Ever notice that when you get a tad ahead, something pops up to take your money again. It’s as ungood as it is predictable. Take my little red Toyota Tacoma pickup truck as an example. I paid it off last year and now I need a new starter and some other things I am told will ensure the world doesn’t end if I get it done. $817 clams!
I know it’s a good truck because ISIS uses them in combat operations. But c’mon it’s only six years old and needs a starter. I guess I should feel happy it’s only a starter, but a new starter is two truck payments. I wonder if I should just suck it up and get a new one – truck I mean, not starter. I have to get a new starter.
I just read that Muhamad Ali was sent to the hospital for respiratory problems. Man … Ali. Huh?
Can you believe it? You know how old I am? I was there when he was Cassius Marcellus Clay and the ruckus that ensued when he changed his name and refused to be drafted. As you know he was eventually cleared, but it was a real hubbub when it all first happened.
I remember the thriller in Manilla and we all gathered around the radio on Villa Ave. waiting for the round-by-round recap. I was there, Fred was there, Kimmy DiPetro, Terry O’Reilly and some other kids in the always dirty kitchen. There was no live broadcast and as each round ended an announcer would tell us all about it. WE were excited and cheered every word. Weird man.
One other night we had a big confab about UFOs at the same kitchen table. Somebody got a trashy paperback about UFO’s and we all wanted to believe so desperately, we negotiated facts to fit into the book’s assertions.
Oh yeah, my truck. I’ll pay the ransom tomorrow. I really don’t want a truck payment.