The Mazda-Mottola Legacy Continues!
I am so stoked that I got my third Mazda last month! Mazda for life!
As many of you know, I have only owned Mazdas in my 11 years of driving. I am no auto mechanic and that’s a good thing because I have done little more than changed the oil and tires in all of the Mazdas that I have owned.
My first car was the Green Hornet (RIP Bruce Lee), a 1996 forest green Mazda MX-6. That car earned me a “Nicest Car” award in my high school yearbook sophomore year and drew jealousy from all of the car nuts who spent hundreds of dollars on every body kit, lift, drop and other aesthetic that you could imagine. I, on the other hand, never even changed my license plate cover. It looked fast. It wasn’t. It just looked good.
I drove the Green Hornet through high school and college until I could afford a newer Mazda, which I dubbed the Blue Hornet, opting to keep the Hornet surname while acknowledging the new, blue color. This was a 2005 Mazda 3 hatchback and another great car. Like the Green Hornet, the Blue Hornet was a manual and I loved whipping that car around Seattle. I bought it because I needed a little more storage and the car offered me the room with a sporty style.
Then Amanda came along.
My how priorities changed! We bought a house, got married, bought Amanda a Ford Focus after that bus totaled her Volkswagon, got new jobs and overall changed our lifestyles quite dramatically. Additional changes included a significantly longer commute to work and the decision to downsize to one car (The Focus if for sale now!).
Naturally, I wanted to keep the Blue Hornet. I loved that car, but the stick wouldn’t make the cut for the often icky freeway commute. I was getting shin splints in my left leg from being on and off the clutch so much on I-5. I searched the depths of the Internet for another car. I started with crossovers and then started looking at sedans. For our price range, I just couldn’t find the car that would suit our needs for sporty style, space and gas mileage.
I finally came full circle and began looking at Mazda 3 hatchbacks with automatic transmissions. I already knew that I liked the style and space, but I didn’t realize that they also offered best-in-class gas mileage. The following weekend, we went to University Mazda to trade in the Blue Hornet and updgraded a couple years to a lower mileage 2007 Mazda 3 with all of the specs – power everything, Bose sound system, moon roof, leather seats, remote start and a laundry list of other features. Allow me to introduce you to the Phantom Hornet!
It’s called Phantom Hornet because the color is technically a “Phantom Blue” and Phantom Hornet just sounds so badass! Bruce Lee would be proud. Don’t know what he’d think of the new The Green Hornet movie. Regardless, happy times.
Craigslist Lawn Mower Courtship
Odd title, right? What does a Craigslist ad for a free lawn mower have to do with courtship? Everything.
I listed my broken, free lawn mower on Craiglist and felt like a young woman getting harassed on an online dating network. My lawn mower brought ALL the boys to the yard.
The response in the half day I had it listed was overwhelming. Most impressive was the way the responses were crafted. I was intrigued by some and confused or totally turned off by others. I felt like I was on Match.com again. FreeLawnmowerMatch.com.
I’ve categorized some of the responses I got:
The Quickie Reply:
“If U still have I’ll need your address? Paul”
I would like to come pick this up today if possible. I am free all day long. My cell is (360) 829-XXXX.
I’ll take it! it’s now 11:41 am Sunday. I’m in north Tacoma out near Pt. Defiance can be there in less than 30 minutes. THANK YOU!
The Swooner Reply:
“I’d be more than happy to take that off your hands if you still have it. Just let me know when and where. Thanks in advance!”
“I have a Craftsman also, yours looks like mine its not working either maybe between the two I could get one working. Where can I pick it up?”
Hello, Happy Father’s Day! I would like to come down and pick it up. Let me know when and where. Thank you, Earl
The Desperate Reply:
“If you still have the mower or they didn’t show”
The Swingers Reply:
“My husband (Marc) could pick this up from you today. You can call him at 253-606-XXXX.”
“do you still have this? Patty and David 253-833-XXXX”
The Pimp Reply:
“we have a mower just like this one so we could use yours for parts call Linda at 253-961-XXXX thank you”
‘ll PAY you $10 for it as is…it’s EXACTLY like mine and mine’s missing a couple pieces… and I know they’re going to cost me more than that at the lawnmower shop. Thanks!
Hey. I need A lawn mower. I’d love to take that one off your hands if you still have it. 253-381-XXXX. Curt
The Intangible Reply:
“IF NO ANSWER PLEASE LEAVE AMESS & i’LL GET RIGHT BACK TO YA ,THANKS………………………………………………… “
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What should we learn from this? First, more of Americans are illiterate than we thought. Second, if you’re ever in the need for attention online, just put a free lawn mower on Craigslist. You’ll be in high demand.
We went to Ikea for the Swedish meatballs
Last night, Amanda and I made a pit stop on our commute home at Ikea. We’ve been shopping around for a storage chest for our bedroom and an island for our kitchen. Ikea’s wealth of everything at reasonable prices made it a worthy consideration.
