Whew. A number of you responded about Peak Oil and I’m glad for it, if only to get some brain cells stirred. And no, I’m not running for office, not running away to St. Croix just yet and I still don’t have any camouflaged clothing. Unless you call khaki’s for the jobsite a form of camouflage. I gots lots of those, oh yes.
I hope and pray that such times will not come, but there’s a reality to be dealt with. ‘Nuff said, and be at peace with it. Only way I can stomach this kind of stuff is to keep it in mind, but deal with the distractions of grocery clerks and paying bills and letting the dog out first thing in the morning.
Yesterdays distraction was going out and ordering one of these:
Yeah, I know. “Boy, you sure are doing your part for peak oil, sport.”
There’s a plan here. But I promised not to get all Rambo-like on this page, and it isn’t like that. Not entirely. It’s mostly a reaction to the confinement of the Dwarf Garage as much as anything else, and wanting to increase the old work efficiency. And settle the limitations of my much beloved F250.
Ally said, “I thought you were going to get the plain ol’ bigger box truck that cost so much less. What the hell happened? How much did it cost?”
I shrugged, spun circles on the floor for a while and panted with a grin and hanging tongue, not quite unlike the Lab, sitting in regal audience to all of this.
“Oh God, you got it ‘cause it was cooler, didn’t ye,” she groaned.
“But honey, it’s got the side boxes, and it’s gonna get so much better gas mileage, and it’ll fit in the driveway better, and . . .”
“You got it ‘cause it’s cooler. That’s pretty much it.”
Well just damn, it is quite a bit cooler. Downright trendy, if you really wanna know. But I wasn’t going to tell her that. No way. I already knew she wasn’t particularly mad or upset about the whole thing. Why argue?
It’s just another form of survival, I tell you.
Why, hiding the checkbook never crossed my mind. Not ever once.
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