A long-awaited, highly-anticipated review.

So, kids, how was that for a build-up?  I know it's been a while since you've gotten such a coveted rental car review from me.  What can I say?  I haven't been traveling much.  However, last week I had a new Chrysler 200, and it was a mixed bag.  

Pros: Great pickup, automatic headlamps and auto climate.  The car has a nice roadfeel.  For basic seating it was still relatively comfortable.  Compass on the dash with the temperature, not something I expect in a basic car.  

Cons: Rear visibility sucks.  The seats are so high and the headrests are fixed so you can't do anything about it.  At slow speeds like the parking lot, the steering is cumbersome.  It feels like there's no power steering at all.  When I shut off the car at night, the headlamps look like they project the Chrysler wing logo.  Maybe that's not a con, but it's gimicky and it's blatant product placement, to which I'm opposed.  I don't like how all the doors unlock at once when you open the car, but that's probably a setting somewhere.  The trunklid is heavy to open, like the little air pistons are fighting you instead of assisting.  Plus, the liftover is quite high.  Not a candidate for long-term driving, for sure.

It's not one of the cubish little cars my boss gets from time to time, so that's a plus.  I don't know that I could take myself seriously in a Kia Soul or one of those little Nissans.  But it's also not the new 200, a beautiful departure from the 2011 model I had.  

Overall, I could be nitpicking because it's not as cool as the 300.  I still think the car is quite drivable and not bad looking in its own right.  Once I figured out the climate control, it was a polar excursion for me, a nicety in hot, humid weather.  I give it a tentative B-. 

Movie Mania Monday - Don't call me Shirley

It's been quite the journey this past week, kids.  Who knew car batteries could be so expensive, or so heavy?  I could make some vague dark matter jokes that only the sci-fi geeks among us would understand, but I won't bother.

As a result of my dead car in the driveway on a day I was scheduled to drive to West Virginia, I had to rent a car.  That's right kids, not only do you get a movie quote to guess upon, but you get a coveted Rental Car Review!

I have mixed feelings about Ford products.  You may have realized that here or here or here.  You may also have heard me refer to Ford Explorers as 'Exploders' more than once.  But since beggars shouldn't be choosers, and the local agency only had one car available, Exploder it was.  Charcoal gray with a black interior, very few options and quite plain looking.  Inconspicuous is probably good, though, and somehow driving my large car with Florida plates through rural West Virginia didn't feel like a good idea, anyway.  


The Explorer had a very non-ergonomic seat, and my butt was sore.  The headrest pitched forward at a 45-degree angle, and since I don't have scoliosis (I was tested when I was nine) that doesn't complement the natural angle of my neck.  However, for a truck equipped with four-wheel-drive, I thought it pulled in some reasonable mileage.  It was quick, confident on the winding mountain roads, and the headlamps gave me enough light to see where I was going, not something all cars can say.  Truly, if I could have fitted a GM seat and steering column to this, it would get an A+.  However, as it stands, we only get a B-.  


Staying at a historic rural inn, one that's been in operation since 1839, one would expect the food to be exceptional and authentic.  Biscuits and gravy?  Yes, please.  However, when home-made is made by someone who doesn't normally make gravy, the results are quite sad.  It was simply undercooked, runny and smelled and tasted of raw flour.  Not the thick, beautiful gravy that even I, an unabashed northern boy, can make with ease.  The only thing that rivaled my disappointment over that was the hard, pre-made biscuit. Pilsbury tube biscuits are better.  Sad, sad, sad.

Now, onto our raison d'etre.  As always, rules.  No Google or other web searches, you should know the quote by yourself. This should be the original source of the quote as well, no characters quoting other movies, and certainly no movies within movies. Should you guess the quote correctly, you'll win the people's fame and ovation forever, along with the title of 'Iron Quote Guesser', along with all associated accolades. Now, onto the quote of the week:

We should always believe children. We should even believe their lies.  

Allez guessing!

Some Reflections on Business Travel

Friday night, I arrived home, late, on my last commercial flight in the forseeable future.  We move in ten days, to a place driving-distance from family and friends.  No security lines, weight limits, narrow seats or mucus-filled oldsters.  As such, this trip made every effort to stick in my mind for a long time.  Let's talk about some of the highlights.

