At Times Like These...

We need mumbling Mexican Rappers

And Bread

A Blog Of Many Persons

Five items today. In the future, I will try to have more on-topic posts, more times per week. No promises.

1. Today I purchased 5 postcards for $1.40. I'd been on the lookout for a less expensive means of keeping my friends "posted" (ha! ha!) about goings on around the big NU, and I think these could be the answer. Plus, they're blank except for the postage so I can print out custom designs on 'em to give 'em that personal touch that so much correspondence lacks these days.

Possible designs:
-Me giving a thumbs up.
-Bikini Babes
-Bikini Babes giving a thumbs up
-Solid black (for maximum ink-wastage)
-Manly, the Manly Mustache
-More writing (silly, I know)

When I think of postcards, I think of Brokeback Mountain, where Heath Ledger (man, that's a great name) gets the letter from Jack and replies with a postcard that just says "You Bet" on it.

2. Over the past few days I've been burning through the database over at Achewood, a comic strip on the Internet about some animals. It's now my all-time favorite webcomic. I highly encourage you to check it out.

Josh Mattson, I once made fun of you for wanting to spend $150 on the complete Achewood collection in several fine bound volumes. I still think it's a ridiculous price, but I think I understand where you're coming from now.


3. So I looked through some Manly Mustaches Blog archives earlier today (because I just have too much time and needed some way to waste it) and found that all the old posts, created long before beta blogger came around and tacked on these "labels" for each post, have been automatically assigned two labels: "billions and billions" and "bread." I am going to go ahead and assume that this is for alphabetical reasons. Coincidentally, these labels describe the content of the posts pretty well.

Memories from the archives: the word "troffle" and Chacarron.


4. Tommy update: as a reminder, Tommy is the bleach blond piece of shit in my seminar who likes to talk about "paradigms" and "dichotomy." Today he wore a shirt that said "The Name's Duge, Duge Hick." Also, he wrote a note to a bro that said simply "Tequila and skinny dipping."

Maybe he'll get hit by a train one of these days.

5. I want to dress up for Halloween, but the problem of a costume is probably going to fall by the wayside. Like every kid in North America, I wish I had the dough/gumption/technical know-how to buy/build myself a Daft Punk robot helmet for Halloween. Tragically, I don't have $14,000 (or is it $65,000? Does it really make a difference?) and a year to burn. I actually did buy a motorcycle helmet at a garage sale this summer, so constructing such a helmet (or a crude facsimile of such a helmet) could be a fun project. But for this year, things are looking doubtful.

Proton

I met Jordan Stitch at Megan Saley's grad party.
He said, "You should post something on the mustache blog"

Since I have nothing else to do right now, I decided to talk about Pizza
Now as you all know, pizza is an integral component of a stable and successful college life. Indeed, some reports (unverified and unscientific but nonetheless very practical)have reached my ears that pizza is synonymous with survival in college. And besides, the manly mustaches are already associated with bread. Why not further this infatuation?

I work at a pizza place (Rafferty's on washington st. They have the best pizza in town) so I thought this is a good opportunity to educate my fellow comrades about the essentials of pizza making.

So here are the steps (which, unfortunately, are not punctuated by fancy-looking diagrams):

1) Pre-made dough is immersed in lots and lots of flour. This flour-dough complex is then passed repeatedly through a fairly complicated (and ominous) machine called "the dough squisher". The end product of this very scientific procedure is a nice and flat and smooth and round tortilla-like pizza base. By the way, this process is technically called "sheeting out".

2) Take a ladle of sauce and lather up the base generously. Add ample amounts of cheese (for us it is mozzarella, cheddar in scripted amounts. e.g. for a large pizza, the amount of mozzarella should not exceed 10 oz. (+ or - .00003 oz.)

3) Garnish the pizza with appropriate toppings.

4) Shove the sauce-cheese-toppings complex in the oven. (Take extra care not to burn your hands)

5) After five minutes, take the pizza out. (Not with bare hands, of course)

6) Cut it into professional slices, and presto! You have a nice, delicious pizza.


a freshly baked, steaming pizza

Now I am aware that I left some vital stuff out. Like, I never talked about how to make the dough, how to acquire the required toppings, and most of all, how to cook the sauce.
But you must understand is, this is all copyrighted information stored securely in the hallowed vaults of a nondescript bank in Zurich, Switzerland, and I, a lowly part-time crew member, do not have access to this vault.

