So, i'll begin by saying Merry Christmas to you all. I had some wonderful gifts this year, all of them worthy of mention, but i don't have much time to type right now, and i have a lot to say. Christmas will have to come later, or in person, i'm afraid. On to my two points of interest this post.

Here's how my visit to Chico went down:
It started out with Scotty and Gr throwing a party up at Chico, with Jamie, Sierra, Emily Thomas and i invited. Because i had to work on Monday, i couldn't go up on Sunday evening, like everyone else had planned; i had to drive up Monday after work. Because of the time i was scheduled to get off (4:00; i managed to get out by 3:30 because i didn't take a lunch.), this meant driving the better part of the way to Chico, a drive i've never made, in the dark. i would be alone. Personally i wasn't thrilled about that idea, and my mom was saying that it simply was not going to happen unless i went with someone else. So i asked Mike Harris if he wanted to come along, and of course, he was thrilled. Then Sierra brought up the issue that Scotty and Gr might not be thrilled about it. After some subtle negotiations by Sierra and Emily, it was arranged. Mike and i set out around 4:30 (After i'd managed to pick him up from his place in Elk Grove.), and set about navigating ourselves toward Chico. We did surprisingly well up to Yuba City, at which point that faintly worrying sound i'd made an appointment about ended up being my tensioner's bearing finally giving up and saying to hell with my timing belt. To those of you less familiar with automobiles than i am (and i'll admit, i didn't know what the hell either of those parts were before this week.), this meant that going through Yuba City, i suddenly lost the functions of my engine fan, my power steering and my alternator. The subsequent results were, respectively, that every ounce of coolant in the car began to boil as my block heated toward fusing temperature, directing the car to even change lanes occupied all of the strength and speed in my forearms, and every electronic component in the car went completely dark. All of this occurred within the space of ten seconds, and necessitated my panicked navigation into the parking lot of a shopping center. After and hour and a half dicking around a Big Lots! And an Arco that wouldn't take a credit card, i managed to top off both my power steering fluid and my coolant (At this point i had no idea what had happened; i thought the car had overheated and boiled off the steering fluid.) When this didn't work, and i noticed my battery reading nil, we called AAA. They told us that no, they didn't have a battery service available this late, but they could send a tow truck to give us a jump. i said that's appreciated, but what i need is a battery (Again, i didn't know what was wrong.), and he told me that there was a Pep Boys a mile and a half east of where i was, and that most Pep Boys stayed open until 9pm (This was at 7:30pm, but it was pitch black anyways). Mike and i drove a mile and a half east of where we were, at which point the car stalled entirely and would not start again, in front of the Marysville YMCA. No sign of a Pep Boys. Inside said YMCA was a martial arts class of some sort i'd never heard of. i asked if i could get some volunteers to help us push the car to this mysterious Pep Boys, and was informed that actually, they were testing right now, and could our crisis wait until around 8:30? i told them excuse me, i hadn't meant to be a distraction, i was sorry and would push the Cherokee myself. i did this, to my credit, on the slick asphalt for a good handful of yards, and would have kept on going had i not had to turn the wheel to get it to the gas station across the street. It's marvelously liberating to find that you can, indeed overpower your dead hulk of an SUV if you have to. At this gas station i was informed by the nicest Middle Eastern Gas Station owner in history that actually, the Pep Boys had gone out of business some time ago, but did we need some beef jerky while we waited for another one to be built? i courteously explained that no, i didn't have any money, and that we were just passing through before we got hopelessly stranded here, and didn't plan on sticking it out for the night. At this point i called Sierra and told her that things were looking grim and that i'd be forced to tow the car back to Sacramento with AAA. Smurfie was terribly disappointed at this, and made such painfully clear. Emily called me and suggested having it towed back to Sacto without us, and that we should let Gr come pick us up. In my worried state i explained that this would not be a responsible thing to do, and between my tension over my present troubles and Emily's tension over having a bad week, there was a big miscommunication in which Emily thought i was yelling at her and became very upset. She left the apartment, with Sierra trying to talk her down some, but quite upset herself. Scotty then went out to find them, since his neighborhood is not one in which this sort of thing is safe to do, leaving Jamie talking on the phone, demanding to know just who the hell i thought i was, what the hell i had just said, and why the hell everyone was suddenly so upset and absent. i explained myself as best i could. She said it sounded like everyone was doing the best they could, and that we were all just too stressed out. i agreed, and hung up to call AAA for the tow. The lady on the other end of the line calmly informed me that they covered the first five miles for free and each mile after would be charged at 3 dollars. i calmly called Jamie and asked her to tell Sierra i'd see her as soon as Gr could come and get us, we were leaving the car here until morning, when we could have it looked at. i spent a wonderful night with my friends: Mao, Barbecue, Anime, good company and waking up in the arms of the girl of my dreams. It all made it worthwhile. We got to the garage the next day to find that no dealership in Yuba or Marysville had the part (they called and asked all both.), at which point Scotty volunteered his AAA Plus card, good for 100 miles of towing. All's well that ends well. The part was replaced at my usual garage off of Fulton in fifteen minutes, and cost $250 all together. Like i said, it was worth it.