I've never had problems with hotel rooms since they started offering non-smoking rooms.  However, I managed to wake my first morning with a glorious glowing rash on my chest.  I'm quite happy it didn't appear elsewhere, and very happy it went away after a few days, but I don't think they're using enough ammonia and arsenic in their detergent, since I still had skin. 

And I know housekeeping is dealt a difficult, thankless task, making the room appear new every day.  However, if I take the velour decorative pillow off the bed and hide it in the corner, it is not necessary for you to put it back on the bed every day.  If I move the coffee table into the opposite corner, instead of in the middle of my path, it is not necessary to replace it to perfect shin-contusing feng-shui position every day when I go out.  And I am eco-conscious.  Not always eco-friendly, as evidenced by my rental car, but at least conscious.  You do not have to throw away my drinking cup every day and replace it with a new one by the coffee machine, leaving me to realize once the aspirin are dissolving in my mouth that I have to find a new one and extract it from the military-grade plastic bag in which it is contained. 

I will say that the desk staff at the hotel are great, and after spending 14 nights there in the last 25 days, they know me by name. 

And yes, I had a "grand" time in my g-man car for the week.  I'd love to tell you I got some wonderful 7 MPG or something, but since the car didn't have a trip odometer, I can only guess.  I still can't get over the size of the trunk on this thing, but while I like lots of storage space, it sours me some when I have to lift it back out, over a two-foot ledge.  On the plus side, my car didn't burst into flames on the interstate.  The same cannot be said for the pickup truck 1/4 mile ahead of me on said interstate.  I've never seen flames shoot from a car, and that they were shooting down and licking up between the cab and bed, where the driver and passenger were unaware of them, only made it more interesting.

I may have mentioned, some time back, that I was felt up by a security guard at the Tampa airport.  Hey, my sex appeal knows no bounds.  However, as if I didn't already know I needed to lose some weight, I was again given the special privilege of entering the glass box at Akron-Canton Airport, and having my tummy-tum felt up with a little too much excitement by a man with a bad '70's mustache.

At least I didn't get the extra-special double-secret security check in the back room, like the young woman behind me in line.  She emerged from security sobbing and red-faced, fumbling for her cell phone, surely to call mommy and daddy.  Amateur travelers.  Gotta love 'em.

We hit what was the most turbulence I've encountered in 18 years, and I was afraid to even take an in-flight beverage.  Because bad things could happen. 

I have one more business trip this week, but at least I get to drive my own car.  I assume it won't burst into flames.  I also assume I won't get felt up.  But hey, the week's still young.

Trendy? Me?

**Author's note.  My apologies, this was originally scheduled for 8:00 this morning, but it never published. 

So I've never been a trendsetter, nor have I ever been a follower.  I've kind of made my own way, and nobody seems to care what that is one way or the other.

But if putting fried eggs on bacon cheeseburgers is a trend, haul me up onto that bandwagon, baby! 

I'm up in the greater Cleveland area again this week, and eating restaurant food far more often than I should.  By chance last evening, I found the B Spot.  Beer, brats, burgers, bologna (fried), it's quite the place.  How often do you go someplace that has a pickle bar?  Not often enough, in my opinion.  Pickled onions, green tomatoes, spicy pepper relish, hot sweet pickle chunks, garlic dills and house-recipe ketchup.  Fresh rosemary on the crispy sliver-cut fries.  Yolk running down my fingers and commingling with juices from a truly rare burger. 

(Really, dark pink, soft and beefy, just the way a burger was meant to be.) 

I was surprised, during my meal, to look down at the paper holding my fries to see Chef Michael Symon's name on the logo.  I knew he opened a few more restaurants since my last major visit to the city.  But this was a sight to behold.  An entire page of beers, many of them on draft?  Pulled pork and pickled jalepenos on fries, the midwestern answer to the nacho?  A vanilla bean apple pie BACON milkshake?

I'm not a fan of 'celebrity', of style over substance, but I have to say, I like what I'm seeing and I want more.  I'm ready to take back most of the less-than-kind words I may have had for Chef Symon in the past.  Only time will tell.

Oh, and an amusing rental car anecdote, for those of you who can't get enough of it.  Monday night at the restaurant, I caught sight of a car behind me, out of the corner of my eye, as I was pulling gracelessly into a parking space.  When I turned my head, it was gone.  But, convinced I must have missed it, and concerned that I might back up to straighten my park job and strike someone's beloved automobile, I looked again.

