Thought Consumption

I’ve been listening to an amazing writing playlist, the same mosquito has bit me approximately 7 times, it’s 2am, I’m still not sure what to post, and now I’m just itchy. So here’s some things consuming my thoughts.

The Bounty Hunter: I’m quite possibly in love with Gerard Butler, but when he finally asks me to marry him, I will make it known that I won’t watch the majority of his movies. Wow, was it bad, hella bad. Sidenote: when did everyone stop saying “hella”? Whatever. Everything about it was loose, and pointless… Hollywood just said: Let’s put Jennifer Anniston in a skimpy outfit with Gerard Butler, have them run around and build sexual tension for an hour and a half, get some slapstick humor in there, throw in a cheesy line to be able to semi-classify it as romantic, and stupid people will go see it on dates, or buy it with their Dad and step-mom on “On Demand” because there’s nothing else everyone will agree on. Damn you Hollywood.

Hiking: I longingly gaze upon facebook pictures of my best friends climbing Colorado mountains, and I just want to use some Floo Powder (yep, just went there) and be with them. But I can’t. So I need to suck it up, and find some good hikes in New Hampshire… because the beach is fun, but there’s nothing like the freedom of an open trail.

Just killed that effing mosquito.

On an extremely different note, I’ve been really consumed with the Sunday bombings in Uganda that killed over 70 people, one of them being an American aid worker with Invisible Children with whom I have mutual friends. Knowing how the families must be hurting, the devastation of the Invisible Children community, imagining all the burials that are taking place, the lives that have been stolen, the ones that have been ruined, and the injured who are forever maimed, because they can’t afford treatment makes for pained empty breathing. I find it cruel that life only allows tragedy to be relevant if it happens to you… that the hurt can’t be transferred or distributed and the weight of this suffering can’t be carried by more. The dichotomy of the universe will never cease to sadden me, or leave me feeling horribly helpless… All my love to Kampala right now. Bam. Just hit you with heaviness out of nowhere.

Guys Guide: Picking up Servers/Bartenders

Over the last few years of waiting tables I’ve witnessed a myriad of guys trying to get with his server/bartender… Some have completely bombed, to the point of getting asked to leave the premise, and some have succeeded and are now married to said server/bartender (let’s be honest: I know the goal isn’t marriage here, but it just proves that one meal with the right moves eventually resulted in the “Game Over” on the relationship ladder)

First of all, know going in, your chances are slim to none… Women in restaurants are relatively used to being hit on, especially if she’s in a bar atmosphere because of the high concentration of drunk men, she has most likely developed a form response to come-ons while the guys just start to blend together. Going out with a complete stranger is frowned upon in girl-world, and most women will find it awkward to get into a one-on-one situation with a guy simply based on the premise that you thought she was hot… not to mention she will be discouraged to pursue something by her co-workers and friends… There’s also the fact, that she’s at work, she has to be there, and has to be nice to you, and you have no idea if she has a boyfriend, another interest, or just won’t ever go out with customers… but here are some ways you can increase the likelihood of a situation working in your favor.

*Ladies: I’m not trying to give away all our secrets, or tell guys how to be manipulative… I’m just trying to give potentially decent/clueless guys a heads-up.

Tip well, like REALLY well: so you chat up your waitress the entire dinner, she’s flirting back, giggling, and paying you obvious attention, so you leave your number, but then leave less than a 20% tip, or even JUST a 20% tip (If someone else is paying, you need to make sure they know this too)… you’ve got absolutely NO shot. This is not about trying to win over a woman with money, it’s about having respect for the societal standards of her occupation. 20% is the national standard right now but going above and beyond is much appreciated. Servers/bartenders not only survive on the tips they make, but are reputably good tippers, so if you don’t tip well, you’re automatically categorized as cheap, and she will not want to go anywhere with you, because she’ll be embarrassed by the tip you leave a fellow industry member. There’s also a mental connotation that hot, confident guys tip well. Even if you don’t get a call, find comfort in the fact that she appreciated your gesture, she talked about you, is flattered, and you made her smile.

Establish a solid connection: Women love to think and occasionally say things to the effect of “Oh my God, we have so much in common” the quicker you find common ground, the better… It can seriously be anything: movies, music, books, hobbies, sports, drinking, favorite places, food, smoking, not smoking, anything… This will increase feelings of familiarity despite being strangers, and by appealing to her interests you’re affirming that she’s not just a pretty face. It will also keep you from blending together with the other guys that are hitting on her. DON’T come on too strong though, this is a fine line to walk because you have to give her inklings that you’re interested, but to keep her intrigued, you have to be relatively discrete. This will ensure that you come across as memorable but not desperate.

