August 15, 2003
So. Yesterday, I had to work late. Well, I don't suppose I
had to but I did. I left the building about 7:30 and as I approached my
car in the garage I thought that the front tire on the driver's side looked a bit
low. The thing is, I almost always think the tires on the car look low. They're
skinny tires. Or something. See that photo taken shortly after I bought the car?
Do you see what I mean? Doesn't the tire look a little flat? Somehow, it looked
more flat than usual, though. So, I got my pressure guage out and lo...15 psi.
Not good. So, I called Mr. Rescue and reported the problem. After answering an
astounding number of questions describing my exact location (it's rather surprising
that I wasn't required to get a GPS reading from a passerby and have it notorized
before they'd agree to send some help my way!), I was told the wait would be about
45 minutes. I decided this would be the perfect chance to read a bit.
By the way, in answer to your first question: yes. I'm perfectly able to change the tire myself and probably would've been on my way in 20 or 30 minutes if I'd done so. But, I pay for the rescue service; it's part of my cell phone contract. I figure I might as well take advantage of it. Why get all dirty when I can just relax and read a book?
And, in answer to your second question: I'm currently reading Back When We Were Grownups by Anne Tyler which Larry gave me for Christmas. At least, I think it was for Christmas. It might've been Birthday 2002. So far, it's a good read. Thanks, kiddo!
Anyway, about 5 minutes after my rescue was due to arrive, I got a call saying he'd been diverted to the mall where a child was trapped in a car. Okay. I suppose that probably is just a wee bit more important than changing my tire. It only took about 10 minutes for the backup to arrive, though. He quickly got to work and had me on my way in another 10 minutes or so. Despite the chance to get in some reading time, I have to admit that I was rather put out about the whole thing. Suddenly, it was 9 o'clock and I realized I still hadn't even had a chance to eat dinner. Then I got home and heard about the power failure in the northeast. Okay. Nevermind my little bit of inconvenience. No problem. I, in fact, had electricity. And, safe water that didn't need to be boiled. And, all the usual niceties of everyday life. Not like those tens of millions of people in New York and Detroit and Cleveland and Toronto and...
Nevermind, indeed.
I got the flat tixed this morning on my way to work. I stopped in at Walker Tire Company (best business motto on the planet: "If It's In Stock, We've Got It!") and about 20 minutes later, the donut was back in the spare tire well and the "real" tire was back where it belonged. They pulled a 2-inch nail out of it. No telling where that came from. All better now, though.
August 13, 2003
According to Google's logo for the day, it's Alfred Hitchcock's birthday!
The bird perched on his head is too much. 'Love it.
. . . .
Y'know...I think it's also Lolly's birthday. I guess I better drop her a line...
August 1, 2003
I apparently have some sort of sarcasm gene that's difficult to turn off. I got to my office and had a voice mail message from the young man working the front desk downstairs:
"Joanna, I just wanted to let you know you've received a package. I would appreciate it if you could pick it up. It's in the copy room. Thank you very much. And, I hope you have a very nice afternoon."
So, I went downstairs and said to him as I walked through to the copy room that he'd left a very nice message. "What was the matter with it?" he wanted to know. Nothing. I just wanted him to know it was very nice. I went on into the copy room. On my way out he asked if I was being sarcastic. Ummm...no. It was a nice message. Really.
Heh. I get this sort of reaction when I'm being sincere a lot more often than I should. Now, I can sort of understand when it's one of my close friends. They're used to me being sarcastic all the time. But, a virtual stranger? A young man I've exchanged 30 words with since he started in my building a month ago? I wonder if there's some sort of gene therapy I could take that would turn the sarcasm level down when I'm being sincere?
. . . .
Oh...and...attaboy, Lance!
July 13, 2003
Diane scored a couple of tickets to see Acoustic Alchemy. She invited me along and we went to see them last night. Let me just say: Wow! What fun. I defy anyone to keep from grinning from ear to ear as they watch that Fred fellow (the keyboardist) when he gets going. It cannot be done.
. . . .
Also, last night...the new car rolled over 10,000 miles. That seemed to happen rather quickly. I'm still enjoying it. Woo hoo.
July 11, 2003
I left the building at lunchtime today (had to make a run to Subway to grab a
sandwich) and saw something rather odd. I passed by a couple of students and
the girl was dressed like someone straight out of a 1970s gym class. She was
wearing a pair of rather short khaki shorts (fitted, not baggy), a white
t-shirt, and (most surprisingly) knee-high white tube socks with two yellow
stripes near the top. I swear, she could've been dressed for practice with my
high school basketball team. Striped tube socks. Really. I didn't even think
you could buy such things anymore. 'Gave me a jolt.
June 30, 2003
Okay...so last year (or maybe the year before), Pontiac came out with a really ugly car (the Pontiac Aztec). I'm talking ugly:
Chevy quickly followed up with an equally ugly pickup/suv hybrid called the Avalanche. They're bothers in the same ugly car family. And, I thought there'd never be an uglier car. But, as usual, I was proven wrong. Honda decided they could one-up Pontiac and they came up with something they're calling an Element:
Well, I thought, Honda's done it. They created a car that's even uglier than the Aztec. Who woulda thunk it was possible? Surely, not me. So, I bowed to their engineering superiority and had decided, once again, that the ugliest car race had been won.