So I have a better suggestion: why not come down to the place and order some pizza?
It'll save you a lot of your precious time, giving you leverage to check out the stock prices before the closing bell.

P.S. The label is for you Max

Just A "B" And An "E" Away From A Cool $300

Dear Andrew Kubas:


Please to explain if I won something on this lotto ticket you so thoughtfully gave me at my grad party? I have two words (AUNT and COURT) for sure, but I'm uncertain about the status of the word in the lower left (C$IN).

Are the $ free spaces? If that's the case, then I'm thinking that I may not have only won back the three hard earned dollars you invested in this magnificent gift, but also gained two more such sums, for a grand total of $9, as my $3 prize would be tripled due to the presence of the $ in one of my completed words.

Am I reading this correctly?


P.S.: Prompted by a prepoderance of influences ($50 in soon-to-be-forgotten Target gift cards from my grad party, a sale at Target, and boredom), I bit the bullet and purchased Mario Party 8 for the Wiiiiiiiii. It is pretty good times. I need a couple more Wii-motes, though, to get the full benefits.


P.P.S.: I worked breakfast this morning at the LoLodge. At one point, as I carried an armload of dirty dishes back to the kitchen, an old woman observed my belabored condition and chuckled "heh heh heh got a match?"

And I did NOT say "Yeah, my ass and your face."



I deserve a raise.

Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality.

This summer has so far been going fast, though nowhere near as fast as it should be. I want to start the next leg of my life. College seems like a whole other journey that will be very very enjoyable. However having to work day after day definitely dampens your spirit and is starting to make me have have a case of the monday's. ("I think I might just come up shooting")
Is there anyway to get rid of these blues?

On a rather odd side note, I just saw Mr. Brooks. It was a decent flick and I would suggest going to see it.

tears in my eyes

well. that was interesting.

let me say: i have had literally no involvement in my grad party planning. and, honestly, i couldn't be happier.

so now that my sister has purchased all of the decorations/plates/food/tent/anything and i'm sure she has chosen very feminine colors...anyone reading this who is among the mustache faithful...you are more than welcome to attend my grad party.

june 30th. 1:00-5:00. my house.

if you are feeling very generous: i enjoy scratch games. oh...and i need new shoes. (that is perhaps the biggest understatement on this blog. maybe i'll post pictures later.)

mustache out!

shameless plug.

sooo...i was kind of roped into becoming a member of a fly-by-night band.

yeah, we don't really know what we're doing, but the support (so far) has been extensive.

we recorded 4 tracks.....right now we only have lyrics to one of them...but we should have all four completed during this week.

(afterwards i will be away as will koreann...but after that we will get back to making fresh music)

we would love you to check us out:

http://www.myspace.com/thelorenthompsonexperience

also:

http://hs.facebook.com/group.php?gid=2414534618&ref=nf

here's to listening!

mustache out!

Puppy+Update=Pupdate

Misadventues in pug breeding continued at the Kuehn household this week.

Poppy and her hapless suitor, Louis, had their third date in 5 days yesterday, and they have yet to connect, emotionally or otherwise. Louis (or Ludwig Von Tailchaser, as it says on his AKC papers) is a handsome, affectionate, affable fellow, very similar to Vegas (or Vegas Lucky 7), the sire we had such luck with the past two times. Vegas, however, had years of experience in the stud-for-hire field, while Louis, at only 10 months old, lacks such first-hand knowledge.

Poppy, after kicking Louis's ass for 6 hours the first day (the "getting to know you" period), was willing, but Louis just....couldn't....quite....figure it out. They've got one more date today, and if it doesn't work out we may be forced to move on to Rocky

Many people have asked why we don't simply breed Poppy and Otto, or simlpy assume that Otto is the father. Otto is neutered, for a couple of reasons.

Firstly, while Otto is a terrific dog in almost every respect, he is a complete failure by pug physical standards. He's leggy and lank, not "decidedly square and cobby." His eyes are prone to injury and bad, even by pug standards. He has an oddly bulging sternum and a loosely curled tail (if he curls it at all.) Otto is a great companion, but he's just not cut out to be a stud.

Secondly, un-neutered males tend to be very annoying and it's a real hassle to have one wandering around the house. Ladies, insert the joke of your choice here.


P.S.: Remeber this game, Red Steel, that I was so excited about? Well, I rented it for the irresistibly low price of $2 for a week, and I've gotta say: disappointing. Is it really that hard to make a realistic, responsive sword fighting mechanic for a video game?

