I’m looking at my phone. My phone is my timepiece, my stopwatch, my alarm clock, my tip calculator, and my phone. It’s talking to me, and it’s saying 8:24 PM.

It’s Sunday. The movie just let out. I thought I’d be able to eat before the movie, but the bus schedule said no. I’d forgotten it only runs hourly on Sunday. I ate a $4 hot dog in the theater, and the mustard I put on it provided more sustenance than the dog itself. I was hoping for some lag time between the end of the movie and the next bus, to at least get a muffin or something from the coffee place.

Down the street to the bus stop, to double-check the schedule. Next bus: 8:45 PM. Next bus after that: 9:45 PM.

8:28 PM. Poke my head into Mr. Spot’s Chai House. As much as I want a chai latte, it’s too late. I’d be up all night. Their baked-goods case is full of the things no one really wants but for some reason they stock it. I am a fool and pass this up.

8:32 PM. Back to the Tully’s coffeehouse a couple doors down from the theater. Muffins. Scones. Bagels with cheese on them. Aw yeah. Dude cuts in front of me… All he needs is a cup for water. No biggie. Barista: Can I start a drink order for you? No, just food. I’m third in line. The cashier is on the phone. He’s writing on a cup, must be taking an order.

Glancing around, there’s a dozen or so people in here, half using laptops, half engaged in conversation, some of whom are all in black leather and look like they rode motorcycles here en masse. No motorcycles outside, though.

Guy’s still on the phone. Everyone’s drink orders are filled. The barista taps the cashier. Hey, could you take this lady’s money? He’s still talking on the phone.

“Yeah?”

“Well, no.”

“OK.”

“No, really, OK.”

“But…”

“I know, but…”

“Look, let me…”

“OK.”

“OK.”

“But…”

“OK.”

I stare at him in the eyes. I’m in a hurry. 8:37 PM. I meet his eyes. I’m smiling, but only outside. He looks around. The others in line are so very polite, despite being clearly snubbed. I’m staring at him. He’d have two holes burned through his head if my gaze were capable.

Phone beeps it’s alarm. 8:40 PM. I must not miss this bus. I turn around. There are three people behind me in line. The first is a security guard who smirks conspiratorially. Like, yeah, what a dipshit, on the phone like that. Looking at my phone, I say, out loud, “Fuck,” and head out towards the bus stop.

I hear the cashier say: See? The line takes care of itself.

“Honey, I think it’s time for you let me take you body shopping.”

“Yes dear.”

If you’re a Genesis fan, and you haven’t got it yet, you want to scour the torrents for ‘The Lamb Wakes Up Again.’ Really. It’s a bootleg of the ’82 reunion show with Gabriel and Hackett. It’s a real shame that for whatever reason, there’s no official release of this show.

It’s also a real shame that the MP3 of this set of people performing ‘Here Comes The Flood’ is corrupt, and plays at double speed.

Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages, the daredevil, death-defying perfect metaphor for my mind!

It’s only after I remember to breathe that they slow down.

My favorite thing about this video is that some guy says in drunken slurred speech, “Whoa, what the hell!”

This could be it, kids.

The spindle on the front driver’s side wheel is severely scored. I’d have taken a picture, but my hands were kind of covered with burnt-up axle grease at the time. The outer bearing race (on the rotor) had obviously gotten warmer than spec, and the spindle itself had thick bands of smoothed-off scoring where there should have been mirror-smooth machining.

I didn’t look at the other side, because I already know the math. You replace spindles in pairs. And in order to replace the spindle, you’re destroying the lower ball joint, which you then have to replace two of. And while you’re doing that, you also need (well, *I* also need) to replace the upper control arm bushings on both sides, a task I’ve been putting off for a while, complicated by the fact that I don’t have machine press or welding equipment.

So. A pair of used spindles: $200. Lower ball joints: $20 each for $40. Replace all bearings: $80. And if I’m doing all the rest, then it’s time to replace the rotors, too, which are $50 each or $100 for the good ones. Let’s say $50 x 2 for $100. $40 for bushings.

$460…

And then the engine will die the next week.

Used Honda Element: $15k. Fark. Maybe it’s time to call Pimp My Ride.

Go read Marco so he’ll stick around.

And listen to this if you wanna.

Flexcar! What fun. Catch a bus, walk two blocks, hop in a Honda Element, and go.

The van’s grindy noise came back, and now it’s more persistent. I’m thinking it’s the front driver’s side bearings. Tomorrow will be exploratory surgery, but I needed $20 in parts before I could do it. So I rented a car to go get them (in Lynnwood, far far away), and to do some grocery shopping on the way back.

The process is very simple: Hold a card up to the windshield sensor, wait, get in the car, dig the key out of the glove box, and go. Reverse the process to return. In this case, it was in the Children’s Hospital parking garage, so I had to wave a keycard in front of a gate to get out and then back in. My ‘estimated cost’ was $30, and unless I screwed something up, that’s what it cost, gas included.

I like the Element. Utilitarian enough for my tastes. A person could camp out in the back.

If the van needs new bearings, I’ll probably just order them, rather than rent the car again… Of course, while I was driving around I thought it’d be fun to get a few people together to share the cost and drive one of these things up into the North Cascades. $75/day… Who’s game?

Also: Read Digby, writing about ‘Constitutional Hardball.’ It’s important stuff to know.

I thought the idea of Second Life exercise equipment was funny enough.

Then in through the door came Harumi Heron.

Also: Most excellent SL name du jour: Naomi Mnemonic.