News from the homefront. Today my trusty soccer-mom van (a 98 Plymouth Voyager) decided that it needs to take a permanent nap. It's so very sleepy. It's like the cranky tired child in the back seat right now....making all sorts of crabby noise. Clatterclatterclatter!! A blown rod or crankshaft bearing. Guess I can't blame it...it only has 284,008 miles on it. So...off I go to wrangle up some other form of transportation. I was hoping it would give me the honor of lasting til it hit 300k. Not going to happen. But not bad for a freebee. I think I'll go get a pickup now, which is what I really want anyway. Gotta have something to pull the boat. A van just isn't it for that. Even a truck in rough shape is better for pulling a boat than any "good looking" van.
Guess I'll have to put off saving for a Lincoln Towncar for the time being. Which reminds me that I haven't said much about who I am and what I do. The reference to a Towncar has to do WITH what I do for a living, plus, what I WANT to do for a living. I drive a taxi, and I want to drive a limo. Which is where the Towncar comes in. That's the car that everyone expects to pull up in front of their house when they call for limo service. Black on black, blue on black (out and in) with tinted windows, leather seating and all power options. They're a nice car...cushy.
I live and work in a small town about 30 miles outside a major city in the midwest and I often get requests to drive people up into the city to take in the entertainment up there. You know... the ritzy places like strip-clubs and sex-movie-magazine places. All I want to say is..."you don't NEED to go to those places...just become a taxi driver!!" Oh yes...I've seen (and heard!) waaaaay too many things in my cab. At least I'm paid for it. Don't worry, I'll tell some stories.

Well. Now I've done it. I didn't think I would actually create a blog, felt no need to, and here I am. I've always wondered why anyone in their right mind (am I?) would feel such a pressing need to write down any number of socially unneccessary, personal thoughts, as if anyone else really cares about what you think. I am convinced they don't. Not really. Does anyone ever, actually, read this drivel? And, I AM including myself in the drivel department. I am drivel driven. It's departmentally neccessary.

I'm sorry....it's my mothers fault. She was the master of disaster drivel. Hi....I'm the disaster!!! My name is Nick. Welcome to my life.

To start with, I'm almost 52.....arrrgh! I say it that way because I do NOT want to believe it. My body, mind and age have gone in three completely different directions. Ok....two. My mind stopped. But my body headed south without me, and my age kept climbing. I guess that's the only thing that has any energy left after 51 years. And the ol' brain pan up there contains the remnant of something that insists it's only 28 years old. Or, maybe that's wishful thinking and it's really younger than that. All *I* know, is that my mind tells me ALL THE TIME that "of course" I can do this, or that, but when I try, my body hasn't gotten the email. Maybe it's snail mail...? I can't keep up.

Notice the "title" up there? "One SOMETHING at a time"? I really wanted to leave out the word "something". Just scrub it out. Leave a BIG GAPING HOLE. Right there.

ONE.........................AT A TIME!!

Just didn't look right though. I had to put something in there, because I didn't want to limit myself to "day" or "thing" or "minute". So, I put something in there. Cute, huh. Yeah, I'm known for my robust sense of internal amusement. I guess "One at a time" could've worked...but "One...WHAT??" I didn't want to press my poor stunted remnant too hard. I figure that the remnant has to catch up to current events eventually, but in the meantime, while everything else sags and climbs, I can hear it up there just a-churnin' out information and orders for me like a drivel-driven disaster-master. "Hi mom. Yesssss mom. I love you TOO mom.................I didn't MEAN it like that mom!". Yikes!!

Onward.