I'm so glad the internet was invented.
It's been almost three weeks since I've updated. I don't think I've ever gone that long. Shit has been crazy, as usual, but I won't bore you with the mundane details.
Life has been good -- I've been to a string of good shows lately and obtained a string of good albums. I caught Subtle with Corey, Mike and Jeryl a few weeks ago. Doseone was in fine form and I bought their new CD. Savage, I must admit. I saw Ratatat at Berbati's Pan a week ago with the woman. Great show, albeit incredibly fucking hot. Scene as fuck, too. Some man-capri wearing, messenger-bag having bike fiend was in back of me and kept breathing down my neck. Yar. Finally, I saw Converge and Mastodon with Corey and Jack this past weekend. Converge was epic, Mastodon was alright (Their new CD is good? answer: I don't know) and the crowd was fucking priceless. I'd explain it, but words can't capture the sheer douchebaggery of it all.
Beyond that, not much exciting has happened, save last Saturday, but I'll get to that in a second. I have to be out of the wonderful Grant St. House by Saturday and have been feverishly looking for a new place to live to no avail. Sadly, I'm moving in with a friend for a month or so until I can find something suitable. Moving sucks.
Anyway, last Saturday, I had scheduled showings of a few potential places to put my shit. I wake up, shower and make the oh-so-fun 10am drive to Beaverton. Halfway there, I notice my battery light comes on and my voltage is way low. Perplexing. I arrive in Beaverton and get shown two totally unsuitable living situations.
I go to start my vehicle to make the trek back to Portland and my engine barely turns over. I almost yell 'FUCK' when my engine suddenly kicks and gets running again. I immediately make the drive to Sears (which takes over an hour) to buy a new battery (Diehard's ROCK!). I arrive, cut the engine and go shell out some dollars for a new battery. I lug it back to the explorer. I get in, turn the engine over and again, it barely turns over. I almost yelled 'FUCK' again, but it finally caught and started.
Now, I've gotten used to the rain and the overcast. Saturday was hot, so I thought I'd get something to drink. I stop at one of Portland's 35,007 Plaid Pantry's and buy myself a diet cola. I walk back to my car and get in. This time, when I turn the ignition -- nothing. I really do yell 'FUCK' this time. The guy on the pay phone looks at me funny. I get out and start stripping out the old battery.
The guy on the pay phone hangs up the phone and says "hey, you got battery problems?" as if waiting for me to ask "yes sir, can I trouble you for a jump-start?"
I answer "yes sir, can I trouble you for a jump-start?" and he says "oh no, I gotta go, I'm already late" as he gets into his car and dips out.
fuck you, bitch
I plop the new battery in and cross my fingers. Most new batteries don't have the best charge in them. This one had just enough to get me started. I looked -- the red battery light was still on. I yell "FUCK" again, as the problem would now seem to be with my alternator. I drive directly to an auto-parts store. I leave my keys in the ignition, car running. I ensure I have my spare on me, I lock the door and go in to buy a new alternator.
I come out lighter in the wallet, unlock the door with the spare and throw it in the cup-holder console thingy. I drive home, pissed.
I park, pop the hood, get out and start fucking with the old alternator. I test it -- sure enough, it's not outputting enough juice. It only takes me about 45 minutes to install it (which should have been 15 minutes, but rethreading a serpentine belt with noone to hold the automatic tensioner is rough. At this point, I'm actually kind of proud of myself. Even if it doesn't work, I still took it on head-first. I gave it my best shot.
Now, time for the final results. I fumble around with the battery leads for a few and finally connect the positive. As soon as it touches the post, I hear quick sound. It almost sounds like... automatic locking doors?
I walk around to the side and sure enough, the doors had locked. Good thing I had my spare, right? Oh, wait, that's right, it's in the center console. Oh, wait, all my windows are rolled up. I yell "FUCK" again and the yuppie neo-lib neighbors talking about making their own wine in their basements all look at me in disgust. Fuck 'em. At this point, I'm a bit pissed.
I break down and call my dad for advice. He suggests kicking out a side-window. I've seen him do this a few times (he refuses to call a locksmith -- ever). I opt not to and ask if he has any other ideas. He suggests calling a locksmith. I refuse. I hang up and sit on the steps for a few. Fuck.
Now, I've never, ever, ever seen it work. I've even tried it a few times only to fail. Regardless, I get a wire abortion-hanger and bend it into a small hook. I grab a pry-bar and manage to snake the coathanger in. Thankfully, I'm a lazy-ass and never got around to changing the custom door-lock knobs that came with my car when I bought it. They are little soccer balls. I manage to loop the hook around there and pull up*. I get it. Amazing.
*PLEASE DON'T BREAK INTO MY CAR.
There's a whole other chapter of the story about me yelling at the clerk at the auto parts store. I said "give me my motherfucking money" and meant it. But, in the end, it's far too much to type for such an obvious payoff.
So, by the end of the night, things were all resolved. It felt good.
Monday was the anniversary of Ms. Kim and I. She surprised me by showing up and spending the night. how fucking grand. Truly.
Anyway, that's all I got for now. I love you all.
I hate to say, "funny stuff," as to discount the obvious wrath you were surly going to inflict on the cashier, but after-the-fact it is pretty funny.
PS... I yelled fuck today, and I now realize I did without earning it.
wow, I happy to be alive and have ears and eyes.
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