The Grinning Geek

So I was watching the Daily Show, and they were talking about how ‘radical’ it is  the 9/11 guys might get tried in New York City in a civilian court. This confused me a bit, because Newt Gingrich indicated that New Yorkers would not like this happening, and I don’t understand why.

I mean, these guys attacked New York. They damaged the very fabric of life there and destroyed one of it’s iconic landmarks. While I think it’s a travesty we’ve not rebuilt something bigger and better there (if possible, taller than any building in Dubai, but hey) that we could parade them in front of, showing them that any harm they think they can cause if fleeting and momentary at best, I don’t understand why anyone would think New Yorkers don’t want the trial in their city.

Hell, if I lived in New York I’d want the trial to take place at Yankee Stadium, on the jumbotron. I’d want to eat hot dogs with pork in them while I watched the trial. I’d want my wife, with her face completely uncovered, wearing a tight shirt, and driving the car to be sitting beside me. I’d assume every New Yorker would want something similar. What kind of message is it sending if we’re too afraid to have them in NYC? What are they going to use their super powers to burn holes in their cells and escape? How long do you think they’d last on the streets of Manhattan -without- the protection of the NYPD? Put it on the news they are running around free and assuming they don’t end up in the East River, I somehow think they’d be found pretty quick.

I just hate the idea that people in our government think we’re such a group of weak-willed, frightened children we can’t stomach this. One of the basic tenants of our Democracy is our Justice system. We don’t behead people, we don’t cut off thieves hands, we don’t stone women in the street. Why, in a war that comes down to ideals and beliefs, would we want to abandon our core values for a sense of security we don’t even want?

-J

…a strong voice, coming from the space….

Okay. So as some of you know I got my car stolen last Sunday. It sucked, the cop said if we don’t find it in 72 hours it’s likely gone, in Mexico, or in parts. So by Wednesday, when I had not heard anything, I began to make my peace with the fact that my “fly ride” had likely been cut in to little pieces in a Mexican sweat shop and that the ‘Nissan’ hood ornament was being worn around some Chulo’s neck. So, imagine my surprise when at 6am this morning we get a call from Phoenix PD saying, “We found your car!”

It seems that it was left in front of some person’s house not but a few miles from my house. I was glad to get my car back, even if they gave me full value for it I doubt I could have found one in as good condition as mine, for the same price. So Diana and I get in the Beetle and she drives me over to where it is. Now keep in mind I was bracing myself for the interior to be all slashed up and covered on blood, feek, and maybe some #3. But no, there’s no apparent damage to the interior. The only real damage the Cop tells me about is, the front tire is flat and there’s Ramen Noodles on the gas tank.

That was kind of a surreal moment, at 6:30 in the morning, cop cars (there were 3) all around, lights flashing, and the cop to go, “Those your Ramen noodles on the gas tank?” I was beginning to wonder if he was field sobriety testing me.

Anywho, the cop goes through the car, realizes the thieves left some stuff in the car so he collects it and bags it and all that jazz, then offers to help me move the car by pushing, since it’s in front of a woman’s driveway. We push it a few feet down the street, no problem… Remember we pushed it. this will be important later. Now, I can’t drive the car home with the flat tire, so I got to replace it. I dig through the trunk, find the spare tire, find the wrench to get the lugnuts off, and find the jack. I try and jack up the car, but the way it’s positioned in the gutter I can’t get it high enough to get the tire off. This means I have to get it out of the gutter. Now if I was smart, not addled because it was pre-dawn, and had been thinking I’d have tried to start the car and move it. But because the cop pushed it, I guess I was in a pushin kind of mood. So I put the car in neutral, turn the wheel, get behind it and start pushing. I manage to get it out of the gutter (thanks laws of Physics!) and in a good, flat spot to change the tire.

Hands now covered in grime, damp because of the morning dew everywhere, I manage to get the other tire on the car. I am annoyed, but whatever, got the spare, I’ll drive it home, call insurance company. Easy peasy.

I get in the car and what I should have noticed earlier now becomes painfully apparent – these tiny tiny little pieces of shit (they had the seat all the way forward. I estimate their height to be no more than 3 feet tall.) had driven my car until it simply ran out of gas. So as my engine tries to turn over, the giant ‘E’ staring me in the face makes it very very clear this car won’t start. You have to be kidding me.

So I call up my dad, ask him to bring me a gallon of gas. He says he will, so he gets ready and heads down to where I am. Mind you, this is 30 minutes later. So when he gets here, rather than go get a gas can, get gas, and try and put air in this tire we decide to call AAA (I don’t have AAA, he does) and they’ll bring us the gas and put air in the tire and away we go.

30 Minutes later, the AAA truck arrives. He gives me some gas, puts air in my tire. The moment of truth, I try and start the car and…. it starts right up. We’re golden. Wewt. My dad gets in his car, I pull away and… haha, you thought it was going to be over there, didn’t you? No, I didn’t pull away from the curb, because when I put my foot on the gas – nothing happens. My dad stops, we shut the car down, try and figure out what’s going on, can’t figure it out and well now we’re screwed. Now, it’s only about 4-5 miles home, and it’s all neighborhoods… well, mostly. Only 2 major streets to cross, and neither has a light. In theory…

That’s right. I idled the whole way home. 3 miles an hour baby. Hazards on and my dad behind me in case my car blew up and I died, he could, I don’t know, scrape me off the pavement. The whole experience was amusing, but it was not until I saw God that I really understood how funny my situation was.

You see, I am not sure who or what God is, really. I have some ideas, but who knows. But this morning, bored out of his mind, God decided to have a little fun with me. He did not make my car go flat, use my gas, or disconnect my accelerator. I would not blame him for those things. What God did, was take the form of a very cute little 7 year old girl, in a purple dress with pigtails.

This little girl came out of her house, bright and early on an otherwise beautiful January morning here in the Valley of the Sun, and started to skip down the street. I smiled at her, she was confused why these two cars were driving 3 mph down the road, but then seemed to carry on in her own little world. She continued to skip down the street, then looked at me oddly as I started laughing. Uncontrollably.

You see, I was laughing because this little girl, skipping down the street, was passing me. She was going faster than I was. So as my little Nissan put-put-putted down the road, she was skipping on ahead leaving me in the dust. I couldn’t help it. This was the funniest thing I’d ever seen. I laughed and laughed til I got home, pulled in to my parking lot, and saw my dad was laughing for the very same reason.

We got under the hood of the car, and saw they simply had disconnected the accelerator for some reason, and ditched the car. We fixed it and now I am waiting on the insurance guys to come look at the car and the window glass guy to come fix my window, but man. What a morning, huh?

-J