The Grand Marquis is so sporking big, so...damn...huge, that I mistook my own rental car in my peripheral vision for AN ENTIRELY SEPARATE VEHICLE. 

Gee. Thanks, Enterprise.  Way to make me look forward to Friday.

If it weren't for disappointment, I wouldn't have any appointments

Hey, kids!  Still busy, and back in Ohio this week.  And sadly, I feel that you deserve far more than a cursory 'slice of life review' here at CDS Enterprises. 

Prepare to be disappointed, because 'slice of life' is all I've got today.  Nothing new to share, nothing witty, urbane, or uber-nerdified.  Just a few things to share with you this morning, brighten your day, keep the ol' NFG in your frontal lobes.

I may have mentioned, once or twice, that until recently my job called for lots of travel.  As such, you've been blessed (or subjected as the case may be) with my ever-popular rental car reviews.  This era is coming to an end, nearly has, as this week's rental car will be the last rental car I drive for some time, if I have anything to say about it.

Enterprise has always been quite kind to me.  Usually when I swing a free upgrade, or an upgrade to an upgrade, I'm quite happy with the result.  Over the years, I've driven SUV's and sub-compacts and may things in between.  However, this week's 'upgrade' is great only in that I know I dodged a bullet.

Those of you who've known me the longest know that I have a thing for landyachts.  Grampa cars.  Tanks.  Some of you may remember as far back as the big blue Impala I named 'Baby' back in 1992.  Most recently, the car was a modest Buick Regal, that I loved and took for granted for nine years, and it repaid me the way few cars do, by starting every day and running like a champ.  A few months ago, I got the itch to get something different, and after facing grave disappointment at the hands of a base-level Chrysler 300, I drove a Grand Marquis.  Once I got past the overwhelming grandmaroma, it was a powerful car, much nicer than the 300.  V8 power.  Bells and whistles.  Low miles and a low price.  I was crushed when it sold before I could get back to give it another look.

Last week, I actually bought a car.  But when I hesitated, balked at spending more than $5 in one fell swoop, the salesman offered me a Grand Marquis as a comparison drive.  I was underwhelmed, Lori was seasick.  Obviously, I did not buy the Mercury.

Which brings me to Sunday's adventure at the Akron airport (slogan: we now have a second baggage carousel!).  Out of mid-sized and intermediates, they 'upgraded' me into a shiny black Grand Marquis.

I feel like I need dark sunglasses and a black suit.  Perhaps an earpiece with a little coiled wire trailing into my collar.  Perhaps a Glock.

It is, in fact, a very nice-looking car.  Very regal.  Very conservative, imperial, and big-brother-y.  I want to like it.  I want to adore it, with its eight-body trunk, its 7 MPG, its bench seat.  It should, in theory, be everything I like about a car.

But I don't like it.  It's squishy.  If I had to describe the ride quality, I could only compare it to lying on a waterbed as toddlers jump up and down all around you.  If I adjust the seat so I can reach the gas, the brake pedal is way too close.  Back up so the brake is the right distance, the gas is unattainable.  The V8 seems doggy, like I'm fighting up any hill I face.  I have to lean halfway across the car to change the radio station or turn the volume down, since it seems to get louder as I drive.  And everything is plastic, aside from the leather seats.  Cheap.  I shouldn't have to open the arm on the cupholder by hand, once I pull the combination lighter/ashtray/cupholder from it's unwieldy spot under the dash.  I shouldn't be worried that I'm going to smack my knee on it every time I step on the gas.  Oh, Enterprise, I'm left wondering what might have been.  And I still have four more days of driving it!  At best, I can only give it a 'C', and that's based in part on my desire to see it do well rather than on true merit. 

And, as long as we're on the subject of disappointment, let's talk about Monday's dinner.

Last time I was up, the owner took me to this great little tavern, where I had an awesome burger.  Real beef, real rare, with bacon and cheddar and onions, oh my.  I went back tonight, and since their sign proudly boasts their ribs before their burgers, I figured, hey: signs don't lie, right?

Wrong.  Again, such high hopes.  They smelled wonderful.  Looked beautiful, glistening under their sweet sauce, promises of slow, day-long cooking taunting me as I fought to get the steak knife through the first slab.  Tough, undercooked (for ribs), and clinging to the bones for dear life.  They really need another few hours in a slow cooker.  Some things just shouldn't be rushed.  I couldn't see abandoning half of my meal, so I brought them back to the room with me.  I may, from the privacy of my own hotel room, with wet washcloths and a roll of paper towels at hand, be able to work my way through them.