Be intensely clever: This isn’t Jersey shore; most women don’t like dumb guys. Originality and self deprecation are key. Play off the things she says, ask her opinion in a table argument, make a bet about something, whatever, just get her involved and coming back to your table for reasons other than her obligatory ones. Also, I think the general public knows that lines are unacceptable in modern wooing efforts, but in case you didn’t know… DON’T USE A LINE… even if you turn it around and make fun of it… just don’t do it.

Pick your Pony: DON’T chat up every girl in the place, let alone the other female servers/bartenders (they’re her friends, and will talk about you at service stations, do walk-bys, give refills, and opinions)… No one wants to go out with the guy that is just going for whatever he can get. It’s ok, and even helps to be charming and flirtatious across the board, women thrive off competition and you become instantaneously more attractive if another woman is into you, but keep your eye on the prize, and somehow make it noticeable that she’s the one you want.

Be good looking: It’s God-given fellas, you either got it or you don’t… If you’ve got it, it’s important that you’re not cocky (there’s a difference between confidence and cockiness), and your physical appearance will initially work in your favor… But for those of you who would never be confused with Bradley Cooper, you better have nailed it beyond a reasonable doubt in every other area of this post, and be so extraordinarily confident and intriguing that your looks cease to matter. Remember: this is not impossible. Ridiculously attractive women are seen with less than average guys constantly. (Heidi Klum/Seal, Paulina Poizkova/Ric Ocasek, Beyonce/Jay-Z, the list could go on forever)

Leave a note: Write it on a napkin, on a receipt copy, coaster, doesn’t matter… and write something clever, or genuine… “You were great, thanks.” is a good default if nothing better comes to mind. If you’re pretty sure you’re going to see the woman again at the bar/restaurant or around town, don’t leave your number, or ask for hers the first time she waits on you. This will leave her wondering and thinking about why you didn’t, and she’ll probably think about you for the rest of the night (this is good for you)… If there’s one thing that heightens a woman’s attraction to a guy, it’s wonderment… We may say that we hate games, and hate guessing, but secretly, we love it. So leave it open-ended, stage another run-in, and go from there… you’re intriguing, not desperate, and most importantly not a stranger anymore, all of which increase your odds.

If for one reason or another you must do the number thing that visit, make the reason very comfortable and non-committal… I don’t think it necessarily matters which way it goes, if she gives you hers, or she gets yours… but make sure the next meeting is a group thing, and encourage the first communication be texting. This takes a lot of pressure/scariness away from the situation.
*Remember when writing the note that if it’s on the merchant copy of a credit card receipt the server doesn’t get to keep it, she has to turn it in to her manager at the end of the night…

Best of luck to you this summer guys :)

Dylan Stickney: Bartender by Day, Cork Carver also by Day

My new job at the Portsmouth Gaslight is probably the best summer job I could have ever asked for. Live music on the deck every night, an incredible wait-staff filled exclusively with young (and let’s face it: ludicrously hott) people that I really enjoy, great owners, and awesome managers. However, the inside day shifts get pretty agonizingly slow at times… but it allows us to creatively seek out busy-work. This has mostly taken the form of large quantities of cleaning, and getting really good at the daily crosswords/sudokus, but the Gaslight’s very own bartender, Dylan Stickney, is now finding passion and inspiration with each newly opened bottle of wine. Cork carving: an art form for the ages. Dylan allowed me to interview him this last Wednesday about his new-found talent, and I’m very excited to present an inside look into his wondrous mind, and the extraordinary process of turning a regular cork into a beautiful sculpture.

Nicole: Wow, Dylan, how did you even discover that you had this gift?
Dylan: One day, at the Gaslight, after getting frustrated and outsmarted by that damn crossword, and not interested in cutting anymore fruit, I began staring off into the distance. Mel, an amazing Gaslight kitchen member was enjoying a frosty brew at my bar (after her shift, in case anyone from the New Hampshire liquor board is reading) and I thought to myself: I love beer. And of those beers I really love Dogfish 60-minute IPA. So naturally, I wanted a replica of the tap handle… my medium: the most recent 7 Deadly Zyns cork. I carved that replica of the Dogfish tap handle, and I gave it to Mel for drawing inspiration out of me. And that’s where it all began.


*It should be mentioned that as we talk Stickney is concentrated, diligent, and attentive to detail as he carves a lion out of a Pigmento Malbec, and humbly answers questions about his raw talent.

