What’s Going On In My Gas Tank?

Fuel gauge

The first 1/4, 100+ miles. The second 1/4, 80 miles. The third and 4th, 50 each. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A mystery happens in my car. It happens daily. Slowly. Inevitably. Then faster but still inevitably.

The mystery begins when I fill the car’s fuel tank. I drop back into the driver’s seat and turn the key. The fuel gauge rockets up to F. Ahhhh, such a good feeling.

A clean car with a full tank of gas is one of life’s most satisfying experiences. That feeling of automotive completeness is so important that Abraham Maslow considered adding it to his hierarchy of needs. Sadly, Dr. Maslow passed on before he finished updating the famous pyramid with an automotive layer above the safety layer but beneath love and belonging. Not many know that on the day Maslow died his car was found in his driveway, immaculate and gassed up.

Yet, as joyful and satisfying as the full gas tank is, it is the source of mystery. It causes frustration and disappointment. The full tank is potential that will never be met.

Allow me to explain. Read the rest of this entry »

Dear Gladys Knight

Dear Ms. Knight,

A train that is clearly not the midnight one. (public domain)

The weather was great this Saturday. I was out for a drive. The top was down on my car, the iPod was shuffling songs, and the introduction to Midnight Train To Georgia came on.

I turned it up.

Midnight Train is a great song. I suppose it has been good to you too. Whenever I hear it, the song requires me to sing along. For that reason, I’m glad they don’t play it during most funerals, or in court. People frown on singing in those places. Singing in my car is OK though.

In fact, it is so OK to sing in my car that I replayed your hit three times Saturday and sang along each time. I even did it when I ended up at a stop light. Getting older has made me care a lot less about what strangers think about what I do.

So What Is My Point? Read the rest of this entry »

Your Family Car Sticker Could Send The Wrong Message

Odds are, more than one of you have those cartoony family stickers on the back window of your car. I’m not sure how they became the trendy thing to have, but I wish the trend would pass.

I understand that people love their sons and daughters. I love mine, but I don’t know that putting a line drawing of him on my car is the best way to express it. In fact, I think sometimes expressing parental love by way of a sticker on a car can go wrong. Let’s look at an example. Read the rest of this entry »


Today, here on the internet for all to see, I am going to say something that no parent should ever say about their child: I am going to get him. I am going to even the score with him. There will be no escape from my revenge.

Now that I have lobbed that out there, let me move on to explain myself.

Being A Parent Is Dirty Work

Lego Brick

Ever stepped on one? I don't recommend it (Image via Wikipedia)

No one who is realistic about raising a child goes into it thinking their life is going to be spent in a happy, well rested bliss that smells like baby powder. That realistic thought is brought into greater focus when parents bring a baby home. They find themselves thrown up on and grinding dropped Cheerios into the carpet. Changing diapers is no picnic, especially for parents of little boys who forget to protect themselves from friendly fire.

I’m no different than any one else in my shoes. I dealt with those things with a smile. I even restrained myself from yelling out when I stepped on a stray Lego in the dark. As painful as anyone who has done it will tell you stepping on a Lego is, that is not the cause for me seeking retribution. Read the rest of this entry »

When I’m Rich: My All Beef Car

There will come a day when I am outrageously wealthy. I have always known that that day would have to come on a day and in a way not associated with my current career. Since I have not yet figured out how to make my written silliness pay, I don’t think today is the day I’m going to be wealthy either.

While I am waiting for my ship to come in, I have begun moving on to a topic equally important to where my vast wealth is going to come from – outrageous ways I will spend the money.

Rich People Buy Cars

Toyota Land Cruiser (BJ40LV)

Image via Wikipedia

When people hit it big, the first thing they often do is go out and buy a really sweet ride. There are a number of cars I have dreamed of having for years upon years. I’d love a Porsche 911. I would love a Jeep or maybe a really cool vintage Toyota Land Cruiser.

1970-1973 Datsun 240Z photographed in Montreal...

Image via Wikipedia

I know I’d probably go buy the Datsun 240z I have been lusting after since 1974. I know where that car is sitting right now…I just don’t know where the cash to pay for it is sitting. As soon as I hit it big, you’ll know it because that car and one other very special one will be in my driveway.

I am going to buy an Oscar Meyer Wienermobile. Read the rest of this entry »

Can’t Park It, Can’t Buy It.

As part of my transition to taking over running the show, I have been announcing various policies of my administration. Today, I am announcing my newest policy which will be called, Can’t Park It, Can’t Buy It.

Not acceptable.

Not acceptable.

There are a lot of really big vehicles on the road today, and a lot of really bad drivers. Most of these folks manage to  get themselves around and somehow cheat death. The big problem occurs when they arrive at their destination.

Parking a large vehicle is more of a challenge than most of the people who drive them can handle. Very often, these people are driving something much bigger than they’d ever truly need. Read the rest of this entry »

Did I buy a car or…?

Mrs. Omawarisan feels completely respected when this is all the salesman shows her.

Honey, I'm home. I bought some cup holders!

The madness is over. My wife has seen all the cup holders she needed to see to make up her mind. I looked at engines as if I planned to do something more than put gas in that hole in the side of the car and drive it.

"A nice, smooth deal." Great, I want to buy a car, he sells me kilos of smack.

The winner is Subaru. I settled “the deal” yesterday. The Sweaty, Nervous Guy said “we did a nice smooth deal, no problems.” Why does that phrase  make me wonder if I bought a car or a suitcase full of kilo bricks of heroin? Read the rest of this entry »