Sunday, February 20, 2005
Broken Down, Not Broken Up
If my middle name weren't Scott already, it would probably be Procrastination, with Lazy and Apathetic coming in a close second and third, respectively.
So Blink-182 did not break up. Dave Navarro ammended his statement in his blog today and added an apology to the band and to the fans.
A funny thing happened on my way to River Falls to check out the roommates' basketball game. I am about 15 minutes out of town, cruising west at a comfortable 75 mph when my car decides it needs a rest and kills on me. I calmly announce to my two passengers, Abby and Bula, that my car shut off. I slow, turn the right blinker on, and pull onto the shoulder.
My car has a history of shutting off whenever it feels like it, and usually it starts up right away and I am able to go on my merry way, but not this time. I tried to start it a couple of times, but with fear of flooding it, I quit. I accepted the fact that I would need to wait 10 minutes or so and it would be fine. My riders along thought it was funny how calm I was being about the incident, but it is easy to remain unaffected by the stall when such circumstances have been a regular occurance in my five and a half years of driving.
In high school I drove a dull silver 1988 Pontiac 6000, which I dubbed "The 6K." The 6K died about a year and a half ago at 227,000 miles, but before it did it provided me with plenty of opportunities to push it through busy intersections or wait on the side of the road for an unpredictable period of time. Shortly after The 6K burned its last drop of fuel, I purchased a 1989 Oldsmobile Cutless Sierra. The car has just 90,000 miles on it, gastly unexperienced in comparison to The 6k. The Olds has treated me well, except for its habitual killing and an odd chugging like action that happens sometimes in mid-drive.
So, we're sitting on the side of the road and I pull out my phone to call Adam, who is heading toward River Falls on the same highway but from the other direction. His first words to me are, "Dude, bad news."
And I'm thinking, "Yeah, no shit." He proceeds to tell me that one of his tires went flat and they were on the side of the road trying to change it, which I assure you must have been a scene in itself. After he tells me this, we have this exchange:
Me: Dude, you're on the side of the road?
ASJ: Yeah, man.
Me: I'm on the side of the road too, car killed.
ASJ: You're on the side of the road? And I'm on the side of the road? Oh my god...
(Laughter)
It was funny, really funny. My brother and father agreed.
So a few minutes later I fired it up, gunned the gas, and away we went and had no more trouble the rest of the way.
Just one of life's little stories.
The game went well, EC won in entertaining fashion. More after Tuesday, when Adam and I will be following the team to UW-Oshkosh, about 3 and a half hours away. Yep, I'll drive that far to watch D-3 basketball. I'd drive 10 hours to support and watch some friends play though, but probably not 11 hours, that's pretty far.
I will delve into a disparaging analysis of The OC before Thursday's episode. But for now, either the pillow or the studies call. I'm not sure which one will prevail but if you will guide your eyes back to the top of this entry, you should be able to figure out the answer for yourself.
Until Next Time.
So Blink-182 did not break up. Dave Navarro ammended his statement in his blog today and added an apology to the band and to the fans.
A funny thing happened on my way to River Falls to check out the roommates' basketball game. I am about 15 minutes out of town, cruising west at a comfortable 75 mph when my car decides it needs a rest and kills on me. I calmly announce to my two passengers, Abby and Bula, that my car shut off. I slow, turn the right blinker on, and pull onto the shoulder.
My car has a history of shutting off whenever it feels like it, and usually it starts up right away and I am able to go on my merry way, but not this time. I tried to start it a couple of times, but with fear of flooding it, I quit. I accepted the fact that I would need to wait 10 minutes or so and it would be fine. My riders along thought it was funny how calm I was being about the incident, but it is easy to remain unaffected by the stall when such circumstances have been a regular occurance in my five and a half years of driving.
In high school I drove a dull silver 1988 Pontiac 6000, which I dubbed "The 6K." The 6K died about a year and a half ago at 227,000 miles, but before it did it provided me with plenty of opportunities to push it through busy intersections or wait on the side of the road for an unpredictable period of time. Shortly after The 6K burned its last drop of fuel, I purchased a 1989 Oldsmobile Cutless Sierra. The car has just 90,000 miles on it, gastly unexperienced in comparison to The 6k. The Olds has treated me well, except for its habitual killing and an odd chugging like action that happens sometimes in mid-drive.
So, we're sitting on the side of the road and I pull out my phone to call Adam, who is heading toward River Falls on the same highway but from the other direction. His first words to me are, "Dude, bad news."
And I'm thinking, "Yeah, no shit." He proceeds to tell me that one of his tires went flat and they were on the side of the road trying to change it, which I assure you must have been a scene in itself. After he tells me this, we have this exchange:
Me: Dude, you're on the side of the road?
ASJ: Yeah, man.
Me: I'm on the side of the road too, car killed.
ASJ: You're on the side of the road? And I'm on the side of the road? Oh my god...
(Laughter)
It was funny, really funny. My brother and father agreed.
So a few minutes later I fired it up, gunned the gas, and away we went and had no more trouble the rest of the way.
Just one of life's little stories.
The game went well, EC won in entertaining fashion. More after Tuesday, when Adam and I will be following the team to UW-Oshkosh, about 3 and a half hours away. Yep, I'll drive that far to watch D-3 basketball. I'd drive 10 hours to support and watch some friends play though, but probably not 11 hours, that's pretty far.
I will delve into a disparaging analysis of The OC before Thursday's episode. But for now, either the pillow or the studies call. I'm not sure which one will prevail but if you will guide your eyes back to the top of this entry, you should be able to figure out the answer for yourself.
Until Next Time.