Nicole: Did you find it came easy for you?
Dylan: Relatively. I’m alright with a knife, and what can I say? I’m good with my hands.
Nicole: (I blush) Enough said, can you tell us a little bit about the process?
Dylan: Well, it starts with an ordinary piece of prosthetic cork; my blank canvas, and then for about 15 minutes I assume a pensive position and think about what I want to make, assessing the possibilities relative to the dimensions and size of the cork. Some recent inspirations include: animals, busty bar guests, family interests, and alcohol. The color of the cork has a lot to do with it too, but once decided I go to work with the fruit knife. Each cork takes me about 4 hours between stocking, cleaning, eating, texting, and talking to the occasional bar guest.
Nicole: You know, I’m amazed that people just waltz right in here, sit at your bar, and have no clue that they were just served a perfectly headed beer by one of the most genius artists in the Portsmouth area. So where do all your creations go?
Dylan: Some I give away to worthy Gaslight customers and the rest, for right now, sit atop my girlfriend’s (sorry ladies) living room mantle. One day I hope to own a store, and sell my tiny masterpieces.
Nicole: Well Dylan, I think you’ve got quite the start, news of your custom figurines have made it all the way around the street level employees/managers, down to the pizza pub, and even to the upstairs nightclub bartenders. What are your current projects?
Dylan: I have many requests from my co-workers, family and friends the list right now is: the Mr. Planters Peanut, a giraffe, various flowers, and a mermaid.
Nicole: So where do you plan on taking this, what are your further goals?

Dylan: You know since this crazy ride started, I’ve felt that bigger things were calling my name. I hope to one day stumble upon a life-size cork and have my way with it, but I’ve also thought about exploring different mediums. I mean, if I’m good with a fruit knife and a cork, it can’t be that much different than a chain-saw and a block of ice. I really feel as though my sculpting career has just begun.
Nicole: Wise words Dylan, your ambition astounds me. However, I’ve heard that there is a small controversy with Gaslight owner, Eric Sorli, about right of sale. Any comments?
Dylan: Yea, the contract is being drawn up right now, and the conflict resolution has been very amiable. No worries there.
Nicole: Well that’s good to hear! Thanks so much for your time Dylan, may you carve until your heart is content.

There you have it, for purchasing opportunities email Dylan: Dylan@putacorkinit.com or come visit us weekday afternoons at the Gaslight to make our ultimate dream really come true: to be busy enough that we don’t have time to carve things out of cork, or conduct a full scale interview about it.

Summer Vacation: How to Handle the Extra Kid Time (Part 1)

Whether you have kids of your own, you’re a nanny, have significantly younger siblings, or for one reason or another are going to be around kids a ton these next couple of months… let’s face it… summer vacation can be intimidating. Not that we don’t love the children in our lives, but the sudden burst of extra time is definitely a game changer. This is especially true if you work from home, work nights, or have lots of vacation time. So here are some ideas that will hopefully keep you sane in the heat of the upcoming months.

Yesterday, Kennedy (my 9 year old sister) and I sat down together and made a master list of about 100 things to do this summer in different categories (Outside, Inside, Places to Go)… The key is to make sure 90-100% of the things are able to be accomplished by the child without your help. We’re going to put it on poster board, put it in the playroom, and she can refer to it whenever she’s feeling antsy, because she now knows the words “I’m bored” are officially removed from her vocabulary. I recommend doing the same kind of thing, especially with the input of the child(ren) to start things off right.

Here are some things you might have missed to do off our “outside” list:
Stations: This can take the form of gymnastics, exercises (sit-ups, push-ups, , obstacles… Set them up around the yard, and have goals/objectives to meet at each station. Example: Gymnastics stations: designate areas for stretching, for cartwheels, for hand/headstands (best if done against a wall, garage, side of house) for rolls (forward, backward), a balancing station, pull-up station (if there are bars around)… have them spend a specific amount of time in each place, meet a goal (15 cartwheels, hold your handstand for 10 seconds, 5 rolls etc.), or ask them to put together a routine that you go out and watch at the end of an approximate hour.

Chalk the driveway: set-up giant games (tic-tac-toe, hopscotch, 4 square), write messages to those who aren’t home, make a big coded letter. Whatever.
Scavenger hunt: So this takes a little more effort on your part with the set-up, but depending on what you put in, it could mean hours of hands-off fun for them. Hide something (or multiple things) with a string of appropriately challenging clues on index cards taking them all over the house, and the yard.


