thebitterguy

So, this past weekend we took Cynra's car to her mechanic to get her oil changed and her brakes checked (verdit? Fine!) and while there we asked if they might be able to also switch out Supercar's oil. Since they don't have anyone in who's licensed to work on diesels, they passed. So, being several hundred klicks past my "service now" light, I called the dealership.

First off, I couldn't leave a message for the service rep I normally deal with, which was annoying. Then, when I did arrange a dropoff, it was at 9:15 (I start work at 9. Hmmm). And it wouldn't be for two weeks.

So Cynra & I will be doing more carpooling in her car. Which is always fun.

God, I miss the independant mechanic I used to go to. Shame he moved to Bermuda to work on a golf course down there. I should become a diesel mechanic.

Now, God willing, I won't have to worry about a sudden snowfall in the next few weeks (I shudder to imagine the kind of control issues you'd get with one summer and one snow tire).

Yeah, I need to keep my fucking mouth shut.

I want to go home, play some L4D, and cry.

Well, between MGK.com and multiplexer, I almost feel sorry for not buying a shitty American car.

"Sure you got a safe and fuel efficient vehicle. But now the world will be plunged into a new dark age! Ha ha ha!"

Yesterday, The Dude (Front, left) attended a Smart Car rally held on Lombard St in San Franciso. It is, admittedly, nicer looking than a brewery parking lot.

Xposted to smart_cars

I am doing work stuff on Vacation. This is not fun.

Cynra & I saw gurudata on the Ed the Sock show last night. Deeeelightful! Now, where's papajoemambo in the hot tub?

I am looking forward to the day that stereo shops give away HD tvs in order to encourage sound system sales. Mark my words!

Feeling like I got a bit ripped off this morning at the dealership. Supercar's driver side headlight had burned out a while back, so I called and asked for an appointment. Hey, no problem, said my service rep, the parts department can do that for you!

Wow, I said, that's awesome! The parts department can do the surely arduous task of replacing the bulb, which will definitely involve removing the front panel of the car to get access to the headlight casing! That's awesome!

So I go there and pay my $15 for a bulb and $25 for the installation. What a reasonable cost!

So the repair guy comes out, wearing these blue gloves that momentarily make me fear for my life and the life of my psychic sister I've got in a box, until I realize I'm not the doctor on Firefly.

The replacement act takes three minutes, tops. TOPS. In fact, watching it made me angry, as I'm pretty sure they've ripped me off for a few hundred bucks by charging for a minimum time every other time I've needed to have a fucking headlight bulb replaced. And the Smart, for all its awesomeness, tends to go through headlight bulbs aggressively.

Feh.

So, yes. Game tonight (hopefully) and shwarma or roti.

A) Car-pooling with your wife may save on gas, but it sucks when you're sick and want to go home.

B) Andrew Rilston really hates NuWho. I mean REALLY. More than pyat and Steven Barringer squished together in some sort of amalgamated Who Hating Monster.

edit: Bi) andrewhickey also seems to dislike it, but they may be, just like Andrew, very cleverly likeing it.

So, a couple weeks ago when heronymous_waat was visitng TDot, a group of RPG.net-errs went out to grab dinner downtown and welcome him to the city.

Quick question: Can anyone give me a good comparison for someone being sent from Chicago to "Toronto", but their employer is actually located in Oakville, and that's where they stay? I was thinking "like being sent to LA and ending up in Burbank", if only because Burbank is just kinda funny.

Anyway, I parked Supercar down the road and traipsed over to to Everest for dinner. Was okay, even though service was on the poor side and food just mediocre, as the company made up for it. Sat with kinra and chryx as well as a few other folks, including CanGenreLit All Star Gemma Files. I ended up getting a chapbook of one of her short stories from her.

I'd offered heronymous_waat a ride home, so afterwards he, Solabusca & I headed up to Supercar to get him his ride home (or hotelward, at least). So when we arrived at my loyal steed (I will insist that I parked it two blocks up because I wanted to give him a short tour of Queen West, nto because I didn't know there were parking spots that far east) what did we find but a parking ticket.

The ticket was marked "Failure to display parking receipt properly" or some horseshit. I, naturally, flipped (or at least got upset) and grabbed the ticket and receipt and vowed to fight them to the highest court in the land.

Flash forward to today. I left home a little early, as one of the addresses to go to to arrange a court date was (hopefully) not far from work, and would allow me to go and make a date and then make it to work in time.

I motored across Eglington, stopped and parked (no ticket, this time) and went inside. I was a little agog when I saw that there was a lineup to take a number, but I figured I was there, might was well try. I noticed, then, another row of windows, marked "parking tickets".

I strolled up to the line, handed the ticket to the woman working behind it, and told her I disagreed. She handed me a form to fill out, and looked at the ticket. I handed the form back to her, and to my not inconsiderable suprrise she tore it up. She looked at the receipt, and stamped the ticket "cancelled".

TBG 1, Toronto Parking Authority 0. Woot!

Met up with elizalavelle last night at the Silver Snail to reclaim my blessed, blessed Y tpbs (oh, #10, when will you be mine?). We were both hoping to get Buffy #10, but apparently the Snail was taking an extra day of New Years, since the new comix had not made their appearance. Of course, good luck getting someone to tell you that pithy fact. "The Silver Snail: We have our reputation, we don't need customer service!"

We both ended up getting some bargain action figures, I a Sawyer from Lost Series 2 and she a Conundrum Minimates fig. He's so creepy.

After divesting myself of stuff at Supercar, we wandered downtown to get some dinner. Man, that ain't easy. I think the Bishop & Belcher is now a shrine to women's footwear of some kind. Wandered into Burrito Boyz, and out agin when we realized it was a takeout place, which I suppose must work wonderfully in the Summer or if you live nearby, which did not fit the bill in this case.

So we ended up at a Dunn's in the theatre district, where once again our attempts to initiate commerce were nearly foiled. The hostess led us to our seats and handed us our menus (and gave us cutlery!). Quick perusal and we decided what to get. Nobody came to get drink orders, but what the heck, right? We folded the menus and put them down, in case they needed some subtle hints.

That was apparently too subtle. So I grabbed a waitress (vocally, not physically) and asked "Who's handling our table?" To which she replied "I guess I am."

I guess you fucking are.

The food was okay; I got a towering Club sammich (where Towering = double decker) and elizalavelle grabbed the fish n' chips, for express purpose of eating some and saving some for lunch. A fairly unimpressive performance by the front of house people at Dunn's.

Admittedly, the evening wasn't bad, what with gossip and shopping. I'm just cranky, what with wanting a beverage within the first 20 minutes of entering a restaurant. It ain't like they couldn't see us, either.

Dropped off elizalavelle at her place and zoom zoomed off home to feed the cats and play Civ IV way too late.

Gotta say I do love Letterman's strike beard. I'm growing my strike goatee. I'm gonna do Mr. Eko's little horns thing.