Part 2.
The next day after Carlisle, we went to look at the car in a suburb of Baltimore. We had been communicating with the owner on and off for a couple of weeks, and finally, the mutually agreeable time to meet was NOW! At around noon, we showed up and the car was sitting in the driveway and was exactly as described and depicted in the photos. A good sign! The owner was nice and normal too, and better yet, she loved the car and had tons of documents for everything.
After negotiating, we whittled the price down a little. The owner had already discounted the car for the rust spot, a/c that needed to be charged, and tires. There are things that need to be taken care of, but that's to be expected. The car is fifteen years old, but in good shape considering. Craig has been working on it here and there and it'll come together eventually. I'm excited about it and I can't wait to drive it! (I still need to get plates and stuff, but that's another story.)
We got the paperwork, and took off taking BW parkway to a ghetto part of DC for soccer. It was a good game. We played the second best team, and the final score was 1-0. Craig's group is still undefeated!!
Then it was off to the Depeche Mode concert. We had lawn seats and it was a gorgeous evening. The crowd was mixed. I was surprised to see teenage goths there. The concert made me feel really old. They played songs from the Faith and Devotion album which was the last album I bought and I was happy b/c they were familiar to me, then I thought, "Holy crap...this is technically an oldie for DM..." Then I cried. Just kidding.
The opening band was called She Wants Revenge. When we walked in, they were already playing. The stage was really dark, and the band wasn't moving too much, so I thought that the venue was just playing a Joy Division CD before the show, which would have been entirely appropriate. But once we heard clapping between the break, I realized it was live. It was that very linear, semi synthesized not quite rock or pop or electronica or goth. Kind of a fuzzy alternative but dark inbetween like Interpol. Craig starts singing other song lyrics over the (very) long intros in the same shaky monotone as the lead singer, and you know what? He nailed it. It was so formulaic. They were decent, but got horrible reviews on Amazon.
We stayed for a little over an hour. Of course they played Enjoy the Silence, and Dave just completely didn't sing any of the chorus parts which annoyed me. I hate when performers do that. I didn't pay for these tickets to hear jarbled audience "singing". It would be one thing to let the audience take one chorus, but to not sing any of them in the entire song was just...slacking. Despite this, they were very good live. It's a treat hearing the old songs live because I don't think they've remastered any of the old albums, and they just sound cheap and echo-y due to the recording capabilities at the time.
It was a very full and good birthday weekend!
Car Show
Post our Philadephia fiasco, I was skeptical about the other Integra we were looking at. The woman who owned it seemed kind of flaky in terms of accessibility, but would send us photos of exactly what we asked for, and provided us with email novellas of the car's history. We were supposed to go Friday evening after traffic died down, but she cancelled (ugh) and pushed it to Sunday afternoon. I was kinda bummed since I was looking forward to it all week. Friday, Friday, Friday..then THWOMP.
Saturday morning we rolled out of bed at 7am and made our way to Carlisle, PA for the antique car show. The weather was a fair mix of everything that day. Craig prepped the car and it looked good. I prepped the trunk with a cooler filled with everything we could possibly want for that day. The plan was to check out the event, then camp out by the car and relax. We passed through ass backwards towns where you can't help but wonder what on earth these people do for a living. Finally at 8:30, my bladder couldn't take it anymore and I demanded that we stop. Right. Now. Luckily, there was a sign for dining and gas on the next exit. You know, those generic universal signs. I was expecting a McDonalds and a Mobil, but instead I got a Texaco with a "restaurant" built into the payment hut. It was definitely a truck stop, and there was nothing else around.
"Craig...you KNOW they've never seen an asian here before, right?" I was half joking with him. Then he parks the car so I can get out, and there's a beater-mobile next to me with a bumper sticker of the confederate flag and the following text: "PROUD to be a REDNECK"
Despite all these glaring signs to hold it and wait for civilization, I HAD to go. Had to. And into the kiosk, I was greeted by mullets galore. Dear lord. I made it back to the car in record time.
More driving, and we're getting closer to our destination, but still, there's no evidence of real civilization. Why on earth did they pick Carlisle?? After hours of driving, my spirits perked up when I saw a Walmart and Home Depot. Wooo! More driving, and we started seeing other cars like a pack of Shelbys and other small fun cars converging onto the fairgrounds. Now I was starting to get excited!
After getting our official registration sticker which you place on the top corner of the windshield, we drove onto the fairgrounds. The lawn was divided up into long rectangular stretches sorted by region. There were a LOT of cars there, and most of them were pretty cool. Craig was excited because there was another car there very similar to his. We found the three other Hondas and I mused at this accessible collection of the common-car.