The Lyonnaise potatoes, though?  Heaven.  Slightly oniony, very buttery, and golden brown.  The potatoes of dreams.

There you have it, dear reader.  Disappointment all around.  I'll try better next time, promise.

Movie Mania Monday - Don't Torture Yourself

So I'm back from Ohio for a week, first week at the new job was phenomonal.  Plus, I've managed to find us a place to live, big bonus.  As for rental cars, I had a Dodge Avenger R/T, quite well-optioned for a rental.  And I needed those heated seats on Friday, when it dropped to a crisp 35 degrees outside.  Only one real complaint about the car, they have a chrome inset on top of the shifter that perfectly reflects the sun into ones eyes on those bright days we had until Friday.  Still, quite zippy, comfortable for a smaller car, and Avis was nice enough to let me drop it in a different place than I picked it up.  I'd give the car a solid B+.


Not much news on the weekend, worked on packing the garage and breaking down shelves, I'm going to be Sir Gimpsalot by the time you read this, I'm sure.  Oh, and I broke down and actually bought a car.  I still think it's an impulse, though Lori thinks that the years I've been ogling new cars constitutes a measured purchase. 


This week in movies, La Bev quickly identified last week's quote from The Addams Family.  I was always a fan of the original show, when it was on in syndication between Bugs Bunny cartoons and The Munsters.  Loved the Sonnenfeld films, they gave the characters a slightly darker feel, as I think Charles Addams originally intended.

As for this week, I'm tired and quite sick of fighting with the computer, so I'm forgoing the quote this week.  Let's just call it an Ohiatus.  Because that's how I roll.

You can't always be a winner in Vegas

I'm old. I'm 38 going on 83. I complain. I grouse. I drive slowly. I suddenly enjoy Barry Manilow music. I forget things, like the things I want to write for you, oh dear reader.

I wanted to tell you about our mini-vacation last weekend, a beautiful time in Nevada. But it just kept deteriorating into a full-blown old-man rant about unrelated and generally unimportant things, so this is the third draft.

To sum up, first, the Bad (so you'll end on a high note, like the French resistance!):

No free rental car upgrade. Skippy would have gladly charged me 50% more for a slightly larger car, but really, I'm not going to pay more for something I don't want to drive, when I'm already getting something I don't want to drive. The exception here is if the only car they had in my class was a PT Cruiser, I do have my limits. His response to me became the title.

No hotel reservation when we arrived at the hotel around midnight.

A nearly two-hour adventure in the hotel's only open restaurant in order to get our food. He comped us, apologized profusely, but when I haven't eaten in ten hours I don't really care. Bring me my bacon and eggs. If necessary, I'll cook it myself.

DFW is a monstrous airport, just allowing them to put connecting gates further apart, I suppose. It's an impressive feat of engineering, but how can you enjoy it when you have 20 minutes to travel to another time zone in the airport?

And really, can't we join hands across America to stop people from bringing their yippy dogs and screaming children on planes? I understand that children need to get places, too, I really do. But is it really a good idea to take them on the latest flight you can possibly find? Overtired children plus overtired me will get me banned from an airline some day, I'm sure of it.

Funny how travel takes everything out of you. As nice as the core of our trip was, seeing the strip and the mountains and everything between, the periphery of a trip can really take its toll. In fact, I know this is a lousy post, but hey, they can't all be winners.

The Good:

Believe it or not, my Ford Focus. The Ford Focus with the bad wheel bearing and jangling rattle in the door. Of course, I could have taken the Rondo, but we already know how I feel about that. Truth be told, though, if I were an economy car kind of guy, and wheel bearing aside, it was a zippy little car. Not much for offroading in the desert, but zippy nevertheless. I'd actually give this car a B, for what it was.

Had a nice Thanksgiving dinner at my boss' house with his family and friends, phenomenal wine that I could never afford myself and pumpkin pie. Mmmm, pie.

Had a great drive out to Red Rock Canyon, though we failed to see any of the wild burros they claimed were roaming the land. Because Friday was their busiest day of the year, filled with people avoiding the mall, they let us use Friday's receipt for admission again on Saturday. We went back in the morning, when the crowds were gone, and it was still stunning that something so wild could be so close to civilization. That just doesn't exist here in Florida.