Water fight: If I know anything about kids, it’s this: they love getting other people wet. So take a break from whatever chore or report you’re doing, (strategically set up towels by the door) fill up the water guns/balloons, or go old-fashioned and use pots and the garden hose, and go a little wild… let’s be honest the kids probably needed some sort of dousing anyway, and some cold refreshing water on a hot day never hurt anyone. This isn’t as appealing, but trust me, you’ll earn extra cool points if you’re in street clothes.

Best Karaoke Songs

Due to last night’s karaoke awesomeness at Daniel’s Street (the most obvious and best place to go on a Sunday night in Portsmouth)… I’m sharing with you a few of the greatest, and not ridiculously overdone karaoke songs to sing**, and I would know, because being from Colorado Springs, every bar is a karaoke bar, it’s like a weird substitute for dancing, sports, and talking.

*asterisk number one: yes, by the end of the night, we’re all wasted and can’t stand up completely straight, everyone’s dance moves are sloppy, and voices are off-key: it is still NOT ok to scream like a banshee into the microphone… being drunk does not prevent ears from bleeding, but it does increase the likelihood of said banshee(s) getting kicked in the face.

*asterisk number two: don’t be “that guy” or “that girl” by singing every other song, especially if there’s people waiting… sing 1 or 2… 3 at most (if they’re well spaced out) and make it count. Even the best performers can get annoying if they overdo it.

The List:

1. “Wanna Be” Spice Girls… Especially near the end of the night… it’s guaranteed all the girls in the bar will sing along. Fun if done by girls, funny if done by guys. It’s also old enough that it’s not in everyone’s heads still, and a good I-totally-forgot-about-that-song karaoke piece.

2. “Total Eclipse of the Heart” Bonnie Tyler… if possible, done as it was in “Old School” with appropriate f words thrown in the right places… This song is so classic, I wouldn’t mind if I heard it every time there was karaoke. Everyone gets into it, and sings it like they mean it with eyes closed and fists raised.

3. “A Whole New World” Aladdin… obviously done as a duet… best if the duo acts like they are on a magic carpet. People forget about Disney songs at bars, so to unexpectedly bring one out gives everyone joy.

4. “Hey Jude” the Beatles… The song doesn’t matter til the na na na’s and if you’ve done your job correctly everyone will sing them with you at the end. It’s well known, but not over-played, or over-sung.

5. “Tequila” The Champs… If you can’t sing, or can and just want to take it easy for a song, this one’s for you. The word tequila is shouted three times, and the key is to get everyone dancing, and buying shots of tequila, preferably for you… or line-up
3 shots beforehand and take one each time it’s shouted. The possibilities are endless with this sure-fire hit.

Getting Acquainted with New Orleans

In a city with over 5 million things to do, you might feel overwhelmed, so I'll start you off with 5...


1. Ride the St. Charles street car end to end. Sure, I may have done this accidentally because I was confused about where I was supposed to go, but the result was the best $1.25 tour of New Orleans I could have possibly asked for. The street car is a piece of history itself, and offers extraordinary people-watching opportunities and a way to really get your bearings in the city.


2. Shop at the thrift stores along uptown Magazine St. My favorite was the Funky Monkey. I tried on clothes that made me feel a lot cooler than I actually am, and found a really good black romper. Don’t expect Good Will prices, but expect to have some fun, I even did, and I hate shopping. After, reward your eclectic self with an Abida (the local brew) at one of the many outdoor patio bars.


3. Sit and absorb the raging Mississippi on one of the park benches along the banks in the French Quarter. Stop before or after at the famous Café Du Monde for some coffee/beignets open 24 hours.


4. End up at a dive bar dancing til 4am. Take advantage of a land where bars don’t close, and bar hop until you’re satisfied. There are plenty of visitors and locals alike that will be down to party with you any day of the week. Some possible ventures include F and M Patio Bar, specifically for dancing (4841 Tchoupitoulas St) Le Bon Temps to get your pool on, and laugh with awesome bartenders (4801 Magazine St.) and Cooter Browns to eat good bar food and go to a place with “cooter” in the title (509 S Carrollton Ave).


5.Get drive-thru daiquiris. For those that have never been, you may think I’m kidding, but I assure you I am not. Drive-thru frozen drinks is a genius idea, I wonder why they’re not everywhere in America… hmmm… Well, if you don’t have a car, grab some daiquiris anyway, they’re a staple in a New Orleans diet.

