We’re back on Microsoft Word, after an extended stint with Notepad, and the effect of modern conveniences like spell-check is palpable. Even word wrap functions better, which is kinda like having a typewriter carriage move on its own, every time a sentence gets super-long. This post is also brought to you by services such as running water and a fast, persistent connection to the Internets–all of them.
With the exception of work, I’d say pretty much everything’s been on fuckin’ fire recently. I won’t bother to go into details, since this ain’t a diary, but I will say I’ve attempted to navigate it all with a two-fold approach: taking on one thing at a time, and creating stuff. The former’s self-explanatory, but the latter? The novel project is on hold, as was the earlier game. There’s been a new game, though, for which I penned the backstory–a gritty sci-fi screed about an overpopulated Earth, and Mars, and colonization by way of repurposed spacefaring garbage trawlers, packed tight with settlers, in an oblique reference to 16th century slave ships.
Okay! Also, drinking. I guess that’s been a third option for dealing with circumstances. Last week, I celebrated the founding of our nation by knocking out, like, six sangrias in a DJ’ed living room, with negligible effect on elocution or automobile operation. Certainly part of me wants to explore my upper limits fully, but then I remember how my grandfather drank like a fish and obliterated his liver, and suddenly the secret contours of mystery more than satisfy.
Secondhand Rants will return on Tuesday, July 09.
On the subject of cars, I am–much like my fuel gauge–largely rudderless, a compass twisting in the wind. It’s been roughly a month now of using my odometer to determine how much gas I have left, and I am mortified and proud in equal measure. It’s kind of badass to know I get about 350 miles per tank with my normal mix of local and highway transit. It’s like I’m navigating using the stars or something. But at the same time, y’know, it’s a little ghetto.
What is unequivocally not on the table is buying a new car. I can’t bear the heartache again of sensing an asset depreciating, the moment it rolls off the lot. There’s the psychic punch of seeing that first dent or scratch, too, wrought by some parking lot rat. I also cringe at the memory of standing in the dealership, green, fresh out of college, clumsily “negotiating.” Nowadays, I’m actually equipped to do so, but the prospect of dealing with car salesmen remains unsavory to the max.
Certified pre-owned or lease? That is the question. Make is up for grabs. Budget, I’ve got a ballpark. V4 over V6 for fuel efficiency’s sake. With all the talk surrounding hybrid technology, the contrarian within me almost wants a vehicle that actively pollutes to balance things out–like maybe it randomly ejects empty plastic bottles onto the road, or automatically coats smaller woodland creatures in spent engine oil. There are a few features I absolutely need: sedan, four doors, a smaller frame to allow me to weave at higher speeds. What I want most, though, is a HUD. Silly, right? That’s my secret shame, and it may have decided things for me.