June 23: Oil Change, Car Repairs, "Web" Dip

I am once again in the position of needing expensive car repairs.  My auto is going to the dealership tomorrow morning for an oil change.  Every time I get an oil change, I discover that my car has some fatal ailment.  Bad brakes.  Bad struts.  Ball joints.  Whatever.  This time, I know for certain something expensive is headed my way.

For the last couple weeks, my brakes have been making some very unhealthy sounds.  Now, that's what I'm expecting.  I'm sure other problems will be diagnosed.  There always are.  I dread tomorrow because of the news I will receive, but it's out of my hands.  I can't do anything but wait and pray.  I'll be praying a lot tomorrow.

Thus, my question tonight for my Web dip:

Will the cost of my car repairs give me nightmares and insomnia?

And the answer from the pig and spider:

"He isn't dead," hollered Zuckerman.  "He's fainted.  He gets embarrassed easily.  Run for some water, Lurvy!"

Well, there you go.  Saint Marty's gonna faint like a pig tomorrow when he gets the news.

"It's gonna cost HOW MUCH?!!"

July 17: Pile of Dough, Cadillac, Oil Change

...Anyway, he gave Pencey a pile of dough, and they named our wing after him.  The first football game of the year, he came up to school in this big goddam Cadillac, and we all had to stand up in the grandstand and give him a locomotive--that's a cheer....

Holden is talking about a man named Ossenburger who donated a great deal of money to Holden's current school, Pencey.  Holden doesn't like Ossenburger, thinks he's a "big phony bastard."  But Ossenburger's a rich phony bastard who drives a Cadillac.  The world pays attention to people like him, because things like money and cars are status symbols for most cultures.

Me, I drive a 2006 Ford Freestyle that just cracked 100,000 miles.  It's a good car with plenty of space.  I've owned it for around four or so years.  It has now reached a point in its life that, every time I bring it in for an oil change at the dealership, some major problem gets discovered.  Last time, I needed a brake job to the tune of over 400-plus bucks.  I'm not Ossenburger.  I can't afford to drive a brand new Cadillac, and I don't have a pile of dough.

I'm dropping my Freestyle off at the dealership tomorrow morning for an oil change.  I'm already dreading the phone call from the mechanic that starts like this:  "Well, I've got some bad news."  I can't afford any bad news right now.  I simply want an oil change.  Period.

That's my biggest worry this Wednesday--an expensive auto problem.  I've already put off one repair until the fall.  I really don't want to go double or nothing.  Until I get the mechanic's phone call telling me I'm free and clear, I'm going to be holding my breath and saying a lot of prayers.

Eventually, Saint Marty is either going to turn blue and pass out or heave a very big sigh of relief.

This guy could ruin my day tomorrow

May 10: Alice Holmborg, Cross Your Legs, Positive Thought

"Alice Holmborg showed me how.  You cross your legs and hold your breath and think of something very, very hot.  A radiator or something.  Then your whole forehead gets so hot you can burn somebody's hand."

Phoebe, Holden's little sister, is the speaker.  She's telling her brother how she can control her body temperature with her mind.  Of course, in reality, she can't, but she believes she can.  She has faith she can.  It's a child's faith.  She doesn't need empirical evidence or a school textbook.  For her, it's simply a matter of thinking truth into existence.

On this P.O.E.T.S. Day morning, I want to embrace this notion of positive thought.  I want to believe in goodness for myself, family, and friends.  Right now, I'm waiting for my daughter's teacher to call me about a situation in the classroom.  I'm believing things will be resolved well.  This afternoon, I'm going to buy some new running shoes.  I have an old gift certificate (a couple of birthdays old, actually) from the shoe store.  I believe I will be able to use it.  I may have to cross my legs and hold my breath like Phoebe, but I'll be able to use it.

I tend to be the kind of person who anticipates negative outcomes all the time.  If I'm summoned for jury duty, I will end up serving on a three-month-long murder trial.  If I bring my car into the garage for an oil change, I will end up needing a brake job.  That's just the way things go for me.  I expect it.  When the oil change for my car ends up being only an oil change, I'm shocked.

