9/23/10

Heh.  We take your taxpayer bailout money here in Michigan and we use it for good causes... or something.




Suckers.

It hasn't exaclty been a secret that quite a bit of this blog's focus revolves around studies in psychology.  Whether we discuss the thought process that causes people to leave society and become truck drivers or we discuss the irrational behavior of the dipshits on the freeway, human nature is always intriguing to me.  As I continue on my march toward my inevitable doom, aging is one of those areas that warrants some level of observation.

I turned 34 years old a couple of weeks ago.  My oldest friend is 97 years old, so I guess you could say that he has a few years on me.  In the interest of accuracy I should note that one of my best friends is 75 years old and his father is the older fella in question.  That being said, the old(er) man and I have become buddies over the years.  He tells me stories about life in the place that was once America and I offer wisecracks about what we've now become.  We each get our own amusement and no animals are harmed  during the process.

Mr. Pedro, as it turns out, has begun to fall under the spell of the dreaded Alzheimer's Disease.  He has his good days and he has his bad days.  I won't even pretend to be an expert on the topic, but it seems to me that he has more good days than bad whenever I find the time to stop by and visit for a while.  Today was no exception.  The weather forecast proved to be terribly inaccurate today, so I was able to stop by and do some grilling.  Thunderstorms my ass.  I wasn't in the mood for beer for some reason, which is a disturbing development in and of itself, but the food turned out to be excellent.  That's always nice.

As the afternoon turned to evening, we sat around and enjoyed the pleasant atmosphere.  Amidst his usual stories about killing Japs in World War II, Mr. Pedro offered an interesting side note.  Apparently his boss called yesterday to ask about a meeting that is scheduled for this weekend.  Of course he has no boss since he retired many years ago and there is no meeting this weekend, but I got to thinking.  Is it so bad for people to lose track of time and place as their remaining years grow fewer?  I don't know.  I suppose that the process is pretty tough on the families and loved ones who have to watch the process unfold, but I'm not so sure that the afflicted would be any better off if they were in a state of full awareness.  Life in the year 2010 ain't exactly a romance novel.

In any event, I enjoyed the opportunity to spend some time among dear friends on my day off.  I've made it pretty clear to you folks that life has been a boring son of a bitch since I left the road, so I appreciate every chance to break up the monotony.  When you mix in some hot charcoal and tasty sausages, I have no complaints.

Speaking of psychology and no complaints, this car situation is interesting to me.  Without exception, I find that I'm far less concerned about it than anyone who has anything to say to me.  Which generic psychological precepts are in play?  I don't know.  I just know that, having spent far too many years chasing (and often catching) the mighty dollar, I don't really care all that much anymore.  Things cost what they cost and bad things happen when they shouldn't happen.  Fuck it.  Life moves on.  (I'll gladly accept a dollar from anyone who has expressed some form of disappointment that a motor would fail after 50,000 miles though.  Pony up now, suckers.)

I got a call from my appointed mechanic this afternoon.  According to him, it was quite difficult to find an engine for my little Mazda.  The nearest one was in Texas and it had logged 100,000 miles.  Obviously I wasn't convinced about this line of bullshit, so I drove over to the shop.  After a brief conversation, the mechanic and I wound up on the same page.  I had seen plenty of engines for less than $3,000 on Mr. Gore's internet.  He had seen the same, but had been under the impression that he needed to keep my price down as much as possible.  Therefore he was working the junkyard channels and trying to find the best deal.  I informed the fella that I would prefer a remanufactured engine with a warranty.  Rolling the dice on some Bubba in a junkyard just isn't my style.  He said that I would have to pay around $4,000 total for parts and labor.  This was about what I expected, so we had a deal.  Good.  That's one less thing.

All that was left was to take some of the excess sausages over to my father and my little brother, then to head home for the night.  Dad is still working on his physical therapy as he recovers from knee replacement surgery, so I didn't stay around too long.  I did wind up with a rifle that will likely be the subject of a future post, but otherwise it was an uneventful visit.  Homeward we go...

I have a pull time of 1pm tomorrow, so I expect to get a decent amount of sleep tonight.  I haven't managed to sleep much lately but a fella can dream.  I'll have two stops in Jackson and one in Hillsdale, so my shift won't exactly be a peachy one, but I intend to survive.  That's what I do after all.  I survive.  This is a psychological trait known as self-preservation.  Learn it and love it.

That is all.