I have mentioned before that I hate the words "blog" and "blogger" and, yes, "blogging," so that's not what I will be doing here. Instead, I will be offering rare glimpses into a brilliant and archaic mind: my own. I call it . . . typing my thoughts.
So, my father just called to say that he was in Decorah, IA. Why was he there and not somewhat farther down the road from Utah to Maine? Well, it turns out that he left twice. Yes, in the grand tradition of our family, he left for the first time on Monday night with a totally unsuitable car (a Ford Taurus) pulling a trailer full of crap. Naturally, it broke down somewhere after Park City and they had to be towed back to Salt Lake. This is very much shades of my childhood, and I have to wonder: Dad, why put so much faith in the damn Ford Tauri? Haven't you learned your lesson yet? Don't you remember the camping incident? What about the time our old station wagon would only drive backward? I seem to remember having the transmission replaced at least twice. What about the time the current Taurus broke down all the way across the country? Remember how it was only giving you heat in the summer and cold air in the winter?
My final words: Buy. Japanese.