RIP Dodge Spirit

Work has started off very well indeed.

This weekend I found myself at Jockey Hollow. When's the last time you have been to Tempe Wick House?

Today please take a moment to observe the passing of a Spirit. Remember its lush maroon interior with strange markings on the passenger door. Remember the rain guards, although I was never sure what those really were. The secret language it spoke in its later years. Remember all the laughs you had at its expense (Raina). "Do you point this at everyone who rides gun?" (Bob). Sue's lovely ABBA sticker on the bumper. Rich Y's mock trial disk in the glove compartment. A disco ball, Michelle's yearbook, or a bomb from Utopia Limited in the trunk.

Oh Spirit, with whom will I share my escapist tendencies now?


Ugly, Fat, Old

A New Jerseyan seeks out the beautiful in the ugly. Hannah's favorite refinery is on the way to Philadelphia via the Walt Whitman bridge; it looks like glowing trambones. Bob's favorite smokestacks can be seen from the Pulaski Skyway, just before Jersey City.

It is a sad day for Brian. None of his pants fit him.

James Marsters is forty-one years old? I just extended the limits of my dating consideration set. It could happen, ya hear! (Love that radio spot for the New York Lotto.)