|
|
You know you're a certified Old Fuck when the building supply warehouse is like a toy store. "I want this, I want that..." it's shameful. And it isn't just coming from me. After ten years in the same rental, it has grown tiresome. Ilsa, She-Wolf of the SS has decided to low-ball the contractors, which means I have to search around for alternatives to doing the right thing. God, people with money will do anything to find the cheapest method of doing things... only to wind up spending more through ignorance. "Nein mit der plumbing in das walls, chrome antique-y pipes for das shower much better, Ja?" Sure, there's German blood amongst the Finnish (and English-French-Native American-etc., etc.), but there's some rabbi in my veins, too. By this time, I've paid off the house (and voiced an interest to buy outright)... and can only sneak improvements with my own cash. Ach, das Huns! So, I'm starting to want out. Big surprise, huh? T'is a silly place. This is a golden invitation to start breaking ground on the hill... but I want nothing to do with Miss Jane's bequest. It just seems... wrong. She may be fired up, but my fire's fizzled. Oi! That's enuff a' that! Once the hours wasted away amongst the tools and bits, I pointed the car south on old US 1. Once called America's Highway. Now a treasure chest of signs designed in the post-war age, decayed motels by the dozens, and very pre-owned cars within spitting distance of I-95. By-Pass, USA. I loove that stuff. Dinosaur architecture. Stylized lettering. Outlandish advertising. What makes this country great. And it (mostly) still stands. Saw Gosford Park, later on, after the Little General came by to yammer for the evening. Brain-twisting 30's Brit whodunit. Jolly. If my name was Broccoli (the director, not the produce) I'd tap Clive Owen to TKO Brosnan to be the new James Bond, get that Propellerhead/Shirley Bassey hit "History Repeating Itself" as the title track... and find somebody who can write a decent spy flick. And, for God's sake, put him back in a ride of British manufacture. That new Aston Martin coupe. Now, dammit! Wonder what "Q" would have done if the R&D funds deteriorated to an account at H*me D*pot? |
|
|