The risk you always run with a place like Ikea is that you tend to leave with more than planned, or you leave with everything that you weren’t planning on buying at all. The store is designed that way, a maze of neat room ideas for every part of the home combined with the ease of shopping via pencil and paper so that you can’t feel the weight of your purchases until you hit the self-service register. There are no carts here, just a utilitarian shopping experience with a cafeteria in the middle.
Somehow, Amanda and I made it halfway through the maze without picking up or writing down anything. Compared to past experiences this was a remarkable feat! However, at 7 p.m. we couldn’t resist the fragrances offered by the cafeteria. “Cafeteria” is a probably the wrong word because it surfaces memories of a high school lunchroom and Salisbury steak. Cafeterias by European design are more “Café” than “teria.” I patronized many of these during my European travels, and Ikea keeps true to form in its Swedish presentation. It’s no gimmick, but they do sell Salisbury steak.
The signature entrée at Ikea is the Swedish Meatballs, for something like $3.99 you get a small mountain of meatballs, mashed potatoes and lingonberries (basically cranberries). Amanda and I went for them. When in Rome, right? We also bought some very traditional Swedish Fish to keep the entire meal authentic. Amanda has requested that we go out to eat more often, and boy did she get her wish!
We sat at one of the cafeteria tables and dug in. The food was good enough for a total $11 meal. I couldn’t help but fast-forward 50 years and imagine Amanda and I sitting across from each other in a very similar environment, eating cafeteria food at some futuristic retirement home. That’s really what the experience felt like – a Wall-E-esque future when everyone becomes passive and automated and I sit to eat in a too clean dining room only pleasing to obsessive compulsives, which is everyone by 2060.
It was a little scary to think of a corporate, ubiquitous future like that, but then again the Swedish meatballs weren’t half bad. Wherever my kids put me up, I won’t complain if the food is OK.
We finished our meal and walked the rest of Ikea with our wallets unscathed with the exception of a small houseplant to replace the dying one in our kitchen that we bought from Ikea last year. Everything’s a cycle.
My stomach bloated with Swedish meatballs, we headed home where the scene isn’t so sharply perfect, but it’s a little more comfortable and the Italian meatballs taste better.
When wasps attack!
You never want to learn the hard way that you have a wasp hive growing in your yard.
Four quick stings later, I have learned that I have a wasp hive growing in my yard. I guess I’m not allergic either.
Those suckers are vicious! I was raking up grass near where the hive must be, and then out of nowhere I got stuck on my elbox – and then my ankle – and then they went for the kill. I got two stings high up on my inner thighs. Not only were they protecting their hive, they didn’t want me to reproduce either — a smart tactic to avoid my seed’s future potential for destruction of their world. Queue the plot for The (Ex)Terminator.
I ran my best sprint time in years around the corner of my house and jumped through the front door, calling for Amanda to follow me in. I ripped off everything I was wearing, and a wasp flew out of my shorts. He had crossed enemy lines. No longer outnumbered and on my own turf, I decided to take on the wasp. I learned from Dane Cook that all you have to do is punch the wasp in the face.
The wasp was much faster than I was – already flying circles around me. I clenched my fists and took a fighter stance, looking for a pattern in flight so that I could punch the wasp in the face. Keep in mind that I had taken all of my clothes off, so I was dangerously exposed in just boxer briefs. I looked like Jean-Claude Van Damme in Bloodsport, and the floor had been raised. Let that image sink in.
I swung. Miss. I swung again in combination. Miss. Miss. Miss.
Finally I ran into the laundry room frantically and shut the door behind me, whining. The stings hurt, OK?!
I came out when Amanda said the coast was clear and she fixed me up with Cortizone-10 cream.
The wasps may have won the battle, but I have a secret weapon that will end the war tomorrow – wasp spray. I’m dropping the bomb like Truman. I am going Van Damme on their asses!
Wine, pool and Prosser
I cannot believe that it has been three years since I last visited Prosser, WA.
I went to visit my college roommates’ hometown and check out the Prosser Wine and Food Fair — probably my first large-scale wine experience (meaning that I was exposed to a lot of wineries at once, not that I necessarily drank a lot of it like Moos did). Here I am with J.Jo and Moos in 2007.
Since that time, the Prosser Wine and Food Fair has only gotten bigger and relocated to the Washington State University Experience Station (insert college experimenting jokes here). It was probably a good idea to move the intoxication-by-wine event from the local high school football field, where I had last attended. Don’t want to send mixed signals to the kids, right?
This time around, the event was bigger and my group was hotter as I was joined by the Wives and my wife. Trust me, nothing looks better than rolling with three beautiful girls to a wine event. I’d rather take three dates over limo service any day. Here was the entourage.
We were impressed by the reds – Merlots, Cabernets, Sangioveses – but were dumping out the too-sweet whites – Rhubarb(?!), Viognier, Chardonnay, Petite Verdot. Yuk. Vin du Lac and Heaven’s Cave Cellars and Columbia Crest were the standout winners for me. The weather was too hot for prolonged red wine drinking so we quickly transitioned to beer and enjoyed what Horse Heaven Hills Brewery had to offer, including a kickass apricot beer. We threw down two pitchers of that in no time.
