And...just like that, I am in the oldest car in the family again. Bought a new 2007 Honda Odyssey for the wife today.
Last Friday, Khiva mentioned it might be time to look at a new Odyssey. After all, the "old" one had been with us 22 months, and racked up an awe inspiring 44,000 miles. Surely the thing must be ready for the scrap heap. In her defense, she indicated a friend in Amarillo had just got one for a very good price, and if we could make a similar deal, we would be able to reduce the payments, while moving into a new vehicle.
Sure, said I, knowing it was probably not possible, but I would give it a try anyway. After all, if I could not make a deal, she was happy with the one she had. Lo and behold, Frank Brown Honda matched the price from Amarillo...$1000 below invoice. Unheard of in a Honda. OK...OK...but I am sure they will make up for it with a royal screwing in the trade in department.
Pessimistically, I drove to the Honda house this afternoon, prepared for a ridiculous offer of $15 or $16 thousand for a used van which I had pegged at $19,500. I was all prepared with my condescending chuckle, and a quick retort of, "Guys, we are waaaayyy apart." Imagine my surprise, when their first offer was $21,500. I stood there, stunned. Never in my life has a trade value come back higher than I thought it would be. Blue Book had it at $19,800. I continued to stand there, stupidly, trying to think of what to say next. The world was spinning off its axis. Finally, I blurted out, "If you will throw in the XM Radio, you have a deal." I needed desperately for them to say "No", so the world would be right again. Damned if the response wasn't, "Sure, I think we can throw that in."
"Where am I...what's happening?", I spluttered. Finally, my brain kicked back in and advised me to get the paperwork done, and get out, before the real dealers came back from lunch.
Bottom line...payed less than invoice for a new Honda...got $2000 above Blue Book for a trade, moved the wife into a new Odyssey...no cash out of pocket...payments reduced by $60/ month.
22 months from now, I can only hope for as much luck.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Saturday, September 22, 2007
With Winning in Mind
After my embarrassing performance in August at the Dos Rios Open, I decided it was time to either become like Pratas, and not give a shit...or by God, get better at golf. I chose the latter. Took my first lesson from Leon Van Rensburg a couple of weeks ago. He videoed the whole lesson, then commenced to tearing my swing apart from the ground up. The bastard nearly killed me, by contorting me into a more "athletic" stance and making me hit what seemed like 10,000 balls. When he showed me the tape, and the difference in the two swings, I had to admit, I had a horrible swing. I looked a lot like Gumby.
Not only am I taking lessons, I have begun reading Lanny Bassham's book "With Winning in Mind" to work on the mental aspect. Lot's of stuff that should be common sense, but there is a lot of emphasis on focusing on the good things you are doing, and forgetting the bad.
I went to the course this morning for my first round since the lesson. A weekend at PK and a trip to Denver had prevented me from picking up a club since the lesson. I arrived 45 minutes before my tee time, and proceeded to knock the crap out of a large bucket of balls.
What with me hitting balls before the round, and my incessant references to good shots, and thinking positively, my playing partners were looking desperately for what had become of Batman. At one point, Shane actually indicated he wanted the old Batman back, because the new one was too annoying.
At any rate, I managed to stumble my way to a dismal 96...however, I did hit a lot of good shots, and my misses were fairly straight. I think the problem lies in the fact that I wore myself out hitting too many balls before the round, and that I had eaten nothing but Slim Jims and Doritos since Thursday evening supper.
I am going out again in the morning, after eating a good meal tonight, and I will only hit 7 or 8 balls before we start. I am POSITIVE I will be able to improve. Let the re-building of Batman continue.
Not only am I taking lessons, I have begun reading Lanny Bassham's book "With Winning in Mind" to work on the mental aspect. Lot's of stuff that should be common sense, but there is a lot of emphasis on focusing on the good things you are doing, and forgetting the bad.
I went to the course this morning for my first round since the lesson. A weekend at PK and a trip to Denver had prevented me from picking up a club since the lesson. I arrived 45 minutes before my tee time, and proceeded to knock the crap out of a large bucket of balls.
What with me hitting balls before the round, and my incessant references to good shots, and thinking positively, my playing partners were looking desperately for what had become of Batman. At one point, Shane actually indicated he wanted the old Batman back, because the new one was too annoying.