(We were surrounded by some very awesome Zs and Triumphs and some not so awesome Miatas.)
The fairgrounds were divided into sections. We were on the car show lots, but there was a flea market which resembled a traveling junkyard with select parts of uniquely shaped rust. I had no idea what half that shit was, but I'm sure if you were looking for it, you'd be able to find it. Then, there was a lot full of cars for sale, an area for all kinds of yummy unhealthy foods, and a vendor section where you could put a kit on your Ford Escort to turn it into a Maserati. Yeah, I'm sure *nobody* would notice, just like I'm sure that Louie bag on your shoulder is *real*.
We spent a good amount of time by the 4 Hondas and I watched as the 4 Honda owners inspected each car to pick brains about ideas (and probably to steal design ideas too). The car that was a lot like Craig's was owned by a lady who I'm sure is half insane. She put all this time and money into the car to restore it, and you know what? I still think Craig's car looks better. But, perhaps it's not entirely a reflection on her since Honda changed the interior slightly from her model year to Craig's. It also made me realize that we were extremely lucky to find those other two cars especially at the prices we got them for too.
It was an interesting time. It made me think about my time at Ford doing exterior ornamentation. You know, back then, it was my JOB to know all the differences between cars in similar categories in that model year. It's fun to point out the little things that "change" an old model into a new one, though the body doesn't change. It got me thinking about going back to automotive. I wish that industry was more stable though, and not located in crappy parts of the country.
I think Craig had a good time, and I think it would be worthwhile to go again next year, or every other year. We had to keep an eye on the clock in order to make it back for our evening soccer game. Near the very end, there was this dorky looking guy kind of loitering by the (now) three Hondas, and he asked about the crazy lady's. She went off to scout out the fair. You know what happened? That landed Craig an interview and photos which may be featured in a popular auto magazine. If that happens, you will all know about it.
Brr.
I'm home alone now in the middle of the workday with the AC repair guy "John", who is probably a serial killer. Don't worry, I left my whereabouts and details with a friend, so it's all good. I think he's legit.
Nothing is worse than being home alone waiting for a repair guy (serial killer), then being trapped in the house with him. I hate the AC guy, the cable guy, the dishwasher guy...you name it.
In other news, I have given myself a nice but slowly recovering case of shin splints. It's from running a lot in not very supportive shoes, which is a good descriptor for any soccer shoe. So I am taking a break from running until our next game on Saturday. Bummer.
Craig has a car show coming up. It's a big deal for people involved in this kind of stuff, but most of you haven't heard anything about it. In fact, I only found out from a coworker that this thing ever existed since he grew up in a small town nearby. He has some paint touching up that he needs to get done, and then his car will be display worthy. The thing is 25 years old, and you know the saying, "what is old is new"? Well, it's true. Vintage is always in.
Then, we're going to see Depeche Mode. The last time I saw them was probably something like..1991, 1992. I don't entirely remember anything aside from giant silver shoes. It should be a good time!
ZOOM zoom ZOoM! (or not)
OK. I am putting my foot down. I am no longer willing to drive all over the fricking-god-damned-place to look at cars anymore. If it's not in my backyard, I.don't.care.
Ir started with the Acura Integra, and please don't as me why. I wanted one for me, a fun little zip around car to give the giant SUV a break. And no, I am not trying to be slick by acquiring another vehicle to offset gas prices. Anybody can plainly see that the cost and upkeep of the car does not justify the gain in MPG though it's 2x more efficient than my SUV. But who's counting.
Craig found a decent one in a Philly suburb. After grilling the seller with questions, it seemed legit, so we left here at 7am prepared to return home with my fun car. We were both exhausted from being on the road by 7am. That's early for us. There wasn't any traffic on the road, we were relieved and happily on our way. Then, I saw a Honda dead on the side of the road outside of Baltimore that was very similar to the Acura. Hmm. Things happen, right? More driving, and we're getting close to our destination. The seller said to call before we got to the Delaware bridge. Before the bridge, we saw a dead Integra. HMMMMM. Is this some sort of sign??
Finally, we arrive at the seller's house, and notice the car immediately along with two other things that go along with not necessarily LYING per se, but more with selective disclosure of information. The clearcoat was obviously peeling in several spots on both quarter panels, both doors, and the trim. Not an easy fix. And we also noticed immediately that the hood emblem was missing. There weren't any pictures of the front end of the car from head on, and when Craig asked the seller on the phone if there was a reason for this, if anything was wrong with the car, the seller said no. I'm annoyed already.