We attended a post-party at one of the two “hot” bars in Prosser where you basically pay a $5 cover to sit in a restaurant featuring bright lights and loud music. God help this town. The entertainment for the night was a way-too-drunk girl sitting near us who couldn’t keep the tattoos on her chest from falling out of her dress. It was sad but well worth the cover price.
During our mornings in Prosser we were able to crash at Moos’ aunt’s backyard pool, which was amazing. Sorry guys, but I have to abide by the no-swimsuit-photos policies enforced by wife and Wives (though anything can be bought for a price).
Amanda is a natural amphibian, so she and I spent the most time in the water while the Wives worked on their tans. I don’t think we’ve had a chance since our honeymoon to just sit and do nothing. It was so relaxing. We also got some more down time when traffic was delayed by 90 minutes(!) on the way home, but all-in-all it was a great weekend.
Oh my poor, inhaler-toting seed
Based upon some clear precedent, I know that my children (who will come to this world many years down the road) will be awfully nerdy and given no chance to be anything else.
When I realized that I wanted to marry Amanda, I accepted that I’d have some 2-year-old with toddler glasses that everyone would call “Harry Potter.” That’s cool. I like wands. Amanda and I have both worn glasses for way too long and no matter how many carrots that kid eats in utero, he/she/it is going to be half-blind.
But I didn’t expect this. Amanda is in her third decade on this earth and in a sneaky, 4th quarter move, she pulled a fast one on me.
My wife has an inhaler.
All of this time I thought I dodged that bullet for me and my seed! But nope, after never using one before, Amanda came up with this weird cough over the last couple weeks and the doctor said that she had developed asthma and would need to use an inhaler.
Now she begs for it, insisting that she can’t cook/clean/do laundry without it. (She’s also developed a strange affinity for tea lattes – again for the cough.) Obviously this is a problem.
I’m not entirely convinced that she has asthma and she’s going back to the doctor next week to see if symptoms have improved. But now that Amanda has been told that she has asthma, everything is a placebo for an asthma attack. She chokes on her food – asthma attack. She has phlegm – asthma attack. The gas tank is low – asthma attack. She needs to go shopping – to avoid an asthma attack. Apparently security stops asthma at the front of Nordstrom.
I’m glad that she’s found some solace in the inhaler as she certainly does have a bad cough right now. I just wish it wouldn’t so formally predict the future of our children. The poor kids are probably going to be wearing rec-specs in gym class, sucking on inhalers at lunch and struggling with dating through high school and college as they blame us for the awkward qualities of their youth, only to find love in adulthood on some online dating site.
At least they’ll be happy.
Goodbye new camera, farewell youth
Last week I bought a Canon 7D – a marvel of a pro-am SLR camera and one that I really wanted to purchase since its release. It offers better picture quality than my current camera and shoots high quality HD video. And not your average HD video either. TV shows have been filmed with this camera. It’s serious like that.
It also came with a serious price, which is why I decided this week – after a good trial with it in Chelan over the weekend – that I should return it.
The problem isn’t that I can’t afford the camera, it’s that I can’t afford the camera AND the fence that I have to build this summer AND the new front door that I need to buy and install sooner than later. I’m not exaggerating about the urgency of these home fixes. My fence is literally falling over and looks like broken teeth. I can feel a breeze through my window-less, solid wood front door.
The camera, on the other hand, can wait. I have a camera that works fine, but I just wanted the next best thing that takes superkillersweet video. It’s the same feeling I had before I purchased the Macbook Pro or my current camera or those two external hard drives on Black Friday. The geek needs to be fed.
What really strikes me as different and (gasp!) mature about this camera decision is that I’m prioritizing and seeing necessities over shiny objects. Before today, if I had needed to pay for a major dental procedure or fix my car, I would have most definitely bought and kept the camera, rationalizing that I needed to document those serious circumstances at the highest fidelity – not for me but for future generations so that they could understand where they came from. I’ve always been thoughtful about the future of America like that.
This fundamental reprioritization is monumental. Like the previous sentence crammed a lot of syllables into few words, I suddenly feel like I need to pack my many, growing financial responsibilities into neat, manageable categories. For now “Saving for camera” isn’t one of them.
With that, some rebellious, spontaneous part of my youth must have died. No amount of clapping brings that back. I don’t know if it’s the copious amounts of wine that replaced PBR or a job where I work with grown-up adults, but part of me that “invested” in baseball cards and CDs and spent thousands of dollars with a Best Buy discount in college has been laid to rest like Ken Griffey Jr.’s baseball career – without much celebration and far too late.
Speedos: The Next Generation
I write to you now with the sun shining bright upon the shores of Lake Chelan, just 10 feet in front of me. The weather is too beautiful and the scene too serene for any regular board shorts. I had to step up my game. The title of this blog post intends to make no metaphor. I am wearing Speedos.
Speedos have a long tradition in my family. Here’s a photo of Nonno (my Dad’s father) in a Speedo in (I’m guessing) Sorrento, Italy.
Gramps wore Speedos non-stop through the Reagan administration if I recall correctly, but I’ll spare you to two total Speedo images for this post.
