Fighting Back The Cheezy Urges.

Downtown Boston was my home for almost 10 years. I had a car when I first moved there briefly, but got rid of it as parking was an expensive nightmare and I used it an average of once a month. Before that I lived in England where again, I didn't need a car. Before that it was 1997 and I was bombing down the mean streets of Guelph in a 9-year-old Caravan (that I was happy to have). What I'm saying here is - I have never had a new car, a car I am proud of, or even a car that Jed Clampett would be caught dead in. Black gold... Texas Tea...



This morning I got a call from my Uncle to tell me that I was now the proud owner of the #1 car on my auction wish list. Like a bat out of hell, I set off to get a haircut for my Ontario license picture, get an Ontario license, open a bank account for insurance purposes, get insurance and then pester said Uncle to go and get the car - which it turns out I will get my mitts on Thursday.While happy as a pig in shit, I am choking back a few inexplicable urges that seem to somehow be associated with owning a cool car...

- I want to take pictures of it.
- I want to take pictures of it with me leaning against it, looking pensive. "You know how many people had to die for me to get this car, baby?"
- I want to take off my shirt, both of them, and lean against it looking pensive. Perhaps staring off into space stroking my chin. "Well baby, that's just the way the cookie crumbles. I'll send ya a postcard from Hell."
- I want to drive slowly past high school parking lots at lunch time blaring Linkin Park's new CD. They have a new CD, right?
- I want to park it in front of a strip mall convenience store on Friday night and smoke butts. Honestly, the shirt will probably be off again.

I'll get over all of this, but there will be a period of adjustment. Bear with me, and to my Canadian friends - maybe just stay away from the house for a little while. I'll figure out how to work the self timer and we can get on with our lives.