At any rate, I managed to stumble my way to a dismal 96...however, I did hit a lot of good shots, and my misses were fairly straight. I think the problem lies in the fact that I wore myself out hitting too many balls before the round, and that I had eaten nothing but Slim Jims and Doritos since Thursday evening supper.
I am going out again in the morning, after eating a good meal tonight, and I will only hit 7 or 8 balls before we start. I am POSITIVE I will be able to improve. Let the re-building of Batman continue.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
PK Weekend - The Sweet Smell of Survival
In August of 1978, as I prepared to return for my sophomore year at Texas A&M, I had an idea. As my buddies and I would soon be falling back into the strictly regimented life of "Pissheads" in the Corps, why not get together for one last carefree weekend at Possum Kingdom? My parents had a rundown, two room "cabin" and I could haul the Glassmaster behind the '77 Pontiac Grand Prix. Let's do some skiing, drinking, farting, belching and smoking (tobacco for all you deviant potheads out there) before we returned. After all, once back in the Corps dorms...skiing would be a thing of the past. The other activities would continue unabated of course.
I called my buddies on the rotary phone and told them of my idea. It resonated with a couple of them, and as a result, I was joined by Ray Hengst, Jaime Anderson and Kevin Hendrick for what would become the "First Annual Big, Bad,Bodacious Bonfire and Cheap Wine Party". As I recall, there was no wine that year. In fact, the name would not come into usage for several years. The only true and lasting tradition that began on that weekend 30 years ago, was fire and the singing of the song "Over There". On Saturday night, for reasons only John Barleycorn can explain, Ray and I sat on the front steps, burned a Coors beer carton, and sang "Over There".
As the years passed, a new challenge and tradition emerged. Who could bring the nastiest wine? It had to be domestic, and had to have a screw top. You only think "Mad Dog" and "Thunderbird" are bad. My buddies set new standards for crap. It culminated in the year known infamously as "The Year of the Purple Haze". I broke the domestic rule, because I had found the craziest bottles of "Dago Red" I had ever seen. Each bottle held three liters of awful Italian Red wine. One (which I still have in my home collecting loose change) was in the shape of an elephant, sitting on its haunches with it's trunk in the air. The trunk formed the neck of the bottle, and extended approximately three feet from the floor. The other (which was mercifully broken before it could be uncorked) was a snail, with it's antennae rising into the air to form the neck. Ray was the unfortunate consumer of most of the first bottle, and proceeded to pave the dirt road in front of the cabin with purple bile. Hence..The Year of The Purple Haze.
Since then, the rundown shack has been replaced by the nice 3 bedroom, air conditioned home across Purple Haze Road. We have gotten older, gotten mortgages, taken more prescription drugs, sent our kids to A&M and generally become more responsible. However, the weekend continues. Sure, it has been moved to early September, instead of early August. We found the heat was hard to take, and who needs to be back in school in September anymore?
Tomorrow, I depart for the 30th Annual Big, Bad Bodacious Bonfire and Cheap Wine Party. So what, that the ever growing bonfires we used to burn with purloined lumber have regressed back to the original burning of a beer carton. (My setting myself on fire led to that change). Yes, the consumption of huge amounts of stinky feet wine has been replaced by cigars and Single Malt. But, we will gather again...as we have done for the 29 previous years to catch up and insult each other...and yes, probably drink, fart, belch and smoke together. Ahhh, the good life!
I called my buddies on the rotary phone and told them of my idea. It resonated with a couple of them, and as a result, I was joined by Ray Hengst, Jaime Anderson and Kevin Hendrick for what would become the "First Annual Big, Bad,Bodacious Bonfire and Cheap Wine Party". As I recall, there was no wine that year. In fact, the name would not come into usage for several years. The only true and lasting tradition that began on that weekend 30 years ago, was fire and the singing of the song "Over There". On Saturday night, for reasons only John Barleycorn can explain, Ray and I sat on the front steps, burned a Coors beer carton, and sang "Over There".
