Car

It’s Wednesday and I’m not at work. Normally this would be reason to be at least mildly happy. I am not. Confused? Let me explain. While I am writing this I sit in the waiting room at the Subaru dealer. Upon trying to leave for work this beautiful, but chilly morning i discovered that somewhere between 10 pm last night and 7 am this morning my car had decided to lock up the ignition and steering column. Obviously i was “elated” at this discovery.

So here i sit; not at work, but still not entirely overjoyed at my predicament. It could be worse i know, and some people might be really stressed about this. Me? Like I said, not wholly thrilled with my predicament, but I’m not freaking out about it.
Obviously, not many visit the Subaru for fixing, as they are quite dependable and long-lasting vehicles. So I’m sitting in a miniscule waiting room with not much here but a few out of date magazines and a small TV. Oddly the TV is playing the 700 club (Not something you would expect to find in a car dealership, at least from my limited experience) Never really got into the whole 700 Club ferver. Wrong generation even though that somewhat breaks the mold of stereotyped Christianity. Me not watching, not being of the wrong generation. What i find mildly disturbing and somewhat absurd are the letters that Pat Robertson is answering. You would think that mail people would want answered on the 700 Club would be of a spiritual nature. From what i have seen of this episode, that is not the case. People are sending in questions about weightlifting and eye surgery. Why would anyone want Pat Robertson, of all people, giving them advice on stuff like this? Wouldn’t one rather go to a doctor or someone qualified in these fields?
I dont know, it just struck me as weird and a bit unsettling.

Anywho, my last Vegas themed entry ended a bit abruptly. I blame Chicago O’Hare airport. That place is a madhouse! I never got around to covering the rest of my Vegas trip, and for that I apologize. But really, your not missing out on much. Pretty much it was just constant inundation and sensory overload by boring lectures on concrete blocks and loud, obnoxious slot machines. I will say this: Vegas is not for me. The best description i can come up with is “Disney World from Hell.” I got some great night shots out of the deal, I was able to check out the extensive Ansel Adams exhibit that the Bellagio has going and had some great food that I didn’t have to pay for. Other than that, there’s not much to say. I could point out all the absurd excess that is around every corner in Vegas, or talk about the unexpected hillarity of seeing people sitting a slot machine with beer and cigarette in hand at 7 am, but everyone by now has seen the television shows CSI or Las Vegas so i will skip it. Some people really enjoy Vegas. They strike me as masochists.

Ok well, this claustraphobic waiting room is not really conducive to writing so I will wrap this up quickly with a couple of
media recommendations.

The Raw Shark Texts by Steven Hall - READ THIS BOOK!!! well as soon as you can find it. I’m pretty sure it hasn’t been released in the US yet, but i think that will be remedied here in a month or so. One of the most original pieces of fiction i have read in a very long time.

The Wood Brothers - Go and find this CD. a simple and gorgeous CD filled with folky blues that just makes you want to move, or at least sing along. Just a guitar and an upright bass, make for surprisngly good music all by their lonesome.

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