Nostalgia on a Rainy Saturday

My family woke up before 7 this morning to watch my 9 year old sister, Kennedy, run in her first race. It was a mile around an apple farm, and it was gray, and rainy, and freezing. We registered her at the tent and my stomach began to burn and tighten. Kennedy pretty much decided to run the race on a whim, she’s only ever run a mile 3 other times, and my Dad, Lori (my step-mom) and I were wide-eyed, breathing cautiously as kid after kid showed up with runner parents, the correct running attire, and warmed-up with the right runner stretches. It was a delicate situation, no one knew how she was going to do, and no one wanted to set her up for failure, or for dreams of grandeur.

After 45 minutes of nervousness and coldness, they started to line up the kids according to age groups. Lori positioned herself for the take-off picture, and I tried to encourage: “The important thing with long-distance races, is that you do it, and that you finish, it doesn’t really matter who wins.” To which Kennedy replied, “No, it’s about who wins.” I laughed, and put my arm around her knowing that she’s every ounce my sister. My Dad demanded her attention with “Make sure you pace yourself, and push yourself. Now give me your jacket,” as he took off running toward the first curve of the trail. She nodded, in a daze, I could tell she was trying to focus on not letting her nerves show.

The race began with a few shed tears from Lori, “Woot Woot!” screams from Griffin (my 5 year old little brother) and me, and even though I couldn’t see him, I knew that my Dad cut every corner to watch her closely the whole time… It was as if parts of my Grandfather completely overtook him, and there was an underlying pang in all of us, wishing that he was still here to see her.

She did famously. Completing the mile in 8:38, in 16th place overall, and the 2nd place girl in her age group. We were all relieved, and exuding pride from every pore. Kennedy was initially thankful for her placement, and after that wore off she became saddened by being so close to a trophy (the first boy and girl in every age group got a trophy) because everyone in my family is intensely competitive and severely dislikes losing. Regardless, we went out to breakfast to celebrate and then came back to our warm house and retreated to our different corners.

These are the days that will eventually become perfect. When we look back, there won’t be a recollection that my arms got tired from holding Griffin for so long, that we argued about which breakfast place to go to, that Kennedy plugged her nose while she ate her egg sandwich because she didn’t like it, that Griffin spilled his hot chocolate, and we were all tired, still wet and freezing, and ready to go home. Instead it will morph into a time where no one was fighting, and everyone laughed while enjoying their food, and we’ll have the pictures as proof that we smiled despite the rain because we were together. Our memories are the skeletons of our moments, because the flesh of small discomforts and organs of little annoyances disintegrate with time. And I’m already feeling nostalgia for the time when Kennedy was only 9, ran her first race through the drizzle and the mud while we all watched and cheered, ending with a charming family breakfast.

Most Things You Need to Know About Me... You Can Tell From My Car

I figure for my first blog ever, it’ll be an introduction of sorts… and how better to get to know me than through my pride and my debt, my pardoner and my warden, the accomplice in my freedom pursuit and the sandbags to my hot air balloon, the only thing I own, and the only thing that has accompanied me on large quantities of solo adventures: My car. (This’ll sort of be like Cribs, but for someone really really poor)

I drive a 2000 white (well, supposed to be white) Buick Lesabre. I am 22, and officially the youngest person to have ever owned this car, ever. The only other drivers I’ve seen behind a similar wheel are 60 year-old or older women that drive 35mph at all times no matter what. Anyway some nick-names include: The White Lady, The Snow Cat, LeSabre (pronounced LA-SAAB-RAY), and “you ugly piece of crap” but only when I’m angry.

My grandmother gave me the car the spring of 2006. I previously drove my Mom and Step-Dad’s hand-me-down 96 Ford Windstar, that I made very “Nicole” by replacing the backseats with a couch and using the chairseats as furniture in my apartment. Both vehicles have been huge blessings. Not having car payments for the last 6 years has afforded me tons of freedom, and flexibility with the vagabond-esque life that I lead.

The car had about 25,000 miles on it in 2006, and now has over 130,000… and for about a year of the last 5 I was travelling abroad… We’re talking about some serious mileage here, mostly attributed to 6 cross- country trips, (Colorado Springs to the New Hampshire coast or vice versa) and driving all over Colorado, and its neighboring states.

So I guess we should start at the hood… The grill is all smashed and the license plate is a bit curled under the bumper because of an accident I got into in the spring of 2008. (I swear the demon car that I hit appeared out of thin air) It never got fixed because I only pay for basic liability insurance, and other than the aesthetically pleasingness of the vehicle, there was no harm done. The bumper hangs daringly close to the ground, because when my transmission died I didn’t want to pay for a tow truck so my step-dad and I tow-roped it to the shop, and due to my spastic braking we almost tore the entire bumper off.



