A Tree Falling in the Forest

"Officer, it was a one armed man."

http://www.latimes.com/news/local/la-me-ferrari23feb23,0,1692414.story?coll=la-home-headlines

A Ferrari is a terrible thing to waste.

This story speaks for itself.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/financial_hrblock_earns_dc

Like any red-blood American male, I learned many important lessons from my father. Some lessons I learned well… like a dismounting and mounting a tire on a wheel by hand. Not to mention how to determine standard American wrench sizes (3/8, 7/16, 1/2, 9/16, etc., etc.) Or the ability to tell the difference between aluminum, stainless steel, lead and various other ferrous and nonferrous metals. Other lessons I am still trying to learn… like siphoning gas with a garden hose. I look forward to passing on these vital lessons to my own son someday.

Oh yeah, by the way… the aforementioned ATV wheels are mounted.

I generally do my own taxes. They are not very complicated. However, this year my wife and I bought a house. So, I decide to avoid mistakes, penalties, and overpaying by going to a tax professional. I hand over the files, answer the questions, and sit patiently to hear the bottom line. I am shocked -SHOCKED- to learn that we OWE more money. SHOCKED. We go over the numbers again and sure enough... it seems we owe more. Dejected we sign the papers and head home.

Sidebar: today is President's Day and we have the day off. end sidebar.

Not satisfied that we could possibly owe more taxes, I decide to do a little reading on the irs.gov web site. Sure enough, the good folks at H&R Block left out a $3500 deduction. For crying out loud! What is the point of getting "professional" help? If I wasn't a stubborn bullheaded pain in the assumptions, we would be overpaying $800. Added together with the $155 dollar fee to H&R Block and we would have close to a grand... or 20% of Dwight's 450r.

Not only that, but they ruined a perfectly good day off.

Five years ago, I bought my current ATV from Dwight. It was a great deal. He took amazing care of it. It was in PERFECT condition. It was spotless and bearly broken in. He had done a couple mods... all of which I have been delighted with from day one.

Now he is selling his current ride... A Honda 450r.

http://www.trx450r.org/forum/index.php?showtopic=19267

Here I am going along content with my vehicles. Happy with my machine. Happy with my pickup. Everything is paid for... everything runs fine.

Then BAM! Dwight steps in and throws a wrench in the works. His machine is the definition of flippin' sweet. Dang. Temptation thy name is Honda.

In spite of my inability to form complete intelligent sentences at the time, I could not resist the opportunity to get photo with one of America's great tough guys. He was very gracious, especially given I was tearing him away from his date on Valentine's Day... come to think of it, I was probably risking a good butt kicking.

Today in the lobby of the building where I work there are about a dozen venders selling what I suppose are last minute gift ideas for Valentine’s Day. Perfumes, purses, gift baskets, that sort of thing… But this one entrepreneur is selling framed pictures. He has several of Pope John Paul II on display. Wow. That would make for a memorable Valentine’s Day. Every Valentine’s Day for the rest of my life and beyond I would hear, “remember that Valentine’s Day you gave me a picture of a deceased pope.” Nothing says loving like a celibate man in a big hat.

Yesterday was one of those days. If your day starts with your dog peeing on the sidewalk, you should just go back to bed and try again tomorrow. Nothing tragic happened, just a series of minor setbacks and annoying disappointments. It was like a day long series of paper cuts.

Last night, my mind must have been seeking better times. I dreamt about spending time with friends. There too I couldn’t quite get it right. Andy and I went riding, but we were riding dirt bikes… and mine was a Kawasaki… and Andy had his youngest child strapped to his chest in one of those Baby Bjorn dealies. At least Andy had a Honda. I'll spare everyone the details of Rick being chased by thugs in a van.

When I was growing up, the South Berwick Poilce Department always had the coolest looking cop cars. They looked more intimidating than the neighboring communities. They had simple paint schemes and cool wheel and tire combinations (back when Goodyear Eagle GT+4's were all the rage.) South Berwick should follow the lead of the NYPD and order themselves up some Dodge Chargers.

Pictured is a present I recently received from my lovely wife. I’ll be able to take some sweet jumps when I put these on. If you don’t know what they are, I have to ask – WHO ARE YOU AND WHY ARE YOU READING MY BLOG?

When I was in high school, I was counting the days until I could finish college and start building one of my many dream cars: a Barracuda, a Mustang, a Charger, a Vette, maybe a 1970 C-10 Short-bed Chevy Pickup. My holy grail was (and remains) to build a Baby B-model Mack like my dad used to have. My version would have 454 cubic inch V-8 AND a radio. But alas, two post-secondary degrees and still no pulse quickening hot rod to call my own. To appease the hop-up demons that plague my soul, I regularly upgrade my ATV with aftermarket bolt-ons to improve its appearance, character, and performance. Unfortunately, I am nearing the end of the practical possibilities. Thankfully, one of the hardest things to do on an ATV is switch tires from one set of wheels to another. Like one of those 10,000 piece 3-D puzzles of the Statue of Liberty, this will make me annoyed enough that I won’t want to undertake another mechanical project for a month or two.

When I was nine years old, I had to sit through a training course in order to be allowed to ride an ATV.
When I wanted to play Soccer in Junior High, I had to get a physical. Cough, cough.
When I wanted to get my learner permit, I had to take driver training.
When I wanted my driver’s license, I had to take a written test, an eye test, and driving test.
When I wanted to go to college, I had to take the SATs, fill out an application and write an essay.
When I wanted to go to grad school, I had to take the GREs, fill out an application and write several essays.
When I wanted to go to work for the government, I had to have an extensive background investigation and take an oath.
When I wanted to get married, I had to ask my wife’s parents for permission, get a license, go to premarital counseling, and say vows.
When I wanted to buy a house, I had to get insurance and sign a pile of papers.
When I wanted a dog, I (or rather my wife) had to go to South Carolina to avoid home visits and signing away our live to the ASPCA.
Yet, to be entrusted with a very small, very fragile, living baby I have to ummmm, well, let me think… No test, no license, no oath… huh?
Oh man, it’s like handing me the keys to a Learjet. Don’t worry Dad, I’ll figure it out. To make matters worse, my fatherhood mentors are named Andy, Big A, Guido, Dick and Buster - all of them more than 600 miles away. I hope my wife knows something I don’t… but I think that is probably a pretty safe bet. Although, she did marry me. Maybe that was just a temporary lapse in judgement.

Whoever is in charge of the Super Bowl Half Time Show should be dragged out into the street and whipped with Terrible Towels until they can spell Roethlisberger backwards.

Why go to the birthplace of Motown and drag the oldest British rockers we can find and put them out on stage to use up whatever dignity they had left. I really don't have anything against the Rolling Stones, but come on. Can't we find someone born after the invention of color T.V.? How about an American? I guess I should be thankful that they didn't invite Janet Jackson or worse, Michael Jackson back for an encore.

I think the Super Bowl should abandon their ill advised attempts at being hip. No more faltering pop stars or geriatric rockers. Instead bring in the best marching bands in America. Celebrate the heroes of Super Bowls past. Bring some X-games Freestyle Motocross champions or some Monster Trucks on to the field. Whatever… just do something different. It is just getting too painful to watch.