Oh well. Maybe next time.

All Things Dull And Ugly

I'm a pretty big fan of the show Heroes, a well-produced NBC drama about people who suddenly discover that they have supernormal abilities. They have some of your run-of-the-mill superpowers (superstrength, flight, telepathy), along with some more unique talents (radioactivity, absorbing the powers of others, stopping time.) It's kind of like X-Men without all the angst and no Wolverine.

Anyways, the reason I'm posting is because I got to thinking: there's no need for magic or even imagination for some really sweet abilities to exist--they're right in your own backyard! Well, on Earth, at least.

I never took A.P. Biology in high school, but I did read an assload of Ranger Rick as a kid. I learned two things from that raccoon in a hat: recycling will solve all the world's problems, and animals can do some cool things. With that in mind, I proudly present--

Animal Superpowers I Wish I Had

Photosynthesis--While I'd still like to be able to eat, I think that being able to skip meals and just sit in the sun instead would be very satisfying.

Echolocation--As the Animorphs learned in one of their many adventures, it's the only way to find your way through a darkened room filled with light-sensitive alarms and hundreds of trip wires.

Bioluminescence--Not all that useful, but still neat. Also, think of all the money I'd save on flashlight batteries. All out of juice on the ol' maglite? Well, why don't I light our path WITH THE PALM OF MY HAND.

Whale song--Whales can communicate over hundreds of miles of ocean with ultra-low frequency messages. I'd like to be able to stick my head into the sea and yell at some scuba divers off the coast of Italy.

Prehensile feet--No brainer. I can see myself now...calmly reading reports, wearing a suit and a tie, calling for coffee...all while hanging from my office ceiling by my toes.

Electric charge--Stacks of chemicals within the bodies of electric eels and other creatures act as batteries, building up charge which they use to stun or kill prey. I would use it for shocking handshakes.

Super-navigation--According to some scientists, migratory birds, homing pigeons, and lost dogs may find their way around based on the earth's magnetic field. It's like having GPS in your head!




What I'm saying is: magic is all around you. Go out and discover it!

grow it...grow it good.

ladies and gentlemen, i write to you this evening because i need your voice.

earlier this month i made a deal/bet with my father:

from june 1st-june 30th, he was going to grow a mustache. if he did so, on july 1, i was going to shave my head.

well, i woke up this morning....and my father had a clean shaven face.

SHAME ON YOU, JEFF KUBAS!

so...the question remains: should i shave my head?

last year the theme was, "the fro has got to go!" this year...i'm not so sure. please, let me know your opinions.

many mustache blessings.

Be True To Your School

Quick Hits:

1. Poppy (the pug) is in heat and we plan to breed her later this week. Ideally, this will lead to some puppies in early August. Josh asked me if I could name the fattest puglet Pork Chop. I think I can swing that. Other puppy names?

2. I am scheduled for precisely zero hours of work this next week. This may prove problematic. I guess I'll try to make the best of a bad situation and spend some time driving around aimlessly, listening to the Beach Boys.

3. I'm actually kind of looking forward to my grad party. It should be fun to see family friends and relatives, and I think I can handle smiling, gladhanding, and answering the same 6 questions for 3 hours. I wish I could say the same for Sam Walker.

4. I'm posting this on a brief break from the Great Pre-Grad Party Cleaning of Ought-Seven. I've been washing windows and mini-blinds for the better part of 4 hours now. I'd be getting it done quicker, but these damn pugs are weighing me down.

Seriously, I wonder if the Chinese developed the pug as an economic weapon. It's so elegant: they export the pugs to their competitors, who experience precipitous drops in productivity when their populace turns its attentions away from work and towards their pugs. And who's there to step in to fill to pug-induced shortfall? That's right, those pug-developing Chinese.

Really, this could be a national security concern. If we're devoting all of our time and resources to caring for pugs, how can we properly prepare to defend ourselves? By importing more and more pugs, I fear we've moved from A to B on our guns vs. pugs production possibilities curve.

Man, this should be a T-shirt. Pug-loving peace enthusiasts would be all about it.

Slip 'n Slide

I didn't realize this made it onto YouTube. Most of the seniors have probably already seen this, but it's still pretty sweet.

P.S. Turn down sound before watching.