But, the car still looks good, despite us needing to snag an emblem from the junkyard and bodyshopping the clearcoat. I'm whittling down the sale price in my head. We get into the car, and immediately, I am hit with a familiar but stressful smell: the smell of covered up cigarette smoke. I know it well, especially when I am accidentally assigned smoking rooms at hotels. It's sickening, and aggravates my asthma. I'm thinking this is going to be a tough one to get around, and the words "non-negotiable" pop into my head.
Craig puts the key into the ignition and turns it. Nothing happens, except the on and off blinking of a warning light.
Seller makes a production about how oh-my-god, this is new, and oh-my-god, this is the first time this has happened, and how embarrassing! I'm not having any of this. He goes back into the car to wake up his son, because overnight, his loser smoking meathead son has changed into an auto mechanic. I give the super-arched eyebrow look to Craig, and my mouth is cemented into a thin straight line. The son comes out and the only word that came to mind was, "Duhhh". I hope he enjoys his youth now, because after taking a look at his parents, he's doomed. And surprise surprise, he couldn't fix it. Despite this, the car finally turns over after a while, and we take off. It is sluggish and more hesitant than my SUV. Why is it making so much noise (high RPMs) and why on earth aren't we shifting?
After a skeptical drive, we're about to walk away. Craig turns the car off and on again for the 5th time and miraculously, the light is gone, and the car functions as it should. We get back on the road. He tests the air conditioning, and I'm hit with a blast of stank, humid leftover cigarette smoke. Ugh. I open the window all the way. At least that still works.
We get back to the house and discuss privately what to do. I'm so annoyed that I don't want to be there anymore. First the clearcoat, then the emblem, then the car not starting, the transmission, the smoking, the annoying dad and doof-nut son, and NOW looking more closely at the car we notice evidence of compression on both the front and rear bumpers. He rear ended someone, AND got rear ended. To make matters worse, the CARFAX report had discrepancies in reported mileage.
We make a ridiculously low offer which we knew he'd scoff at. I knew this guy wasn't going to bargain with us. He had a giant sign in his garage advertising seasonal tax and financial services. An accountant, how fun. And after all that, we walked away.
We left and headed into Philly to get a real cheesesteak, and you know what? It was DELICIOUS. So what if it was $7 for a small sub? So what if it was cooked in its own grease? So what if all of my allowed calories for the day were taken in after just three bites? IT WAS WORTH IT. Yum. Philly has pretty decent pizza too.
We left to come home and I was totally exhausted. I predicted that we'd be back at the condo by 3pm. When we were 10 miles away from the house on the toll road, we were basically at a complete standstill. There must've been some massive accident up ahead, or something. I have NEVER seen traffic like this on the weekend. Never. Ever. I'm cursing up a storm. I have my eyelids propped up with toothpicks and I want nothing more but to be home and asleep. We sneak onto the airport road with everyone and their mother which comes to a standstill as well, but many more miles down the road. WTF?! Then when we're almost home, I hear that the cause for this traffic was the funeral procession of the cop who got gunned down near work on Monday. It was a horrible tragedy that didn't need to happen, so everyone in the DC metro area was paying their respects, including the entire police and fire task force. We saw the cop car processional on the overpass as we went under, and it was very sad and solemn. They were basically taking our exact route to the house, so we took a detour. Very sad.
A few hours later, napped and fed, I am still pretty aggravated, but hopefully this weekend will turn around soon.
Jobs.
When I was little, I wanted to be an archaeologist. It fascinated me to think that these layers of today could be peeled back like an onion to reveal forgotten cities and people. It would be like a treasure hunt that didn't involve pirates or leprechauns. And if you were really lucky, you might even find dinosaur bones. Then began my obsession with the archaeopteryx, which is basically a small dinosaur-bird that had feathers.
I considered for a long while what it would be like to be a bird. You have a lot of time when you're seven, and confined to the brick front porch of the row house. I used to lay across the porch open to the sky and watch the pigeons go to and fro. Imagine the freedom of picking up and going anywhere you wanted to, whenever you wanted with nothing holding you back! Flight was freedom.
We got a parakeet shortly thereafter. His name was Stuffy and he was aptly named as all he did was eat and stuff himself all day. He was beautiful with brilliant blue plumage and very social as all parakeets are. The house was big enough to provide a hearty workout for him as he flitted about in transverse sections. He continued to do so until I accidentally closed a door on him. Unfortunately, he wasn't shut out, but instead he was trapped between the door and the frame. That was the first real thing I ever killed that I cared about. (Carnival goldfish don't count.)
