01.31.2002 - Mastering The List

Most days, it's not safe for me to be around people before ten o'clock in the morning because I'm preturnaturally grumpy before I adjust to the world. Today, however, I felt downright jolly as soon as I woke up. I woke up a few minutes early so I could drive to campus and grab a copy of my paper which would save me some time gas and money. Just before I left, I decided to go make sure Jackson got up on time for his early class. He mentioned yesterday that he really needed to make it to this class today, so I thought I'd do him a favor by waking him up. I can't tell if he was upset or not, but since his alarm clock fails fairly often, I thought it was a nice thing to do.

I thought I had some good karma working for me, so I drove to campus, bounced to the silo and picked up my paper. When I got back to my car, however, my smiles transformed into obscenities shouted so loud I could practically see the words coming out of my mouth because my car wasn't starting.

I've had enough car troubles for one month, thank you. I would have passed on these, but nobody asked me if I wanted them. Bastards.

This is one of the few instances when I'm glad I have a cell phone. I immediately called a colleague at another office to inform them I would be late to work, then a tow truck, then The Moms. Really, though, I have no idea why I called The Moms. She has no money and less knowledge about cars. I guess calling mommy in times of trouble is just a reflex for people like me who are complete weiners.

It's probably time to get a new car when you have the towing service on speed dial. I'm getting pretty tired of dumping currency into this beast. I'm glad I was prepared, though, because they said they would have a truck out to me within twenty minutes since I called first thing in the morning. While I waited, I decided to read the paper. When I got to my column, I noticed that they dropped the agate that contains my e-mail address. This put me in an even assier state of mind, because I hoped to be comforted by gobs of hate mail when I finally got to work and checked my e-mail. Bastards again.

After I've worked myself into a fit of rage and nearly frozen myself to death by sitting in my car without the heater going, the tow truck driver shows up, asks what the problem is and decides to give me a jump rather than a tow. Though this seemed to work, I asked if he thought the battery would hold a charge. He said my best bet would be to drive it to a shop and get the charging system tested. I drove the car across town with my fingers crossed, hoping that I wouldn't have to sell internal organs to pay for repairs, and thankfully made it there without a problem.

I'm not sure why I keep going back to this shop. The last time I was there, they "lost my key," and I lost sleep for the next two weeks thinking someone from the shop would just waltz into my parking lot and drive away in my car with no effort. Also, every time I go there, they try to parts pitch and scare me into getting unnecessary repairs. They figure that since this is a college town, any kid that comes in can turn to mommy and daddy's deep pockets to pay for any allegedly necessary repairs and put Mechanic Johnny in a new jacuzzi. My pockets and The Moms' pockets aren't exactly what I would call deep. You won't catch our pockets quoting Nietzsche anytime soon.

I told them what I needed done and they said it would take approximately ninety minutes. I sat on the couch in their freezing lobby fixated on The Price Is Right. I always wanted to go to a taping of this, but now I realize I'd never make it on. I am far too sane.

I sure would love to tongue kiss Bob Barker though.

Not 'cause I find old, skinny white dudes attractive. I'd just like to see the look on ol' Bobby's face when slipped him the tongue and rattled his dentures around.

Two hours later, the manager came out and told me that the battery was low on water and the alternator belt was loose. They fixed those things, but he strongly suggested about a thousand dollars in extra totally needless repairs. I paid the already outrageous tab, told him to smoke it and drove on to work.

I was already trying to figure out who I could rob to have money for this weekend in Reno. I really didn't need to spend this extra money. I need to figure out where the car gods live so I can go down on them and hopefully get them off my back for a while.

When I got to work, I had no messages and no e-mails. I instantly regretted calling to tell them I was going to be late, because my tardiness would have probably slipped under the radar if I hadn't.

Really, there was no point for me to even go in other than to ensure my paycheck wouldn't be scrawnier than Calista Flockhart after a purging session. I didn't do a single work related thing there today. No phone calls, no applicants, no random Woodland yokels. I should have just taken my pants off and made myself feel at home.

The only remotely productive thing I did was call Mr. Bestfriendinthewholewideworld to make sure he was up for his midterm today. A lovely conversation ensued in which he detailed to me how he "poked that girl at the party hella times."

My friends are classy.

Later, I got a call from my friend Paul, who you might remember from my Los Angeles Chicken 'n' Waffles/Royal Tenenbaums/Rx Bandits adventure. He told me to meet him at his house at six thirty to go to the Rx Bandits show in San Francisco tonight. I really wanted to tell him that I couldn't go because I was broke, but I just couldn't muster the strength. It's just another seven dollars I'll be in the hole.

I stopped by home briefly to grab some grub and a jacket before heading over to Paul's house. I'm sure glad he offered to drive because I wasn't in the mood to drive I-80 or deal with my car. His girlfriend and our wonderful friend Shannon from band came along.

I thought the show started at seven, so I expected to be late. When we got there at eight and the first band had just started, I was very surprised. We walked in to the melodic hardcore of Thought Crime. I'm not into hardcore at all, but they weren't that bad. This probably means that if you like hardcore, they smoke the dong.

The next band, however, ate more dick than Kobe Tai in a pole smoking contest. Dexter Danger played the worst pop-punk I've heard in years, and remember, I saw The Starting Line a little over a month ago. Aside from the fact that the words "intonation" and "rhythm" have no meaning to them, the vocalist's voice is too precious. I halfheartedly heckled them, but I feared I would get mobbed by the fourteen year old girl mafia that tagged along to see them.

Thankfully, they left the stage and made way for The Exit, who win the contest for Best Band I've Never Heard Of. They're heavily influenced by good 80's rock like The Replacements, The Police and even Elvis Costello. They don't have a full length out yet, but when they do, get it quickly. Them boys is good.

Finally, Rx Bandits came out and ripped through a ninety minute set. They haven't lost a step since Rich Balling quit, but that may be due to the fact that Rich Zahnhiser from The Hippos is temporarily filling in for him. I spazzed out for most of the set, eventually bringing the cough I thought I had gotten rid of back for a visit. It's a small price to pay though.

I'd be in excellent shape if I went to an RxB show every night. Hoo lawdy, was I sweaty after that.

The drive home was quiet, and once again, I felt glad not to be behind the wheel. I poured myself into my car and barely made it home before passing out.

That was a long, long, day.

-- Jeffy