Things always multiply

It was supposed to be such a simple task. Replace the license plate on the back of the car. Here's what really happened:

1. Attack right bolt with screwdriver. No luck.
2. Attack left bolt with screwdriver. Bit of turning action.
3. Cheer.
4. Get wrench and use it on screwdriver with right screw.
5. Break off screw head.
6. Left screw seemed to be moving. Use wrench. Break that one too.
7. Curse
8. Dig out WD-40. Haven't seen it in years. This was quite a project.
9. Soak screw stubs in WD-40 and wait a couple of days.
10. Saturday morning. New start. Vice-grips on screw stubs. No luck.
11. Remove inner plastic panel so I can get to the screws. Break off a couple of plastic tabs on the panels.
12. Curse.
13. Attack inner ends of the screws with vice-grips. (They weren't that easy to find either.) No luck with vice-grips.
14. Off to Home Depot. Wander around for a long time pondering just what Rube Goldberg way I can solve this problem. Buy sheet metal screws.
15. Drill holes in car. Put on license plate.
16. Look at license plate light bulbs. Realize one is burnt out. Realize I'd have to remove that plastic panel to get at them. Drive around for a couple of days in half-disassembled car until I can buy two tiny bulbs.

The fun is over now. I managed to convince the parts store guy that I wanted light bulbs with the same code number the car had in the first place (he didn't buy that one for a while). I got it all back together. Only about eight hours of work total.

By the way, the Buick event managed to crumple the other new plate.

Buick

I read a while back that Buick wanted to go for the youth market, so they aimed at lowering the age of first-time Buick buyers—to 77!

Anyhow, I rear-ended a Buick today. I was driving along at the speed limit, 55 mph. Buick pulled out from a side road so close in front of me that I laid down 50 yards of smoking tire marks before I hit him. Fortunately, I was going slow enough before impact that there was no real damage. We stopped. He looked at the black stripes on the highway, and said, "where did you come from?"

I don't think I'll ever be old enough to drive a Buick.

Old Age

June 21, 2007 @ 8:08 a.m.

When I began moving a few files from an old blog to this new one, I was struck by the irony of the post below being so close to the complaint about the Buick driver. I'm not going to change either one of them though. I do think I need to be a bit more charitable. And I have always thought it very sad that our oldest citizens have to fend for themselves (including driving) into their extreme old age. I worry about my elderly mother driving in Washington DC traffic. There's got to be a better way. Anyhow, as the stand-up comic said, the death rate's the same for everyone—one to a customer. And I recently saw an article comparing old age with AIDS: gradual physical decline, multiple diseases, multiple medications (that are sometimes worse than the disease itself), and shunning by the larger society. After that thoughtful intro, here's the original blog entry:

Birthday

So I had this great idea to start a blog to keep friends abreast of my doings and comings and goings. I'm pretty terrible at keeping people updated, and I thought this might help. Got Blogger fired up and filled in all the blanks. Answered the questions. When it came to my date of birth, I just filled in the blanks.

Then I looked at the profile.

Age: 59

No! It couldn't be. This is the year I was turning 58! I did the arithmetic. The machine was right. I feel like Jack from Will and Grace, when he discovered he was 30, not 29—and I'm twice that old.

*sigh*

Luke's been calling me "Old Man" for years and I always took it as sort of a gentle joke. But now I'm going to have to admit it's true. I'm not the boyish middle-aged guy. I'm not looking at all the opportunities. I'm wondering when I'll retire.

I've heard recently that 50 is the new 40 (and pink is the new white, etc.) so I guess I've got a few more months before the Home for the Feeble. It's a shock though. Makes one wonder.