Drove the strip, still quite the experience, we even drove past the 'civilized' areas and on to the cliched wedding chapels and motor lodges. It's important to have perspective.

Had some great Mexican food, first thing we've had that rivalled Jalisco's that didn't come from a truck by the side of the road. Though I love me some truck tacos.

Even though it was just a long weekend trip, we got to look at houses. There's some surprisingly affordable new construction out there.

And the best part of any vacation, returning home and sleeping in my own bed, with my own pillow, nestled against my sweetie.

Dreaming of luxe rental cars, posh new houses and wild burros.

Cleveland...um...Rocks!

Regular readers know I travel for work. I travel a lot. Sadly, I rarely get to actually spend quality time in the cities I visit, instead spending all day at a client and all night in my hotel, driving back to the airport on my last day.

However, because I'm here to visit two clients on opposite ends of the city, I get to see a lot in my drive every day. Oh, and what a drive.

They were going to make me drive something called a Kia Rondo. Rondo is apparently Korean for 'unbelievably homely mini-minivan'.
However, because one of my clients is a national union, and I respect American labor, I couldn't show up in a Kia, so I begged for an American car. Can you say free upgrade? Hertz did...
Sure, the Sable is slightly stodgy-looking, but so far, my only complaint is that the turn signal branch is too high up. Apparently I should be clutching my steering wheel at 11 and 1 in fear of the unexpected. I'm a solid 8:00 driver, one-handing it like I'm cool like that.

Because I am.

The car is also fully-loaded, with XM radio, leather seats, auto-headlamps and a sunroof. A-, thanks, Hertz!


Now of course, getting here meant flying, and we all know how much I enjoy that. Of course, I got special treatment in security. Apparently Mr. TSA liked me in the bad way, since I got felt up. Either that or he was just rubbing my belly for luck. What the hell? I don't even own this shirt:
Oh, and I had to go through behind a girl that looked like this:
...only with frizzy hair in place of the bucket. And enough metal jewelry to take down ALL the metal detectors in the place, not just ours.

Late out of Tampa, later into Atlanta, all the while hearing Brook Benton during a bad-weather landing. I had eight whole minutes to travel the three timezones from concourse C to concourse D...until I got there to find that flight was delayed as well. At least that gave my luggage a chance to catch up.
And I got a very nice hotel room, so there's that going for me. (Yes, that's it right there.) I might even have to walk the two blocks down to dance on the steps of the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame.

That's all I ask man, just two hours to sleep

Travel takes its toll on me. As it stands, I've been up since 4 am. My body think's it was 7, but even that's way too early to be up, or it would be if I were home. I'm working in my company's Henderson office this week, and it will be a slight adjustment.

Last night, eating dinner outside with Ron and Kathy, in the 'hot Nevada desert', it was 87 degrees and I was freezing my ass off until I got a beer in me. What do you know? It really IS the humidity.

I always thought that was just a line, small talk to keep people from talking about the things that really matter in life.

Am I getting deep here? I don't mean to, but I'm sleep-deprived, last night's wine is still muddling around in my dehydrated brain, and I could really use a Diet Coke. I like that my hotel room is at the back of the casino, I don't have to walk through the din of people slowly spending their childrens' inheritance. (Not that I'm opposed to that, my children stand to inherit 200 Hot Wheels and some old Architectural Digests from the '70's. Aren't they lucky?)

I'm onto the scam already, though. Beautiful hotel, but not what I'm accustomed to. No desk. No coffee maker. 10 channels on TV, and two of them are about the hotel. However, great view. Even now, as I look out to the east, the first glimmers of dawn are breaking, just the bare outlines of the mountains are visible. Here's my view:

And true to form, I've already found the Sonic. It's tradition. It's a disorder, actually, but hey, potayto, potahto.
Enterprise really came through for me, too.
Economy class, my buttocks. I love free upgrades, it's good to be the king.

Great road presence, good pickup and I really feel like I belong in it.

What? You don't think they'd actually upgrade me to a Camaro from whatever econobox piece of excrement the company booked for me? Well...In fact, they did not. Because rental cars being what they are, I always have to get out-of-state plates when I travel. This time, it's an Envoy with Arizona plates. And I do feel like I belong in it, since it's the GMC version of our TrailBlazer. But still, it was a free upgrade, and I'll take it.