N=R* x fp x ne x fl x fi x fc x L

After a successful Lowell reunion party, including a 5-A-Day Live presentation, rousing games of kickball and check, seeing Valarie Niager (sp?) for the first time in about 5 years, and having my second ice cream cake of the day, I am understandably tired. However, I believe I have enough energy in these old sausage fingers of mine to bring you up to date on some pressing matters.

First: I will not be speaking at graduation. My sources tell me that it came down to myself and Sara Swenson, and Ms. Swenson was selected on the grounds that she spoke louder at the audition. Also, the students might have enjoyed my speech too much.

But seriously folks, I wish Ms. Swenson all the best. Honestly, I'm glad that I can just look forward to sitting around and being entertained at graduation. I think I'll bring some enormous beachballs.

Second: You can always tell when you've done a good job in filling out a survey for the Brainerd Daily Disgrace when Jason Houle, approaching you for the first time since the article has been published, greets you by yelling "You're such a tremendous douchebag!"

Here is the important part of the article:


Maxwell Kuehn

Class rank: No. 2.

Vital statistics: He is 18 and was born and raised in Brainerd. He currently lives in northwest Brainerd. His parents are Martha and Carter Kuehn. His sister, Maya, 21, is a senior at Northwestern University.

Activities: Tennis, basketball, playing Illuminati, reading comics and failing to use parallel construction.

Part-time work: Waiting tables at Lost Lake Lodge.

For relaxation: Calculus

Future plans: Attend Northwestern University, major in art history.

Most memorable high school moment: "This one time I saw Mr. Hewitt lift a car over his head."

Words to live by: "I work without a net, dangling precariously on the edge of genius and insanity, glory and despair, acceptance and rejection." - Tay Stevenson


Steve Kohls took that gem of a photo. Mad props to Mrs. Lundgren for providing me with the lab coat and a variety of sciency curios and gew-gaws.


Third: I signed up for my Freshman Seminar things today. I think I'll probably end up in the Kaplan Humanities Scholars Program thing, exploring notions of the Good Society and whatnot. In addition to that, I plan to take a German class, some Intro to Psych thing, and a bitchin' looking course called Intro to Astrobiology.

Awww yeah, astrobiology. Good times.

Somewhere In That Ancient Crappy Trinity

Some say 3 is the magic number. I say it's a pretty shitty number. Consider the following:

-There are currently three enormous movies out.
-They are each the third in their respective series
-They are each taking up three movie screens at Movies 10

The number 3 has conspired to push Hot Fuzz out of Brainerd, and indeed, the entire state of Minnesota, if Yahoo Movies is to be trusted.

Sorry, Simon. Not even you can stop Shrek.

I guess Disturbia is taking up the tenth screen, so it deserves some of the blame. Very well: Fuck you, Disturbia.

By the way, it says "balls" on your forehead.

I have been wanting to write something on the blog for quite sometime, and still I have nothing worthwhile to say. It seems I was born into this world with knowledge and imagination, but with a complete lack of writing skills. (as seen in that last statement) So I sit here thinking about what to write and *blinking light* an idea hits me. Instead of writing something meaningful, write something where the reader feels like he just lost 5 minutes of his life. Here we go:

Yesterday was my first day at Boardwalk. It was a decent job, I got to deliver pizzas for an hour or so and washed dishes for the next four hours. Hopefully I get to start making pizzas soon, that looks like kind of a fun job. Of course that is the same thing I thought about the movie theater and boy was I wrong. Recieve order, fill order, make change, send customer to watch one of the crappy mainstream movies, rinse, repeat. Only if the world was full of people who would not listen to movie commercials that say one of the many,"This movie is the next (fill in any classic movie). It makes (fill in any good, recent movie) look like a walk in the park." Oh well I can't change the world. Sill though people WATCH HOT FUZZ!

Finally I was watching Garden State yesterday again and couldn't stop laughing at this:

Grad Party June 10th: Clear Your Calenders

Well it's late May of my senior year of high school, which means I'm contracturally obligated to Reflect On Days Gone By. Here we go:

I will miss many things about Brainerd High School. I will miss passing Alan Hewitt in the hall and being completely ignored. I will miss all of the terrific shirts, such as Scott Pagel's "Oh Crap...I'm 50" shirt. I will miss jazz band. And Ron Gilbertson...well, I think I'll miss him most of all.

I believe A.P. Physics has surpassed A.P. U.S. History as my second favorite all-time class, and some days it vies with A.P. Art History for supremacy.

