Just sold my adorable little beater truck and am feeling genuinely verklempt about it. I will miss the CD player most of all. Gonna take it for one last spin while air drumming to Rocket Queen and savouring every look of sheer envy and wanton carnal lust that comes my way.
This is known as the "Willy Loman" photograph among my friends. You can see the tail of my beloved truck behind my barrel. I was seeking comfort in Missoula, shortly after my divorce. I don't know why I am shirtless and barefoot, but I've learned to stop asking questions.
Cleaning out my sweet summer child of a truck, reflecting on many happy memories of crumpled road atlases and my amazing taste in music. God, the simple pleasures of paper maps and passenger-seat DJs. I will cry when I turn over the keys.
See REM? I was driving to San Francisco to see a girl and knew she liked that record. I bought it for $3.99 from Rockin' Rudy's in Missoula on my way. Played it for her on our drive back east. Anyway, she's now my VERY REAL GIRLFRIEND. Never underestimate old man game, kids.
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It’s January 2012. I’m the keynote speaker at the Canadian University Press’s annual NASH conference. A few hundred student journalists gathered together at a hotel in Victoria, B.C., for a couple of days of community. My speech is scheduled for after dinner on the last night.
Because I’m an idiot, I kind of scrap my prepared remarks and just start telling stories. (WHAT A SURPRISE.) I get some laughs, so I get braver. I start randomly talking about the time I spent a month riding along with paramedics, and all the gross, crazy shit I saw.
I talk about the teenager screaming through his testicular torsion. About the guy in the cement mixer. About the college students who thought you did the Century Club with alcohol instead of beer and nearly drowned in their own vomit. (They did 33 shots of vodka in 33 minutes!)
My love of Maple Leaf Gardens helps explain, in part, my hatred of the Leafs. A couple of years after school, I was a sportswriter for the National Post. I got assigned the first practice at the new ACC. It was timed for the lunch break for the hard hats, still finishing it.
I hated that the Leafs had left, but the ACC, for a new arena, wasn't bad. Anyway, I'm sitting there with these electricians, and pipe fitters, and joiners. They had tears in their eyes, watching their team take the ice they had made from seats they could never afford.
Then we hear someone hollering. From a luxury box. It was Steve Stavro, the Leafs owner, yelling at the workers to get out of the seats. They were covered in plastic, but I guess he was worried they would damage them somehow. The guys moved onto the concrete steps to watch.
I was once a teenage boy, and I have vague memories of being a relentless eating machine. But watching my teenage sons destroy my well-stocked fridge like locusts devastating a farmer's life's work, I feel as though I am watching something not born of this Earth, let alone to me.
I wish to replace the second use of "watching" with "bearing witness," please and thank you.
To, of course. "...bearing witness to..." Goddammit. Thank you.
My VERY REAL GIRLFRIEND and I were talking about our respective superpowers, as you do, and I told her I'm very good at eyeballing leftovers and knowing what Tupperware container will fit them, and I'm pretty sure no human has ever looked at another human with such pity.
I still think there's room for Optimal Decanting Man in the Marvel universe.
Anyway, I'm stuck in a Chinese well. Please send actual help. These asshole scientists just keep measuring my head and whispering mean things about me to each other.
They're acting like I can't hear them, but we're all in the same Chinese well. Do they not understand acoustics? If anything, I can hear them better.
My shitbox truck has finally died a noble death, and for the first time in my life, I might treat myself to a semi-fancy motor. I love this Triumph—so stupid sexy—but fear it will be like buying a boat. What's a nice, new car that will make me happy but not look like a douche?
(Also I live in Canada and will need to winter drive for, like, eight fucking months a year. This is a consideration.)
Thank you so much for all of your kind suggestions. Some of you drive really nice automobiles! We are going to test drive a Mazda Miata this week. And a VW Golf. Also... that gosh-darn Triumph. Because I am a moron who does stupid things.