And in case there was any question about what a talented driver I am, note this photo from my hotel room of my park job after checking in.
You think that's bad? You should see me color!

More later, skies are pink and full of wispy clouds, have to watch the sunrise before I go to work.

Bonus Post - Maryland Adventures

So I'm in Maryland for the majority of the week, and so far it's pretty groovy. Our first trip through the state many years ago, with surly pre-teens in the back seat and nasty hot weather was unpleasant, to say the least. This time, seeing the northern part of the state, I'm much happier. Rolling hills, winding backroads, lush and green and pastoral.

I landed in Baltimore (first the right side of the plane, followed by the left), and being the all-purpose nerd that I am, coupled with my love of cake (third in line after bacon and pie), I sought out Charm City Cakes, just to take this picture.

Of course, Baltimore as a whole, while a little run down and worse for wear in these economic times, still has other charms:

The color doesn't do these houses justice, they were so bright and vibrant, but again, cameras and I don't get along. Drove past Camden Yards, too, but since I'm not actually a baseball fan, let alone an Orioles fan, I didn't see a reason to risk life and limb while driving 50 miles per hour and snap off a blurry, uncentered picture.

And then there's this thing. The Emerson Bromo-Seltzer Tower, as Google so kindly informed me.

I don't know what bromo-seltzer is (though I'm sure Google could come in handy there, too), but Captain Emerson, who invented it, also built the tower. Apparently it sported a giant bromo-seltzer bottle at the top of the tower until 1936, when the fun police deemed it unsafe.

I went a little overboard here in Germantown for dinner, thanks in no small part to not eating anything since my granola bar before the flight this morning. Pan-fried dumplings, fried squid and a dish called seafood chow foon, that was lots of seafood and vegetables on top of Amish-style noodle dumplings. Mmmm, carby. Good stuff, must thank Courtney for polling her friends for me ahead of time, I love it when a plan comes together.

Now it's time for...THE PREMATURE (and always popular) RENTAL CAR REVIEW!

When I rent cars, I rent under the premise of an extended test drive. As my faithful readers may recall, the top scores have always gone to big luxury cruisers like the V8 Lucerne and the zippy Maxima. However, on the company's nickel, I try to stay frugal. As such, I am driving a glorious sub-sub-sub-compact Kia Rio (because 'Kia It-has-four-wheels-what-more-do-you-want' wouldn't fit across the tiny decklid). The nice thing about a car this small is that I can still roll down the passenger windows without leaving my seat, even though there are no power windows.

Really, I kid. I know lots of people like tiny cars. I can't fault that, I try to stay conscious of the environment and such when it doesn't bum my natural high on life. For a tiny car, it has a remarkable ride quality. Smooth, even on some bumpy roads I ran across. Of course, at 11.8 miles on the trip odometer, it developed a nasty rattle somewhere in the dash, so ride quality was insignificant since I started avoiding potholes anyway. Excellent radio, too, at least for me. As long as the speakers don't buzz and I don't feel like I'm back in my first car with the AM radio, I'm good. Precise steering, adequate pickup when you floor it with the AC on, so first assessment, I'd give this car an overall B-. Nothing I want to own, ever, but actually nicer than the larger Spectra I had in Kansas City last January.

The great cross-over post!

Ah, yes. As we embark on this newest venture, I felt I could at least share my most recent posting from my original blog, created back when I was young and full of interesting things to share.

By the hair not on my chinny-chin-chin

All gone. Yes, my face is bereft of all but the minutest stubble of the day for the first time since August 1996. My chin is cold. So cold. It was a whim, something that I probably should have waited to do until I lost the chubsy-ubsy double chin that, apparently, the goatee was hiding. Who knew?

Good grammars is everywhere:

Following is a direct quote from a news article I read earlier today: "Poor visibility was poor near the top of the mountain, which about 15 miles northeast of Santa Fe, state Department of Public Safety spokesman Peter Olson said." Really?

