Twitter Quip

    A Car Called Damien

    I didn’t realize how much work it took to post things online. I mean, I probably should have since I was the one who did all of the maintenance on my site–but I never truly realized how painstakingly difficult it is. I recently posted something online after months–almost a lifetime (well, gerbil’s lifetime)–of not posting anything. The writing wasn’t really the difficult part. The time-consuming aspect of this is putting the text in the necessary format to post online. I thought it was easy in the past, but now it just felt like a lot of work for such a small audience (my mom, Steve, and–if she’s not too busy–The Wife). When I was doing it regularly it didn’t seem like a lot of work. But now that I’ve taken a break, I didn’t realize how much work was really involved (probably ten minutes–not including composition, editing, and revision…as if). I’m not sure I will ever be able to return to a once a week entry (remember when I tried to churn out two or three a week). It was fun while it lasted.

    My appreciation for the Almighty Honda is well known. The obsession started in my teens simply . . . . .

     

    Celebrity look-a-like (it’s Schmeil Hatrick Paris!)

    I am perhaps the least celebrity-obsessed person in this country. I don’t visit TMZ or watch “Entertainment Tonight.” I think “US Weekly” is the worst magazine ever created. I don’t know who Jennifer Anniston is dating and couldn’t care less if Brangelina’s kids got eaten by a mountain lion.

    I’m not saying this because I work at in television and come across third-rate celebrities on a weekly basis–it’s because I think being famous doesn’t make you any more interesting than everyone else. George Clooney is a movie star: his talent is to speak words written for him by someone else. The only difference between me and him is gorgeous looks and a bazillion dollars (it’s like we’re separated at birth). I don’t need to know his view on politics, whom he’s dating, or what he looks like without makeup. Celebrities are just people and no more fascinating than my next door neighbor whose name I don’t know. I don’t care what’s going on in my neighbor’s life–same goes true for George Clooney.

    That’s why I’ll never be one to go gaga when seeing a celebrity. I really don’t care what they did to become famous. To me, a celebrity is . . . . .

     

    Insurance, Car Payments, and Salesmen Who Don’t Know Their Customers

    Killing time until it’s good and dead.

    Bought me some car insurance tonight–now I feel like a real grownup. I wanted to buy the bare minimum required by law ’cause I’m a really good driver and don’t go around hitting things. California is a screwy state. It requires you to have car insurance; however, the minimum property liability is $5000. How useless is that? Five grand? Maybe I’m jaded ’cause I live in Orange County, but there are very few cars on the road worth less than $5000.

    I even called an agent today to try and figure out this insurance thing. The dude seemed kinda surprised that I didn’t want any coverage in case I have an accident that is my fault.

    “I’m looking to keep my rates as low as possible,” I told him.

    “We can set you up with something that has a high deductible–like $1000,” he offered.

    “My car is only worth $2000–why would I want a $1000 deductible?”

    I really don’t understand people. Folks always wanna have a new shiny car–it’s so vain. A car’s only job is to get you from point A to point B. My 18-year old Honda is just as good . . . . .