It's been two years since I've been totally beardless. The first counselor at church today said he thought it looked good, but I think it makes my face look too short. Like it needs a couple more inches on the bottom. I think it's also the fact that my neck has gotten thicker and saggier. Aging. What can you do?
Anyway. Here's my face.
Oh. And Scooter is officially gone. I sold the car to the Pull and Save. I contacted six different scrap yards, but the Pull and Save bid the highest. The guy hassled me a little about the title, but we worked it out. It was a little bit of a do to get it to the lot. It's out by Magna, and I'd siphoned most of the gas out of the tank. There should have been a couple gallons left, but I found out that the fuel pump doesn't go all the way down into the tank. And there was a lot of rusty sludge down in the bottom.
Anyway, I only got two blocks away before I ran out of gas. I'd arranged with Mark LaRocco to meet me there and give me a ride back, so I was really worried about the time. I ran home as fast as I could, and got the gas can and strapped it on my motorcycle and went back down there. I put about a gallon of what I'd siphoned out back in. I also sloshed a bunch all over.
Gas cans are horrible these days. They have these new nozzles mandated by California law. They have preventative emissions and safety measures, which make it almost impossible to get any gas out of them. I disabled two of the three, but there is a little plastic bit on the end that is supposed to make it open a little spring loaded gate in the nozzle when the weight of the gas depresses the nozzle end.
Unfortunately the plastic bit hits the edge of the gas tube before the nozzle makes it in to the little trap door that guards the gas tube. So the weight of the gas in the can on the catch depresses the nozzle and opens the spring loaded trap door in the nozzle, opening it up and dumping gas all over in the mouth of the fill tube. Problem.
So you have to wrangle the can and nozzle in a weird way to get them all the way into the fill tube. It's just irritating.
Anyway, I put in a gallon of what I'd painstakingly siphoned out, and got on the road. Then it started dying again by the time I got to the 21st south freeway. So I got off and put another gallon in at a gas station. By the time I finally got to the Pull and Save I was half an hour later than I told Mark I would be. Luckily he got lost, and arrived only a couple minutes before me.
It was nice of Mark to drive me back. He had Jameson with him, and they came in for a few minutes. These few minutes were enough to teach me that I have the least toddler-proof apartment in the world. Mostly we just chased him from one dangerous or delicate thing to another until it became obvious that it was time to go.
That was a long and rambling post.
2 comments:
Whoa... a beardless Mike is going to take me some time to get used to. Though I'm guessing by the time I see you it might be back?
My dad used to siphon gas from vehicle to vehicle. I seem to remember him using his mouth to get things going.
I like the story about Jameson. It gives me an idea - I could rent out my kid to test the toddler-proofness of anybody's given home.
I like the first Pict better than the second. Go figure.
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