I wanted to be a vet for a short while, but then realized I was allergic to (all) animals.
Through many conversations with my parents, my obsession with horses and owning and keeping on in our Brooklyn house was quickly shot down.
I was told for a while that I wanted to be a doctor or lawyer. My parents said it was OK to choose one or the other. I guess it would be kind of fun to wear a stethoscope and an authoritative white coat with my name on it. Lawyers are extroverts, at least on TV, and there's no way I want to be speaking in front of large crowds like that. No way.
I never went the route of medicine though I was interested in science. I was always conducting all sorts of experiments. By the way, the ant and magnifying glass thing never worked out for me. The baking soda and vinegar volcano was awesome though. And the time I tricked my sister into eating a rock. (It was small, relax.) And Sharpies aren't really permanent if you are experimenting on a sleeping test subject. Later in school, I participated in real science experiments but ended up doing things like blowing all the mercury out of a manometer and accidentally into the drain, or not mixing enough of chemical A with chemical B (stupid tare weight) and having to make up the entire lab in another 3 hour session. I'm not good at science.
But, I am good as bossing people around like most first-borns. Maybe that's how I breezed through my MBA.
Quack.
I am an anxiety ridden sitting duck. I have 45 minutes to kill before the cab shows up. In a few hours, I will be in Denver for testing. I hate packing, even if it's for vacation. Packing involves planning. Not planning involves taking a extra suitcase worth of clothing that will not get worn. I hate how planning out outfits for the week makes me realize that a lot of my clothes actually do not go together well. I need a fashion consultant and a smarter wardrobe, I guess.
On the bright side, Craig is sneaking out for the weekend, so we'll be exploring the Rockies and perhaps even visiting his aunt for dinner. I will try to take more photos this time. Camera and laptop are packed, along with iPod, wireless headphones, cell phone and I pray to god that nobody mugs me because this stuff is my everything.
We had a nice weekend involving soccer, soccer and more soccer. I guess it kind of started off on Thursday with an early evening game with our coed team. It was fun, though I don't think I contributed a whole lot aside from being a lawn ornament. Then, Friday was freak-out-and-clean-the-house evening since we had company on Saturday. Saturday morning was a women's soccer game with Tracy's team, and a swift kick in the right boob. Saturday afternoon was frantically preparing food, and Saturday evening was the DC United game. That day went by quickly. I can't wait to plan another DC United outing where Rob and Tracy can come too. (They need to make arrangements for their kiddles.)
Sunday was a lazy day. Craig had an afternoon game with his alumni coed team. He looks forward to that game most of all, so Sundays are kind of a big deal. The weather was gorgeous. I happily tagged along in a cute but simple outfit (capris, and layered mini t's), with perfect hair (hooray for low humidity) and my fun Furberry sunglasses from Chinatown. Lawn chair was already packed, and I had the Time Traveler's Wife in hand. It takes about 40 minutes to get there, even though it's probably only 25 miles away. Oh, did I mention that the park is in the worst area of DC?
When we get to the field, I'm looking for their bright colored jerseys. You can spot them a mile away. I don't see anyone though, and that's because there are maybe three people assembled who haven't suited up yet. Where the hell is everybody? And more importanly, where are the girls?? Eeeek! I bring stuff just in case, though to be honest, I'm just as content watching the game. I played so that there were enough bodies on the field, and luckily Katie showed up too at the last second. Maybe she'll play indoor with us.
I don't know about you guys, but I can't believe it's already May. It kind of scares me actually, being that my one year anniversary with work has passed already, and now, my one year on this project is coming up. Yikes. I think I need to read What Color is Your Parachute or something, and SOON. It's a weird trade-off being that when I was a student, the work I was doing was immensely satisfying but any aspect outside of school work was sub par. And now, work is well, pretty mindless, I get paid decently for it, and my only complaint is that I have to spend the majority of my good daylight hours there. Life stuff outside of work is spectacular. So um, yeah, if you know anyone who really enjoys their job, and has a great life outside of work, point them this way. I want it all!
Goal #3
I scored again during this game against our rivals, the *other* individuals team. Yes, they are the *other* bunch of no-names, just like us. It was a late game starting at 10:40pm, but not the latest time slot of 11:30pm so we were thankful. We had our roster present minus one girl who skipped out due to blisters. (SUCK IT UP!) Dammit, she's a good player too... We managed to pick up Nigel's girlfriend Sarah, and she's good because she runs. She's athletic, which is a nice plus.