A-pub-calypse Now

As is tradition on our visits to Milwaukee, we must find at least one trashy bar upon which to inflict our rowdiness. It was Bob's pick, the New Yorker, across from the Greyhound Station. Immediately we knew (well - after the ten minutes it took Bob to parallel park) this was a bar like no other. Oddly and fluorescently lit, battleship gray from head to toe, with a subtle 'Jazz and NYC as drawn by preschoolers' theme. The three patrons along with the bartender all showing signs of what movies have told me is shell-shock. The jukebox blaring the soundtracks from Apocalypse Now and Platoon. There were four of us, so I ordered four drinks, got five. An extra vodka-cranberry that was 90% vodka, and Bob's 'Fuzzy Navel'. I don't know what actually goes into a fuzzy navel, but I'm certain it ISN'T 90% vodka, 5% OJ, 5% of some other clear liquid - peach schnapps? - and finally, a shaky, tentative flourish of grenadine. Sometimes you just know when you should be drinking whatever tap beer is available. I was.

My Blue Hawaii

In case you were curious (and I know you are), Boone's Farm Blue Hawaiian, with a bouquet and oily finish like Coppertone 30, is NOT the worst choice of alcoholic splendor when compared to some of the small-run Chardonnays and Pinot Gris from Trader Joe's. Go figure. Perhaps because one EXPECTS Boone's Farm to suck and therefore sets low expectations, but at least it couldn't be used as pancake syrup or hand-to-hand combat. Good times, nevertheless, after our visit to the tavern of the damned.

Separating the White and the Colored

Congratulations, Stephanie! Steph graduated high school last Sunday, and was given a crisp, white cap and gown to wear for the ceremony. As were the rest of the girls. The boys were given burgundy ensembles, and they were split by gender on stage, so they formed two separate blocks of color. They were even called alternately, boy-girl, boy-girl, to receive their diplomas from opposite sides of the stage. Because alphabetically is just so 2008, apparently. The PA system was sub-par, or at least sub-volume, everyone sounded like adults in a Charlie Brown special. Only the first three rows of people directly in front of the podium could hear, as evidenced by their occasional laughter. On another note, how does someone with a last name of 'Stoner' actually manage to get himself elected to the school board? Was the other candidate's name Tweaker?

Government-Sanctioned Torture

Commercial flight, of course. What did you think? I'm convinced that the rows of seats move closer together, like tectonic plates, each time I fly. Yes, I am of an amply-rumped Midwestern build, but this hasn't changed, and yet I feel like somehow I keep getting assigned to the child seat. Half a plastic cup of warm, flat Diet Coke? Yes, please. Rat Bastard who thinks the 'Turn off your cell phone' announcement doesn't apply to him, as he's texting during takeoff? Of course. The guy at security who disposed of his water but kept his juice, because that's not a liquid, right? Whiny woman complaining when her 'window' seat in the last row of the plane didn't actually have a window, and again when the window seat she decided to take had a scenic view of her reflection in the side of the engine? Why not? All manner of miscreants who chose our flight home to be their first taste of commercial flight? Damn straight.

Finally, the highly-anticipated Rental Car Review

It's been some time since my buttocks graced the overused seat of a rental car. My last few trips for work had me staying across a parking lot or across a street from my clients, and this last week was the first personal travel we've had. We live in Florida, people should be visiting us! Anyway, Hertz was decent overall, though the line couldn't have moved slower if they tried. Not the clerk's fault, with one customer barging in line to complain about the oil change light, and another being credit-card impaired. Then there was the father at the Avis line next to us who couldn't actually remember WHERE he booked his car, but was certain that it was one of the agencies in Milwaukee. He hoped.

I booked a full-size car, same price as Standard and Compact this trip, and we're never compact travellers. Given our experience with Enterprise in January, I inquired just what qualified as 'full-size'. Apparently what Hertz considers a full-size car is neither full-size nor a car, I had my choice of a Subaru Forester or a Ford Escape. Opting for the Escape, and walking past a slew of what I would have considered both full-size and car-like, we found our vehicle, loaded the luggage and we were off. Hertz has this thing about renting non-local cars to non-locals, so there's no chance of fitting in - this trip we were from Mississippi, further south than last summer's Lucerne from Tennessee.

For a little SUV and for all the poor reviews I'd heard about them, I had few complaints about the Escape. Hertz now includes Sirius/XM radio on all of their cars, so we had that going for us. Decent mileage, lots of room, could have used a little more pickup up hills. Not the soft luxury ride I'm used to in the Buick, but all in all, a very nice non-full-sized non-car. B+

And now, a BONUS MOVIE REVIEW!!!

The Hangover. Funny, funny, stuff. See it.