Alas. Once again. Proven wrong. 'Turns out Toyota decided they could do something even uglier. And, lo! They did:
It's called a Scion. Yowza. Each time I see one of those things on the road (well, I have yet to see a Scion...I'm not even sure they're in production), I wonder about the person driving it. I wonder if they think it's cool. If they think it's so ugly, it's pretty. I mean, that happens, you know. It does.
The question for me now is: who'll come up with something even uglier? 'Cause, ugly as that Scion is, I've learned my lesson. I know there's some "designer" out there trying to out-ugly Toyota. Who will it be?
Yikes. The mind boggles.
June 29, 2003
8:45pm. Kate just called in a bit of a panic to say she'd forgotten to call me earlier and warn me against walking across any bridges over the Colorado River today. Excuse me? 'Turns out she had a dream last night in which we were walking along a pedestrian bridge over the Colorado River and I suddenly slipped, fell over the railing, and disappeared into the water. She was so horrified that she woke up...thus failing to learn my dream fate.
Luckily, despite not having been warned about the bridge thing, I managed to avoid walking over the river today. Whew.
. . . .
On a completely unrelated note, Katharine Hepburn died today. How very very sad.
June 27, 2003
I wasn't feeling well this morning. Headache city. There's something in the air that's aggravating my allergies. I managed to drag myself out of bed long enough to down some Advil and send a note to the folks at work saying I'd be getting in late. Then, back to bed to wait for some relief. About 9:30 the door bell rang. Huh? I assumed it was the property manager or someone leaving a notice on the door (or, worse yet, someone soliciting for something) so I ignored it. That's the way they do things at my townhouse complex...they stick the notice on the door, ring the bell, and move on to the next door. A few minutes later, though, I heard a phone ringing. It sounded like it was coming from downstairs and toward the back of the house. But, definitely from inside the house! What? It sounded like the cordless phone in the kitchen. But, the phone in my bedroom didn't ring. I picked it up anyway and only got a dial tone. Very odd. I went to the top of the stairs and looked down. Nothing going on. Too strange. Back to bed. I eventually started to feel somewhat better so decided to shower and dress for work.
I was downstairs getting ready to leave when I remembered the sound of the ringing phone. So, I decided to look out back. I almost never go out into my patio. I just don't. There have been times when 3 or 4 months pass by without me looking out that back door. But, I looked out today. And, what did I see? A box laying in the ivy ground cover. The door bell. The phone. Sigh...a delivery truck driver had attempted to leave a package and, when he got no response, he tossed the box over the fence into the patio area. The phone I heard was clearly his cell phone. But, I never get mail at home. I have a post office box. When I order something that can't be delivered to the box, I have it shipped to my office. Clearly, this was someone else's package. What a pain. I went out and got the box...all the while preparing myself for the calls to FedEx or UPS or whoever it would be, asking them to come back and get their mistake.
But, the box was addressed to me. What? And, more mysteriously, it was from something called wine.com. I don't drink wine. Who in the world would send me wine? To my house? Lots of people know my post office box address and I could see someone I'd met "on the 'Net" sending me wine 'cause they might not know that I don't drink wine. But not so many know people know my home address. Everyone who knows me well enough to know my home address knows me well enough to know there's no point in sending me wine. So, I opened the box and read the card. Hmmm...Melissa, Pete, and Emily. And, it's not wine. It's champagne. Ah...I get it. You see...I'm turning 40. One week from today. I don't drink champagne either. But. It is the big four-oh. I guess that's what happens when you start getting old. People just don't care if you don't drink wine. You're old. You get champagne. At least, I guess that's what it is.
The funny thing is that I could've easily gone weeks, perhaps even months, without noticing that box outside. If it hadn't been for that nasty headache I had this morning, I would've been at work. I wouldn't have heard the door bell. I wouldn't have heard the sound of that phone ringing. I wouldn't have had any reason at all to look out that back door. Odd how things go, eh? I also like how the delivery guy just didn't care that he was delivering what was likely a BOTTLE of wine. He tossed the box over the fence anyway. Heh. What did he care? It wasn't his wine.
And, so the games begin.
June 25, 2003
Annie Lennox. For some reason, every time I hear an Annie Lennox song, I have trouble remembering her name. I hear the song and it's:
Oooh! Oooh! It's that singer
from the Eurythmics.
Ummmm...what's her name?
Ummm...geeeeesh...ummm.
Oh yeah. Annie Lennox.
Yeah, that's it. Whew.
Today, though, I heard a song start up and immediately remembered her name. I was all "Woo hoo! Yay, me!" and was handing out the mental props for coming up with her name so quickly. I mean, I came up with her name before I came up with the old band's name! And, then...shame to end all shames...I realized it wasn't Annie singing. Nope. It was k.d. lang. Sigh...it's just so sad being me.
And, just now, I was flipping through the channels and saw that Charlie Rose was interviewing none other than Annie Lennox on his show this evening. And, the whole shameful incident came flooding back. Sigh...
joanna@joanna.org
URL: http://www.joanna.org/archive/June2003-Aug2003.html
Last updated: September 29, 2003