I want you to beep like I mean it

As the car to the left of me started coming into my lane, I laid on the horn as hard as I could.  What did I get?  A sound that says, “Get out of my f-ing lane, friend!”?  Uh, no.  The Kia felt a roadrunner-esque “meep.  meep.” was more appropriate.  Kia, save that caca for gently reminding a distracted, oblivious person that “green” means “go”.

Air conditioning, reliability, safety, the opportunity to travel—all wonderful, appreciated qualities The Kia provides, but a mean mother-trucking horn is definitely not one of those.

In two cases, this being one and the other being power seats, The Taurus may claim victory.  I desperately miss having an easily accessible noise that conveys urgency, emotion, danger, and in some cases, a few expletives.  When my palm presses against the wheel know that my “meep. meep.” really means, “HONK! HONK HONk@#$!”  Polite reminders that the light is green are not included in the previous statement.  In those cases, a “meep” will do.

Automotive Candy and Fun for the Eyeballs

My official vacation road-trip ended Friday night around 10 pm in time to catch the Houston news.  From the news I learned that the Art Car Parade/Show would be Saturday at 1 pm.  Last year’s parade was great, so I opted to forgo getting some rest and headed to the show around 11 the next morning.  This year ended up being more enjoyable than the last due to learning from things that could have made my previous experience even better, such as:  arriving early enough to get good parking (having an SUV made this much easier), instead of driving past the field using it as a parking lot, sitting on the opposite side of the street to get a better view, and arriving early, getting there early, coming early.  Check, check, check, and check.

Characters of all sorts come to see the cars, actually build the cars, or are hoping to sell something.  This guy was pitching love and hugs.  I was a little too freaked out to buy what he was selling, but he did pique my interest and a smile.

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Also known as “T-rex J”

I have tons and tons of pictures and topics to write about from my week away tomorrow, and I will…tomorrow.  Today I am suffering from a few ailments exacerbated by exhaustion.  It’s not good times.  Luckily, I still have one more day to recuperate before heading back to my 7-4 at the lab.  More writing.  Tomorrow.  I promise.  But for today there’s another nickname story.  Yea for nicknames.

There’s a story I enjoy telling about the younger brother of a soccer teammate from high school, Dusty.  Her brother and I had the same art teacher who was not very fond of rambunctious teenagers or balls of energy.  Dusty was the epitome of everything teenager, energetic, and frustrating.  After being yelled at to calm down, he freezes and states loud enough for the entire classroom to hear, “If I don’t move, she can’t see me” from the raptor scene in Jurassic Park.  What made this a little worse was the fact that our teacher happened to have her arm in a sling perpendicular to the chest with her hand bent limply at the wrist.  Honestly, there were several raptor-like qualities to the whole picture, but she definitely did not find his joke amusing.

While relaying this story to the Malaysian I had to demonstrate what a raptor would look like and how little their arms were.  Playing on the fact that I am not tall, he felt my arms were more Tyrannosaurus-like.  I didn’t find that very amusing.   Despite the origin of the comparison, being grouped with one the most dangerous dinosaurs was alright with me.  I accepted it and became “T-rex J”.  Raarrrrrrr.