The last couple weeks have been unusually positive for me.  Last week, I was chosen as contingent faculty member of the year by the English Department at the university.  This weekend, my daughter ended up winning a gold medal in her dance competition.  On Tuesday, my wife was offered a job.  (She couldn't accept it because of childcare issues, but she had the opportunity.)  I'm almost starting to believe in the goodness of the universe.  Perhaps the stars are aligning for me.

Maybe, next Monday, I'll be offered a full-time, tenured position at the university, and my manuscript will win not only the chapbook competition I entered, but also the 2014 Pulitzer Prize for poetry.  In June, my daughter will be offered a full-ride scholarship to the Julliard School for Dance, and my son will be advanced to fifth grade because of his kindergarten entrance tests.  Next October, the Nobel committee will award me the Prize for Literature, and, by Christmas, I will be canonized by Pope Francis and become the first living saint.

Saint Marty likes this positive thinking stuff.

Irritating song, good sentiment.

October 11: And the Mechanic Says...

My wife just stopped by after the oil change appointment for my car.  The good news:  it only cost $24 for today's work.  The bad news:  1) something about the brake pads in the rear--$400; 2) something about a strut--$840.  My exact words to my wife were, I believe, "Screw 'em.  I'm not doing that.  I'll drive the bastard into the ground."

Needless to say, my afternoon has not been that pleasant, and I still have to go teach mythology at the university.  Pity those kids today.  Really pity them.  I'm in an awful mood, and I still have my son's birthday party to look forward to.  Sometimes, I think it would be better if I just stayed in bed or went back to bed.

Better yet, I think I need to go visit my condo on the Nile.  It's always so beautiful there, all pink and green and warm.  Everything is within walking distance, including Walt Disney World and Stockholm, where I can visit my friends at the Swedish Academy who've just awarded me the Nobel Prize in Literature.  Everything taste likes tapioca pudding and Cheetos and Diet Mountain Dew, including the cottage cheese and black beans and tuna.  And I can't walk down the streets without someone mistaking me for Brad Pitt or Goerge Clooney.

It's a wonderful place.

Join Saint Marty there tonight.  He's throwing a party.

View from my condo balcony...

October 11: Son's Birthday Party, Dance Trip, Money

I am having one of those times in my life right now where, no matter what I do, I seem to be bleeding money.  Not in a good way.  My wife's been out of work for a couple years now, and the unemployment ran out last spring.  I didn't think those unemployment payments made that much of a difference.  Boy, was I stupid.  I'm not telling you all this to make you feel sorry for me.  I'm in a much better position financially than so many other people.  I know that.  But I just can't seem to dam up that Nile of money that's flowing out of our bank account right now.  Car repairs.  Mortgage payments.  Utilities.  Groceries.  Dance lessons for my daughter.

Tonight, my wife's family is coming over to our house to celebrate our son's third birthday.  It's a little late, but he was really sick for about a week and a half, so we had to postpone it.  And postpone it.  And postpone it.  I don't like hosting parties at my house, especially for my wife's family.  I always feel a little judged when they come to my house.  I know it's just me, but I just don't ever think it's clean enough or neat enough or big enough.  Nobody ever says, "Oh, my God, I'm not eating that cake.  I've been in your kitchen."  (Again, my house is not that bad, but most of the people who are coming tonight have houses that belong in Better Homes and Gardens.)  It just causes me stress.

And even though I've just been complaining about finances, we are taking a family trip to the Wisconsin Dells on Friday.  Not by choice.  My daughter has a dance convention there this weekend.  We couldn't afford it last year, so I promised my daughter that we would go this year.  This year, we really can't afford it, either.  However, a promise is a promise.  So, Kalahari Resort here we come.  I'm not looking forward to driving down.  I'm not looking forward to entertaining my three-year-old son for three days in a strange place.  I'm not looking forward to driving back.  But my daughter is so excited she can barely sleep.  Ah, the things we do for our kids.  I'm just going to have to skip breakfast and lunch for the next year to afford this little jaunt.

Finally, my wife is bringing my car in for an oil change and check-up this morning.  I always dread these appointments.  It's not so much the inconvenience of not having my own automobile for a day.  It's the waiting to find out what catastrophic mechanical problem the mechanics will discover.  That's what I dread.

Saint Marty is a little on edge this morning.  He needs a vacation to some tropical place that costs absolutely nothing.  Free tickets.  Free hotel.  Free food.

Looks expensive to me