As the years passed, a new challenge and tradition emerged. Who could bring the nastiest wine? It had to be domestic, and had to have a screw top. You only think "Mad Dog" and "Thunderbird" are bad. My buddies set new standards for crap. It culminated in the year known infamously as "The Year of the Purple Haze". I broke the domestic rule, because I had found the craziest bottles of "Dago Red" I had ever seen. Each bottle held three liters of awful Italian Red wine. One (which I still have in my home collecting loose change) was in the shape of an elephant, sitting on its haunches with it's trunk in the air. The trunk formed the neck of the bottle, and extended approximately three feet from the floor. The other (which was mercifully broken before it could be uncorked) was a snail, with it's antennae rising into the air to form the neck. Ray was the unfortunate consumer of most of the first bottle, and proceeded to pave the dirt road in front of the cabin with purple bile. Hence..The Year of The Purple Haze.
Since then, the rundown shack has been replaced by the nice 3 bedroom, air conditioned home across Purple Haze Road. We have gotten older, gotten mortgages, taken more prescription drugs, sent our kids to A&M and generally become more responsible. However, the weekend continues. Sure, it has been moved to early September, instead of early August. We found the heat was hard to take, and who needs to be back in school in September anymore?
Tomorrow, I depart for the 30th Annual Big, Bad Bodacious Bonfire and Cheap Wine Party. So what, that the ever growing bonfires we used to burn with purloined lumber have regressed back to the original burning of a beer carton. (My setting myself on fire led to that change). Yes, the consumption of huge amounts of stinky feet wine has been replaced by cigars and Single Malt. But, we will gather again...as we have done for the 29 previous years to catch up and insult each other...and yes, probably drink, fart, belch and smoke together. Ahhh, the good life!
Saturday, September 8, 2007
Funeral for a Friend
Just returned last night from a quick trip to Somerville to see Sam Woods put in the ground. Sam was the Director of the Lubbock Metropolitan Planning Organization, and as such, he and I worked together for the past 5 or 6 years. Sam would irritate the hell out of me at times, and occasionally just piss me off.
But when he died suddenly last Monday, a strange feeling fell over me. I don't know if it was the unexpectedness of his death, or the sudden realization that I would never hear his goofy laugh again. Whatever it was, when the word came out Thursday morning that he would be buried 450 miles away at 2:00 p.m. the next day, I knew I had to go...as much for me, as for him. I guess I feared Sam would exit this world with nobody but his family to see him out.
When I arrived at the small chapel, I was relieved to see a gathering of 30 or so friends and family. I was pleasantly surprised to see my boss, three TxDOT'ers from the Austin Planning Division and two researchers from Texas Transportation Institute. Apparently Sam had gotten into their heads as well.
The biggest surprise came when the pastor asked if anyone would like to step forward and say a few words about Sam. Without really understanding why, I walked to the podium. I just felt that Sam's family needed to know what Sam had done in Lubbock, and how much he was appreciated and would be missed. Dammit, I even choked up a little bit. I was followed by Bill Frawley from TTI, who told a great story about Sam's love of food and eating (Sam was a large man), and even better, his ability to find a free meal here and there.
That was it...no one else stood up. That was OK though...Bill and I had our say, and the family expressed their appreciation after the service. The strange feeling was lifted, and I could turn my attention to the 7 1/2 hour drive home.
Farewell Sam...Shine on, you big, fat crazy diamond.
But when he died suddenly last Monday, a strange feeling fell over me. I don't know if it was the unexpectedness of his death, or the sudden realization that I would never hear his goofy laugh again. Whatever it was, when the word came out Thursday morning that he would be buried 450 miles away at 2:00 p.m. the next day, I knew I had to go...as much for me, as for him. I guess I feared Sam would exit this world with nobody but his family to see him out.
When I arrived at the small chapel, I was relieved to see a gathering of 30 or so friends and family. I was pleasantly surprised to see my boss, three TxDOT'ers from the Austin Planning Division and two researchers from Texas Transportation Institute. Apparently Sam had gotten into their heads as well.
The biggest surprise came when the pastor asked if anyone would like to step forward and say a few words about Sam. Without really understanding why, I walked to the podium. I just felt that Sam's family needed to know what Sam had done in Lubbock, and how much he was appreciated and would be missed. Dammit, I even choked up a little bit. I was followed by Bill Frawley from TTI, who told a great story about Sam's love of food and eating (Sam was a large man), and even better, his ability to find a free meal here and there.
That was it...no one else stood up. That was OK though...Bill and I had our say, and the family expressed their appreciation after the service. The strange feeling was lifted, and I could turn my attention to the 7 1/2 hour drive home.
Farewell Sam...Shine on, you big, fat crazy diamond.
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