The Finch at the Feeder

Just sat down to write my Top 11 Albums #7 about Make the Clocks Move by Kevin Devine, and decided against it. It has been far too long since I've made an actual post. Plus, everyone who is good should already know how much I love that album. Maybe tomorrow.

Today Stevi and I returned from a long visit at Nana's. Staying there is like active meditation. It clears my mind, nourishes my body (delicious, delicious food for the duration) and lets my soul breathe. I feel connected to something while I'm there, though I couldn't say what. My best self, maybe. Or my simplest self. Or the Earth. Or my past. Or God. The universal consciousness. Country livin'. My ancestry. So on, etc.

I bought a new car. It was pretty intense, test-driving, sitting there in the dealership, talking the salesfellow down, filling out forms, credit-checking, signing papers, negotiating further, extended-warrantying, stacks of paperworks like pancakes, like pancakes for an eating contest, figuring amounts, fussing over particulars, chewing at my cheek (the inside), ignoring my growling stomach, being amazed that four hours went by.

The hardest part, of course, was saying trading in The Black Plague. (NOTE: car pictured is not The Black Plague.) The sad fact was, though, that TBP was ready to go at any moment. I had a choice between watching it die a slow death and sending it to a place where I won't have to look at it or think about it while it suffers and eventually expires. Like many people who put their parents in nursing homes, I chose the latter. It was a fantastic run. That car and I (and various fantastic passengers) have crossed well over a dozen state lines, been accosted by quite a few police officers, gone airborne, narrowly avoided total annihilation on more than one occasion, slid over sheet upon sheet of ice, ignored countless tollbooths and traffic laws, and gone down more one way streets and through more red lights than I'd like to mention. It was a hell of a go, and it wasn't easy saying goodbye.

Car-purchasing left me feeling pretty adult. I signed up for mint.com, a pretty spiffy money-management site started by a family friend. It has since won various of prestigious awards, and the FF even got to sit on a panel with our president and discuss the current financial situation. I'm obviously jealous, and therefore full of hate. I guess that promoting his business on my blog (as well as patronizing it myself) is contrary to this intense emotional feeling, but hey, shut up. Anyway, now my iPhone bugs me if I spend too much going out to eat or shopping, and reminds me that I'm in debt and don't make that much money. It's what getting older is all about!

Looking forward to a pretty good tax refund this year. And if we get another stimulus package, I'm going to buy something frivolous.

Amazon just accepted my submission to The Crystal Gavel, one of the literary world's hottest up-and-coming mags. You may have to sort through a little bit to find my piece (they still haven't worked out the table of contents), but you can enjoy the work of other talented writers while you look.

Anyway. The whole time I've been writing this, I've been working at Motinis. I've not had any customers, but now I do.