Now, A.P. Physics was not exactly your typical A.P. class. We weren't exactly "busy as beavers." We didn't really have our "noses to the grindstone." Our studies weren't precisely "exhaustive." But I learned a ridiculous amount about a very interesting subject, and I'm cautiously optimistic about maybe getting a 4, so I didn't mind what some COUGH*TIRTH PATEL*COUGH might have considered to be a lack of academic rigor.

The main attraction of this class was not the actual course material (it was unusual if we got to more than about 25 minutes of physics a day); it was the man running the show. Ronald Gilbertson is basically the Jay Gatsby of high school teachers--he's the Platonic conception I imagine other teachers have of themselves: eating apples from his personal mini-fridge, passing out "Diner Lingo" worksheets, doing Geroge Carlin stand up.

The only difference is, with Gilby you don't get the sense that there's some boring square lurking beneath the layers of quirks. All evidence points to the fact that Gilby is Gilby 24-7, even when nobody's watching. Example: Sam and I went up to ask Gilbertson something during his open hour, and when we walked in he was standing three feet from the television, arms crossed, watching a soap opera. He turned towards us after a moment, got us what we needed, bid us farewell, and went back to his stories.


Gilbertson is like an excellent character in a long-running sitcom: he's well-developed (just like a real person!), yet flexible enough that he can keep coming up with new bits and revealing new traits that add to his personality without contradicting anything that came before. Just today, I thought up a few new quirks Gilby could whip out in the last couple of weeks:

1. Close class by saying "See you tomorrow kids. Same Bat time, same Bat channel."
2. Wear a spinning bow tie.
3. Put a duct tape cross on the floor in the front of the room, walk across the room, stop and turn on the cross, and say "Found my mark."

I would be especially pleased if that last one came to pass.



P.S.: I'm not saying that Ron Gilbertson is better than Stu Lade. He's just different.
P.P.S.: Please feel free to add your own favorite Gilby memory to the comment thread.

Contract This

Bittersweet news today guys.


The Lincoln is totally dead--the Mobil guys couldn't get it to turn over, so they drained the oil, which the discovered was full of shaved off bits of metal. Not an overly good sign. The next step would be to rip out the whole engine (for $200) and discover a much more expensive problem underneath.

So, it is with a heavy heart that I will soon commit the Lincoln's earthly remains to the bosom of the Pacific Ocean, which it loved so well...seriously though, it's getting towed to the junkyard in the next couple of days, after I go down with a paper bag and pull out my meager belongings.

Good-bye, Lincoln. You drank a lot of gas, but you were a good car. We hardly knew ye.

1989-2007; R.I.P.

Now, speaking of hardly knowing ye, onto the moderately shocking revelation from my father this morning. The Lincoln's original owner, the man who bought it new and drove it until he traded it in and my grandma purchased it, was none other than former used car dealer and current commisioner of Major League Baseball, Bud Selig:

Allan Huber "Bud" Selig, Jr.; Commisioner of MLB, 1998-Present

Yep, that Bud Selig. Fucked up, eh?

As I said, this shit is bittersweet. It's awesome that the Lincoln had some genuine high class credentials and connections to the proffesional sports world, but now that the Lincoln is dead, I won't be able to brag as effectively about it.

Life is tough.

Seen And Not Seen

Had a rather surreal tennis match today.

We were at Tech, in their secondary facility, near some shitty middle school. Sounds mild-mannered, I know, but trust me: things were rather eerie up in there.

First of all, the wind was blowing a steady 25 mph, gusting to about 35 or so, and the middle school building is either A: haunted or B: specially designed to funnel any wind into a haunting wail.

The wind also served to carry a mysterious hammering sound from the nearby basesball complex. Thanks to the ridiculous 12 foot granite wall surrounding said complex, I was forced to walk a short ways to get a view of what was going on: a stone structure was being demolished by an enormous excavator with some sort of jackhammer attachement on the end of its arm. It was very cool. I stood there and watched it for about 30 seconds while it hammered away and dust swirled about it.

Finally, the tennis courts also abutted the local fire department, which, for some reason, apparently has its communication system wired to an outdoor loudspeaker. So as we played we got to hear some dispatchers talking about sending out trucks and calling in squad cars.

Oh, and I won my match; talk about surreal.

(Yes, I had planned out that line before I played. If I would have lost I would have written "Well, at least one thing was normal; I lost my match.")