i realize that this post has become much longer than i'd planned, but i do feel i ought to address one other point.
It has come to my attention, by way of various friends of mine, at various times, that i sometimes radiate a sense of intellectual smugness; a sense of supposed mental superiority among certain company. In short, a few of my friends, over the course of several years now, have told me to stop talking down to everyone like i'm so much smarter than they are. Let me make something very clear; i have no such notions whatsoever. If i come across this way, i entirely invite you to tell me so, to call me on it, because it is certainly not something i do intentionally. Frankly, i regard you all as intellectual equals, i really, truly do. This might be the problem, since regarding you as equals; i speak to you in a manner i like to be spoken to. It is my opinion that as our society homogenizes, our language is severely impoverished. Because of this, the commonplace craft of the Victorians has become a dying art. i am speaking of the craft of making talk sound interesting. My vocabulary is one of my most prized gifts, and i do not intend to squander it. If someone says a word i'm not familiar with, i'll ask them what it means; if i do the same, feel free to ask me. Let me assure you right now, i'm not saying these things to make you feel inferior, or even to try to force my intellectual level upon you. Honestly, i'm just trying to keep your attention. Because you see, it is so easy to just smile and nod during a discourse, not really hearing what the other person is saying, but rather waiting for a turn to hear oneself speak. Entire groups of people go years without ever having an actual conversation, that is, a good, solid, interesting exchange of ideas. A true conversation builds something, and it leaves the participants different afterward than they were before. So many people just talk, and if you're actually listening, it becomes painfully clear before long that these people are not interested in what you have to say, they're just telling you a story about themselves. i realize that i've had some extra experiences that not everyone has. i'm not expecting to hold anyone to those standards, but i do intend to hold you to my standards as far as interesting conversation goes; if you're not going for that; you can go to hell, and you should have some idea, because i have probably made it clear to you that i don't like you. Frankly, if you fall into this category, i don't know how you would get here. The rest of you, i expect more. If we're going to talk, it's going to be an exchange, and i think that's not too much to ask. More than anything else, it's mostly just a matter of respecting each other. So now you're all warned: if you're ever feeling like i'm talking down my nose at you, you'd better let me know, but be warned, i've made it clear what i expect. You don't have to match any vocabulary limit to keep me interested, but you'd better live up to what you've got. You owe it to me, and you owe it to yourself. i'm just following suit.

Courtesy,
Sushi

-279

i'm great, thanks.

i know you didn't ask, explicitly, but i figure you've got to have a reason to look at this damn thing.

i like my dad. i do.
Ever since we stopped competing, he's shown me what a cool, thoughtful guy he is.
Tonight i went and had dinner with him (i know it's still a bit early for beaujolais, but i brought him some. Not like we drank any, he's too polite to drink in front of someone who has to drive.), and for Christmas he gave me the old cuckoo clock from my Grandfather's house. i know that might not seem too thrilling to all of you, but frankly, i have about three fond memories of my Grandfather's house, besides my Grandfather. One is a small velvet bell that wound up as a music box and played 'Eine Kleine Nachtmusik' another was his big, beautiful, mahogany desk. The last was the cuckoo clock he had. It's the only real cuckoo clock i've ever seen in my life that works, and it still does. He gave me the desk when he cleaned out his place in Colorado, he'd been using it himself. The bell was lost somehow, and the only time i've ever seen my father cry was when that was the only thing i asked for from the house after my Grandfather died.

Plus he cooks really well.

My trip to Chico went to hell.
God, way too much drama. More about it later, it was bitchin' traction once i got there.

Damn, but i just like most people i know.
i really do. Even for all the shit i give them, i like them a lot.
There are a few exceptions, of course (This is the part where John feels crushed and says to himself 'that's me he's talking about there.' To hell with him. He needs to stop reading between single-spaced lines.), but for the most part i really like a lot of my friends' qualities.
Hell, that's why i put up with all their ridiculous crap. i can only imagine in their fractured minds they have a heirarchy of crap that affords me the same courtesy.

Welll; Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, Ghetto Kwanzaa, Unsunny Solstice, Ren-Fairish Yule, whatever the hell you want. See my Christmas Card.

Courtesy,
Sushi.