My side-view mirrors have remnants of red car paint that will not come off no matter what I do. This is a result of a prank-war during the summer of 2006. My gas gage has been broken since I got back from my first trip to Africa in spring of 2007, but I try to keep track of the miles, and I’ve only run out of gas 3 times. The alignment is past the point of no return, so I have to drive with my wheel an eighth to the left just to go straight.



My left-side window motor is completely shot. This means I cannot roll up or down either window on the driver’s side. Currently, the back window is duct-taped shut, and I used to be able to duct tape the front window shut, but now it is seriously stuck ¾ of the way down. This means that I drive with it down all the time. It was down the entire drive from Colorado to New Hampshire at the beginning of April, it’s down through rain, and freak New Hampshire snow-storms like the one we had the other day. I have to wear sunglasses when I drive through the rain, because rain drops hitting my eyes at 65mph does not feel very good.

Here’s the story: the week in November that I got an estimate to get my windows fixed was the very same week my friends and I officially decided to go to Peru in late February and take advantage of a 500 dollar round-trip ticket deal… Consequently the window repairs would have cost the same. So, instead of fixing my window I went to Peru, which was glorious, and worth way more than a working window. Since then my life has been moving in fast-forward, including but not limited to, a family trip to Vegas, packing all my things, and moving to New Hampshire with no real cashflow to speak of. But now that it’s April, and there are 5 million other things wrong with my car, it would be silly to pour that much money into it when I’m not sure if it will survive through the year, besides, I have no air conditioning for the upcoming summer, and I’ve kind of gotten used to my defunct windows.



My radio stations… yes, radio, that thing with the all the stations that plays too many commercials that people used to listen to before xm, and Sirius… ipods, and mp3s… are: #1 FNX Boston’s indie rock, #2-4 random hip-hop/rap/top 40, #5 classical, and #6 oldies. The number and seek buttons are beginning to wear off because they’ve been pressed so many times. And my speaker’s are a bit blown, mostly due to having to listen at exceedingly high volumes to hear over windy interstates. I actually do have an extensive itunes music library on my laptop, but I am currently without device to play them in my car. I had an mp3 player once but I either lost it, or it broke… it’s hard to remember which now.

Sitting in my passenger seat is a left over package of beef jerky from my last road trip that I’ve been nibbling on, a half-empty bottle of diet coke, and a parking ticket that I’m pissed about having to pay. At the foot of the passenger seat, and strewn across the back are sneakers, cleats, vibrantly colored flip-flops, shorts, a light shirt and a dark shirt, a tank-top, water-bottle, frisbees, tennis racket and tennis balls for any beach or sporting opportunities that might present themselves.
Also in the back is a blanket in case a passenger ever gets cold during the breezy ride, garbage bags that I shut in the driver door in case it’s raining, and duct tape covering up chocolate milk, and countless other beverage stains, cracker crumbs and stale bits of McDonald’s french fries mostly left behind by my younger siblings currently aged 5 to 18.

The trunk is now relatively empty, although in a given moment, it can fit all my worldly possessions… The left-side blinker doesn’t work due to a shortage in the part in my steering wheel, consequently resulting in getting the middle-finger more times than I can count. My right tail-light is broken, because my friend Laura was borrowing my car and backed up into something. She hands-down offered to get it fixed and a bit tipsy, I begged her to pick up my bar tab one night instead.



So there you have it. That’s my car, and that’s me, hood to tail-light… I do things as cheaply as possible, I would rather go on an adventure than live comfortably, I don’t like nor have stuff, I believe drinking with friends is more important than tail-lights, I really can’t be THAT into appearances, and the looks I’ve gotten as the Snow Cat purrs along the road have virtually made me unembarrassable. There is an anonymous quote with which I will take artistic liberties and have no qualms, that says “My intention in life is not to arrive at the grave with a body that is perfect and well preserved, but to skid in sideways, battered, and scarred, and bruised, shouting holy shit! what a ride.” When I push, pull, or drag my beloved Buick to the junk yard tomorrow, or a year from now I’ll know that she enjoyed the journey as much as I did. And similarly I hope the body that I will one day turn in will be an outward record of funny stories, tearful breakdowns, and spontaneous adventures, complete with a few parts out of whack, and others that are totally shot, so that even the gravediggers (I actually want to be cremated, it’s just a metaphor) will know that I loved the ride.