she's got XM radio and a CD player, which will be especially useful since I got a package from Mike and Maggie today containing a CD marked "Zach's Culture CD." I can only imagine that it's a copy of ABBA Gold.

After driving a busted-up Gretchen for several weeks, "The New hHtness" felt a little weird at first. Not only was I looking down at people at stop lights, but I had power windows, locks, and an XM radio (which will probably get its own post in the near future). I seriously felt like I had ditched my sandspeeder for an Imperial AT-AT Walker.

The biggest change, however, was actually being able to open up my driver's side door (which I haven't been able to do in a couple weeks). I left school midday to pick up the rental and as I pulled back into the parking lot I actually said out loud "well, now how in the hell do they expect me to climb over that console to get out." There was absolutely no thought in my mind that I could just open my door and exit the vehicle.

In other news I ate lunch with my 8th graders today. It seems strange, but our Executive Director asked us to try to eat with the students once a week. The soccer guys readily accepted me into their ranks and we spent most of the meal daring each other to eat some conncoction that one boy's mother had told him were "wasabi peas." That's right, you guessed it: dried peas covered in wasabi.

Also, I was informed by the lunch crowd that my facial hair was not in line with any known classification. They decided to call it the "mutton chop/soul patch killer combo," though I'm pretty sure it resembles neither.

Also, if you haven't already been over it, review my How George Lucas Stole Star Wars post and then check this: Brett Jordan's Blog


*Get it? A flight is like, a bunch of steps.