P.S.: I got a mysterious letter from John Ward today, congratulating me for graduating from high school. Did anybody else get one of these things?

Must Go Faster

I've decided that the best way to avoid stressing about A.P. tests is to take as many of them as possible. My data indicates that there's an inverse relationship between the number of AP tests taken and the total freak-out level attained. Consider the following:

Sophomore year
Like all reasonable persons, I took on U.S. History as my sole A.P. class. I got more worked up about that class than really pretty much anything ever. If, on the eve of the test, you'd asked me if I would accept a full-ride scholarship to the college of my choice, on the condition that I would only get a 4 on the APUSH test, I would have hesitated, then turned you down.

Here's a semi-embarassing story to convince you of the magnitude of my monomania: One day, a few weeks before the test, I took a break from re-re-re-reading about the War of 1812 and the Hartford Convention (downfall of the Federalists, that ol' convention was) to watch that pitch-perfect cinematic masterpiece, Independence Day. As I watched Will Smith and Jeff Goldblum, fresh off their defeat of the alien menace, strut across the salt flats, smoking victory cigars and playfully punching each other in the arm, I seriously thought "Wow, that must be what it's like to get a 5 on the A.P. U.S. History test."

I realize this image is kinda crappy, and from an earlier part of the film, and I really identified more with Jeff Goldblum, but it was all I could find, and ideally the flightsuit and cigar should jog your memory about the part of the movie I'm talking about

The test ended up being pretty easy. In fact, I was kind of miffed that so many people got the same grade as me. I'm pretty sure I would have gotten like a 6 or a 7 if these tests were graded by people and not soulless machines.

Junior year
I took three tests, Chemistry, Art History, and Lit. I was ridiculously prepared for Chem, but that was more Lundgren's doing than my own, and Lit...well, they apparently decide Lit grades by random drawing, so there wasn't much I could do there. Really I only obsessed about Art History, and even then my fixation didn't approach its U.S. History levels.

Senior year
I have 6 tests, I've done basically no special preperation for any of them, and I'm feeling light-hearted and, as I commented earlier, sanguine. I guess I knew that there was no way I could have possibly over-prepared for these tests to the extent that I'd done so in the past, so I just took it easy. There's no way to tell until mid-July, but I think this strategy is working out pretty well so far.


P.S.: Every time I say or hear something now, I subconciously translate it into German.

P.P.S.: Work sucks. But then I suppose that's why they pay me to do it.

Tipping Is Not A City In China

Alright, it's been a while since I rapped to ya, and what with my coal-miner-like work schedule and pile of homework/studying to do, it'll probably be a healthy spell before I get back and spill again. BUT I think today's experience warrents staying up a few more minutes.

So I was driving the trusty ol' Lincoln to work this afternoon, listening to my Power Loon driving mixtape (it's like the greatests songs the Power Loon would ever play, back to back to back). When I stopped at the Wise Road, getting ready to turn right onto 371, I noticed my car was vibrating; not enough to shake me around, but enough to get my mirrors really shaking. I thought little of it, but when I tried to accerlate out onto the highway, I ended up drifting off to the side of the road instead. The mighty Lincoln was dead.

With my mom on a long walk and my dad running errands, I knew that the parentals were not going to be my speediest option for a ride to work. So, I called my grandma up and described my predicament. Being a good grandma, she set out to pick me up.

Normally I would have been proud of myself for being so resourceful. This afternoon, however, Fortuna decided to screw around with me a little bit. Moments after I got off the phone with my grandma, a co-worker happened to stop, waiting to turn right onto 371, and asked if I needed a ride.

Now, my grandma is a good grandma, and I love her very much, but while I wouldn't call her a technophobe, she doesn't exactly have a subscription to Wired; nor, for that matter, does she own a cell phone. Therefore, I couldn't exactly accept another ride--my grandma would come eventually, see the abandoned Lincoln and no beloved grandson, and before you'd know it we'd have an Amber Alert on our hands. In seeking to free myself from my broken down car, I'd effectively anchored myself to it. Oh, sweet irony. I politely turned her down.

That would have been bad enough. But I got to turn down not one, but TWO more ride offers in the 20 minutes it took my grandma to arrive (she'd ended up on the wrong side of the highway; to be fair, my directions had been pretty vague.): One from Megan Saley's mom Char, a former co-worker, and another from a nattily attired Stuart Lade, dressed in his Sunday best, headed for a wedding in his olive green Saab.

Fuckin' ridiculous.