Nigel stuck around to watch which was a little nerve-wracking. He plays on our coed outdoor team and he and Craig are our best players. They've got a soccer kinship.
They scored the first goal by taking a shot from the kickoff as our goalie was putting her gloves on. It went right in. I guess she thought they wouldn't be assholes about it, but they were. We made up for it though, and by the half, we were tied 4-4.
I don't really know what happened, I just remember being very frustrated. I didn't have any breakaways. I had a few opportunities. I scored, and narrowed the gap to one, but my team didn't have enough in them to tie it in the last three minutes. I made a few mistakes, a few bad passes, but it happens.
We had a lot of opportunities. Our defense is decent. Our forwards suck. Don't come up to me and say, "Oh, I usually play on top, and I don't do defense. I suck at defense." The other one says, "Well, what I do is take it up the right line, then I'll pass to whoever is in the middle."
Except that never happens. And yes, while you're standing there up top cherry picking, how are you helping the rest of us when they're in OUR half, and it's now 5 on 4 thanks to you waiting for the miracle ball to magically come your way? And to the player who can only run up the right side and cross to the middle, um, I hate to say it but if that's all you can do, you're not a good player. The other team has figured you out already, and you are easy pickings.
And, to make matters worse, our "I-don't-do-defense" forward has to stop the ball, position herself, line up perfectly, then she'll finally take a shot. Um, this tactic does not work in realtime. So, it gets stolen from her, or the goalie simply takes it, and that's it. The play is over.
I made a mistake and told our "Take-it-up-the-right-side" forward to take a shot if she had the opportunity. Problem is, she's weak, and it rolls feebly straight into the goalie's open arms. The play is over. It was one wasted attack after another. I wanted to pull them both out and substitute them both with Sarah and I since we are much more aggressive.
Tracy tried her best, but the team is only as strong as its weakest players. And you've got trouble when you have no offense.
We lost. We need some new players with better attitudes.
The Day Without Immigrants
I just found out that today is "The Day Without Immigrants", and you know what? I didn't notice a single thing that was different.
But before you get all huffy and lash me with comments pointing out my insensitivity, I'd like to point out that immigrants who are not naturalized citizens will never find themselves in my workplace. So, there!
In case you didn't already know, my grandparents on my mother's side were immigrants. They've both passed on into Buddhist heaven, and have been living there for almost fifteen years, but the snippets of memories that I have with them represent my best childhood years. I think about how my children will not have this window into the past to see these very humble beginnings. It's funny how from there, everything moving away from that state resembles luxury. A washing machine inside your living quarters was a big deal, but a dryer too? I was twenty three before I ever had a sink with a disposal in it. I am still afraid to push anything through that black rubber mouth.
My grandparents never owned a car, but my grandfather smoked Lucky Stripes cigarettes like a chimney. It made him feel very American, I'm told.
When I was born, his condition of water-on-the-brain set in, and he usually remained seated. Some days he could walk, but you never knew when the fluid would shift. Imagine throwing a dart at a body map, and losing functionality of that part. That was my grandfather. For as long as I could remember, he was permanently seated in a wheelchair.
My grandmother was elegant, beautiful and stylish. I don't know if she loved my grandfather or not since it was an arranged marriage, but she doted on him and took care of him. I remember he was old, with whiskers and balding and she was so young, with skin so smooth with sharp intelligent eyes set in a perpetually calm face. She was best at pretending she didn't know what I was up to, so I thought I was sneaky. Who am I kidding? She knew everything.
I found out much later that they were twenty years apart. That's a big age gap, especially when age starts hitting you hard. I don't know anything about their lovestory, but I could tell from old 3.5" black and white photos that they seemed happy, especially when their first born was a boy. Most of the old photographs were of birthday parties, and they always had cake. Always.
If my grandmother were still alive today, she would be in her mid 70s. I wonder how things would have been different had she never gotten cancer, and outlived my grandfather. I would have learned Cantonese. Maybe I wouldn't have ever left New York. There are things that remind me of her- community gardens, vegetable gardens, the smell of ginger and garlic sizzling in hot oil (her place always smelled like that), square candies that look like Starburst...the more I think about it, the more places I see her. I don't roll up my tube of toothpaste like she did with a metal pin to get the last bit out. I can only see her apartment at eye level, which is three feet tall. All the memories seem much larger than that though.
