Car Shopping

Jane and I are car shopping today. The lease is up on her truck at the end of the month, so this is our last weekend to do something. I think I know what we want, which is a Toyota FJ. I've liked them since the first time I saw one, which I believe was the last time we were car shopping. Only then, Jane wanted a pickup truck. The FJ looks, to me, like a Mini Cooper mated with a Hummer. Or at least a baby Land Rover.

The truck was nice to have, but it's just too big for her, and frankly, not practical for 90% of what she uses it for.

I thought we'd get a smaller SUV, something big enough for her to load stuff in, but something she can park. Then I'll look for a used pickup, something under $3k that we can beat around in when needed. Pick up mulch, straw bales, wood.

So, for now, the Toyota.

I hate car shopping. The whole thing skeeves me out. I'll overpay just to not have to spend more time with these people. I don't like haggling. I don't want to pit several dealers against one another to get the best price (which is the best way to get the best price). I just want to know how much the vehicle is, I want the vehicle I want (not necessarily what you have on the lot), and I want to spend as little time as possible doing paperwork. I don't want you to show me how to use the trunk, or explain the nuances of the sound system. I'll figure that out on my own. I've mastered complex computer software programs without ever having opened the manual. I think I can handle an automobile made for the American public.

It will be interesting today. The salesperson is a woman. And she sounds young, though you can never really tell from a voice on the phone. I sent a request in to the dealer and she's the one who called me back. So, I guess she gets the sale.

P.S. I still hate car shopping. The whole thing is a scam. If I had not pushed back I could have way overpaid. We love the car so far, though.

Scarves

I love scarves. It used to be I had just a few, but then I realized that all those scarves I had bought my wife Jane over the years (Paris, Dubai, London) were just as good for me as they were for her.

Recently, I purchased several Arab scarves, which are great because they are large and square. They're better than a coat. I can wear a hat and a scarf and be warmer than than wearing a light jacket.

Scarves have been big recently in fashion circles, but I think I'm hooked. I'll be wearing them regardless.

Which brings me to seasonal fashion as it pertains to my own body image. The older I get, the more I prefer winter, where I can cover my body in elaborate ways and still feel fashionable. In the heat of the summer, there's not much left to disguise.

Cloth Napkins

I love good cloth napkins. I’m thinking of re-instituting a policy whereby we only use cloth napkins at dinner in the house. What’s the big deal? Buy enough so that it’s not an issue. Toss them in the laundry. It’s got to be cheaper and better on the environment that paper napkins. And it’s so much cooler. We need to kick it old school.

For awhile, we got really into paper plates, paper napkins and even plastic cups. What’s the deal?! What’s next, drinking wine out of Dixie cups. Hell, if it were up to me, we’d have our milk delivered in glass bottles several times a week.

The Disease of Kings

When I was younger, I always thought of getting old as a romantic notion. I imagined myself retired and puttering about, keeping myself busy with this or that but with no responsibilities. What I didn't count on was that my body would simultaneously begin to fail me. It just hadn't occurred to me.

Yesterday I was doing a little writing and was contemplating what I wanted to write about.

It feels a little like I don’t do enough anymore. That so many of the stories I wrote before came out of my misadventures involving hobbies, family, home repair or other projects. Our kids are grown and don’t do a lot of things with us. I tend to hire people to do house repair (and I always hated it anyway), and I don’t seem to have many hobbies other than surfing and let's face it, there are really only so many things you can say about surfing. It's a wonderful activity, but after one essay, you've pretty much covered the subject. I DON'T want to write about work.

What was I going to write about now, I asked myself. Did I need to become more productive around the house if only so that I had something to write about? It's not the worst idea in the world. But then something happened last night that may have given me a glimpse into my writing future.

Last night I realized I have gout. Gout! I mean, who gets gout? Here is a short list:

Henry VIII, Charles Spurgeon, Kublai Khan, Nostradamus, John Milton, Queen Anne, Isaac Newton, Charles IV, Charles V, Alfred Lord Tennyson, George IV, John Hancock, Thomas Jefferson, Karl Marx, Alexander Hamilton, George Mason, Benjamin Franklin, Henry James, Frederick the Great, Curt Schilling, and perhaps most interestingly, the T-Rex skeleton called "Sue."

With the exception of Curt Shilling, the professional baseball player who famously helped the Boston Red Sox to win the 2004 World Series, all these other people are from another century, or two. This is not a modern affliction. It's more like a throwback. I live in a house built in 1725 and have somehow acquired an ailment from that time period.

If you're not familiar—and I certainly wasn't—gout is a kind of arthritis. It's usually associated with the swelling of a joint, usually the big toe, and is caused by a buildup of uric acid in the blood. If the uric acid levels are too high, they form crystals in the joint, causing pain and swelling. That's what I have. A painful, swollen bit toe. Bigfoot.

It has been called "the disease of kings" because it was associated with the intake of rich foods and alcohol. Swell. It doesn't sound much like the disease of kings. It's closer to something poor sailors would get, like scurvy.

There is no permanent cure. But you can lessen the impact by reducing your intake of beef, scallops, gravy, bacon, pork, lamb, asparagus, liver (I guess my beloved foie gras is out), red wine and beer (specifically draft beer). Actually alcohol consumption in general is supposed to be curtailed, which I don't see happening any time soon.

Instead you're supposed to drink a lot of water. This seems to be the answer to almost everything and I rarely drink water, let alone the 64 ounces or so they suggest. Who has the time to drink that much water? They also suggest natural cherry juice as a remedy. This I might be able to handle.

My ancient ailment is just one in a long, but new, list of afflictions I've had to endure since turning 40. I have a bad lower back, hemorrhoids, poor hearing, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to have to start getting stuff cut off my skin from years of overexposure to the sun.

Well, at least I'll have something to write about now.

Wet Rocks

I stopped at the liquor store on the way home from work yesterday and while browsing for a new chardonnay came across a wine description from a winery that among other things described the wine as evoking wet rocks. It wasn’t clear whether they thought it tasted or smelled of such. But then the smell and taste of a wine are so closely linked that maybe it didn’t matter.

It certainly got my attention. Wet rocks. Who is tasting or smelling wet rocks? And why would anyone want their wine to taste or smell like it. I’m not even sure that evokes anything for me. I’ve seen descriptions that evoke a sense of minerality before. Stone. Slate. Graphite. But rocks? And wet no less.

Here is a rather odd description of another wine I found:

"Packed, in a brawny, muscular style atypical for this lush vintage, with a gravelly undertow to the currant paste, braised fig and dark licorice notes. Picks up even more steam on the finish, with grilled mesquite, mineral and garrigue notes and a long, hot stone-filled finish."

There are so many things wrong with this I almost don't know where to begin. Are we supposed to be drinking this, or building a house with it?

For instance: grilled mesquite. Can you even grill wood? Doesn't it just catch fire? A gravelly undertow? A long, hot stone-filled finish? Garrigue? This one I had to look up. According to Wikipedia: Garrigue is a type of low, soft-leaved scrubland found on limestone soils around the Mediterranean Basin, generally near the seacoast, where the climate is ameliorated, but where annual summer drought conditions obtain.

Well, now I'm definitely intrigued. Rocks. Mesquite. Paste. Licorice. And an obscure Mediterranean bush.