I want to drive!
Saturday was the county fair demolition derby. I had never been to a demolition derby before and I wasn't quite sure what I was imagining was going to happen... What did happen was the best entertainment EVER. If you've never been before, imagine 16 normal, beat-up, oldcars -- like Crown Vics, Dusters, Cutlasses, Escort wagons -- with a home-grown paint job (a few were very professional, including a General Lee clone). They have local business's (sponsors, I assume) names along side their kids' written in spray paint and each have a random number like 2, 69, 96, 4zn, $1.05, 7086, U24r.
So, they get lined up in a space about a half football field, 8 per end-zone with their rears facing each other. When the flags go up, they try and disable their opponents by smashing into each other. The rules seem to be that you can only go so long without having a crash and you can't directly impact the driver's side on purpose. There are these men running around in neon yellow shirts monitoring the action and occasionally everyone has to stop while firefighters extinguish flames from under hoods. I think it takes more balls to be one of the flag-men than a driver -- they're so close to the crashing. Skid-loaders shove cars back into the ring which is bordered by logs under a lot of mud.
Four rounds (called heats) of this commence with new cars each time. The last four standing in each heat go on to the final. The people seem to have time to work on the cars after their heat and before the final. There's also a consolation heat for people who got knocked out but fixed their cars up before the end and then those four winners can go on to the final too. I was amused the entire 3 and a half hours standing, hands clutching the steel fence and mouth half open, occasionally yelling with glee even in the rain that snuck up for about 30 minutes of our time in Augusta.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Friday, July 14, 2006
When a simple "no" won't do
I asked my honey today if my shoes matched my outfit. He said instead, "They match your panties." I knew he liked the red/white pasley hipsters, but I didn't realize he could remember that I was wearing them when I was fully clothed. I smile inside. It's heart warming when someone else pays more attention to you than you do to your own self. It's even better when their opinion is flattering and I have every reason to believe his comment was pure in this way.
This weekend PEJJM are coming to visit as well as some other members of the Iowa State crowd. It's going to be hot and we don't have air conditioning. We have ceiling fans though and hopefully it won't rain and the outside air won't be too bad.
I asked my honey today if my shoes matched my outfit. He said instead, "They match your panties." I knew he liked the red/white pasley hipsters, but I didn't realize he could remember that I was wearing them when I was fully clothed. I smile inside. It's heart warming when someone else pays more attention to you than you do to your own self. It's even better when their opinion is flattering and I have every reason to believe his comment was pure in this way.
This weekend PEJJM are coming to visit as well as some other members of the Iowa State crowd. It's going to be hot and we don't have air conditioning. We have ceiling fans though and hopefully it won't rain and the outside air won't be too bad.
Friday, July 07, 2006
Kum & Go
Get your mind out of the gutter. Kum & Go is just a gas station chain found all over Iowa. Some call it, "the ol' E&E." I don't much care to think about what the diminutive might stand for. The only gas station downtown where I work is the Kum & Go with it's maraschino cherry red canopy and sign. I always see the same clerk if I go in for a pop or snack. He's a tall, some might call lanky, white guy with short, medium brown hair and side burns. He looks like he should be pimple-faced, but he is not. I visit at least once a week for gas on my way home and pay at the pump.
Although I think pop is bad for you and have been very righteous in my pop abstinance in the recent past, lately I get a craving for it just before I head over the river and through the woods to my house. Might be the heat (though most pop dehydrates you!) Today, as a pop-craving Friday, I needed a cold Diet A&W from the E&E. Usually, I don't have any money (as in cash) and have to bum off of my honey, or I'll put gas and put it on the debit card. But today was special because we had gotten "cash back" by putting all the fireworks on our debit card and getting cash from my mom and uncle for their contribution. I had been spending my phat wad here and there and was fishing for exact change while the clerk rang up my pop.
"Twenny bucks," he says. Completely straight-faced.
I look up and blink a few times in rapid succession trying to re-process the sounds that are not what I expected to hear. He's done this to me before, though I think it was only ten last time. I only got as far as a big smile then as I handed him a mere two dollar bills. This time, I'm in a haggling mood.
I come back with, "OK, that's twenty pennies then."
"Mmmm... five bucks."
"Five pennies?"
"Alright, a dollar forty-three," and he breaks a smile at last.
Even that price seems too high for a 16-ounce root beer, but I verify with the cash register display. One dollar, four dimes, three pennies, and I'm on my way home. Fed up with how our NPR station replays the same local broadcast on my morning commute as when I'm on the way home, I put on Jake's Melissa mix number 3. We're going to see Superman tonight!
Get your mind out of the gutter. Kum & Go is just a gas station chain found all over Iowa. Some call it, "the ol' E&E." I don't much care to think about what the diminutive might stand for. The only gas station downtown where I work is the Kum & Go with it's maraschino cherry red canopy and sign. I always see the same clerk if I go in for a pop or snack. He's a tall, some might call lanky, white guy with short, medium brown hair and side burns. He looks like he should be pimple-faced, but he is not. I visit at least once a week for gas on my way home and pay at the pump.
Although I think pop is bad for you and have been very righteous in my pop abstinance in the recent past, lately I get a craving for it just before I head over the river and through the woods to my house. Might be the heat (though most pop dehydrates you!) Today, as a pop-craving Friday, I needed a cold Diet A&W from the E&E. Usually, I don't have any money (as in cash) and have to bum off of my honey, or I'll put gas and put it on the debit card. But today was special because we had gotten "cash back" by putting all the fireworks on our debit card and getting cash from my mom and uncle for their contribution. I had been spending my phat wad here and there and was fishing for exact change while the clerk rang up my pop.
"Twenny bucks," he says. Completely straight-faced.
I look up and blink a few times in rapid succession trying to re-process the sounds that are not what I expected to hear. He's done this to me before, though I think it was only ten last time. I only got as far as a big smile then as I handed him a mere two dollar bills. This time, I'm in a haggling mood.
I come back with, "OK, that's twenty pennies then."
"Mmmm... five bucks."
"Five pennies?"
"Alright, a dollar forty-three," and he breaks a smile at last.
Even that price seems too high for a 16-ounce root beer, but I verify with the cash register display. One dollar, four dimes, three pennies, and I'm on my way home. Fed up with how our NPR station replays the same local broadcast on my morning commute as when I'm on the way home, I put on Jake's Melissa mix number 3. We're going to see Superman tonight!
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