Readers- A change of pace today owing to the fact that my '93 Nissan ("The Official Car of Hope n' Change") suddenly died about an hour ago, stranding Mrs. Jarlsberg at the dentist's office following her latest smile tune-up. Her smile was fine, by the way, although a little strained after the car's ignition went tickity-tickity-tick instead of vroom-vroom-vroom.
I showed up with the jumper cables and got the old girl running (the car, not Mrs. Jarlsberg) and drove it to the little auto repair shop I've been using for years, secure in the knowledge that the mechanic I've built a relationship with would never, ever screw me.
"Oh, Mario? Yeah, he's gone," I was told. "New management. Replaced everyone. Let's take a look at that car. Man, that's an old one..."
Fortunately, the repair shop was within walking distance of the Hope n' Change office tower, and even more fortunately, the apocalyptic weather in Texas was taking a brief break in which to gather energy for whatever hell will break loose later today. So, after dabbing the mist from my eyes, I left my car in the hands of strangers. Strangers who will no doubt factor into the final bill the fact that I left on foot.
Now I'm waiting by the phone to find out what's wrong with my car and what it will cost to repair, which makes it pretty darned hard to concentrate on politics. Which, considering the current state of politics, may not be an entirely bad thing.
But hey, as a nice consolation, how about a visit from the ever insightful...
|Catch 22 Caliber|
Assuming, of course, that those mysterious "new guys" at the car repair shop haven't actually refitted my car with miniature cameras, microphones, and drone beacons.