Trained Poodle Died. Must Sell.
I'd keep this bad boy if I had someone to ride it with. A buddy. A Doublemint twin. My dearly departed trained poodle Hector. But it's too painful looking behind me and only seeing the traffic I'm holding up honking and flipping me off.
Hector and I spent many a day riding this beast to Petco and the opera. We'd fill the wire basket with soup bones or a papier-mache cat piñata and see how fast we could go on the original Schwinn speedometer. One time flying down the face of Mont Tremblant we skidded abruptly to avoid a baby moose crossing the trail and popped the brake pad off, which is why it's missing from the front fork.
The bike appears to be from the early 70's, judging by the sweet nuthuggers in the ad above. It needs some TLC, but don't we all?
Tears of a Clown
I know I am not the first father to ever drop their child off for college. Nor will I be the last. But like the yellowtail at Nobu or losing your virginity, when it happens to you it changes everything. I cried like a baby today. For my loss. For his gain. For things never ever being the same again. I cried for the joy of the journey he's about to embark upon. For the jealousy that rages inside me. I cried for his freedom and naivete and openness to what's next. For the unknown. The great, great unknown. I cried for the baggage overage charges. I cried for the opportunities that will unfold. And the ones that never will. I cried to fill up the hole inside me, to fill it with anything besides the awful emptiness that sits there even now. I laughed a little bit about sharing a bathroom, fraternity hell week and cafeteria food. Then I cried again about the miles that separate Boston from LA. I will miss him. Dearly. In his honor, I posted this photo from our vacation. It's one last reminder that no matter how beautiful a place is, there is always some chubby in a thong with a cellphone getting in the way of what you truly want to see. Move past it and don't look back. What lays out before you is breathtaking.
Trained Poodle Died. Must Sell.
I'd keep this bad boy if I had someone to ride it with. A buddy. A Doublemint twin. My dearly departed trained poodle Hector. But it's too painful looking behind me and only seeing the traffic I'm holding up honking and flipping me off.
I Know a Lot of Things.
I know a lot of things. I know all the lyrics to Rapper's Delight. I know how to ice skate. I know how to make ribs with a spicy dry rub that you cook for hours and then finish on the grill with a sticky sweet sauce. I know how to make sticky sweet sauce. I know how to make my dog's leg twitch by scratching its belly in that one spot. I know a LOT of things. I don't know shit about cars.
I mean, I know how to put gas in them. I can change a flat tire. I can drive one like a New York City cabbie with a bladder problem and the fare on the other side of the bridge. But I couldn't tell you how to fix it or what that sound is or what wrench to hand me to turn that thing there. So when it came time to buy a used car, I did what any self-respecting man would do. I gave my 17-year-old son three two-liter bottles of Mountain Dew, some Ding Dongs and a bag of Hot Takis, sent him to his room and told him to go figure it the hell out. So he did.
He went online and found out that the 2000 Subaru Outback was a great car - as long as it had its head gaskets replaced because they could blow and cost you four grand. I don't have any idea what a head gasket is or why they are so expensive. But I do know this car we're selling now has some fancy new ones. Perhaps they are bedazzled.
He found out they can run 300,000 miles if they are taken care of, timing belts replaced, axels true, filters clean and new, a little green tree hung on the rearview mirror. This car had that. And still had only 146K miles on it. He found out that if you buy a used car from a Subaru mechanic who's only discernable hobby seems to be to fix up old Subarus, he's probably thought of all these things. So we went to New Hampshire and bought this very car from that man with bedazzled gaskets and drove it home. Now, six months later, we're selling it.
Why? Because my son drove it around for a few months going to Grateful Dead shows, ate Chick-fil-A 467 times, came home and decided to put off college and move to Hawaii to live off the grid and study sustainable farming.
He always was smarter than me.