Anecdote

I'm also taking a Spanish class. How I'm going to manage juggling Monday Night Football, guitar class on Tuesday nights, Spanish class on Wednesday nights, and Survivor on Thursday nights is somewhat beyond my comprehension. Plus street hockey season has started full swing. I fall into bed each night and just off to sleep I go. Each morning I try to wake up at 5 to catch up on grading tests and such that I'm way behind in, but I just can't do it.

But anyway, I'm taking the Spanish class with Mark. He essentially forced me to do it, signing up and telling me that it would be really mean of me to not take it too since he was going out of his way to come all the way down to Menlo Park for a Spanish class. It's been ok so far. Just like a high school course - very much by the book, chapter by chapter. Most of the folks in there are in their 40s and up. A lot of interesting people.

After yesterday's class, we went to The Acorn for dinner (porque tenemos hambre después de aprendiendo). It's a mediterranean themed restaurant. But there was one amusing anecdote that I wrote down and felt should be preserved ad infinitum in this blog.

I ordered an apple crisp with vanilla ice cream for dessert. Our waiter says it's big, so we'll probably have to share. Mark, always cognizant of nuts, asked if it had any because he is deathly allergic. The waiter told him no, but he would double check. As he starts to leave, he says, "I guess you'll never have baklava then." Mark replied that no, he wouldn't ever be able to experience that pleasure. So the waiter says, "I feel sorry for you. It's so good." And Mark replied, "I feel sorry for me, too, but for many other reasons." And our waiter, without missing a beat, said, "Exactly."

Exactly.

Making the cut

I've started taking a guitar class. Several summers ago, I bought a guitar. A nice one, at that. Made in Canada. But I never learned to play it. Fate or what have you steered me towards the class catalog of the Sequoia Adult School and there it was, a Beginning Guitar class, from 7 to 9 on Tuesday nights. Perfect!

It's an interesting class. We had our second one tonight. There's about 15 people in there, and it's quite an international bunch. One woman sounds like she's German, and another is definitely British.

Our class is a quasi-sitcom. Sometimes we really test our instructor's (Leone; he's Fijian) patience. Witness the woman of stern bearing who, thankfully, has yet to turn her steely gaze squarely upon me. At the start of every class we tune our guitars and our instructor points to each of us to pluck the string of the day to see if we're in tune. She plucks her string so hard. So very, very hard. Leone implores her to pluck it more gently, but she just stares at him and pulls it back with gusto once more. The English woman constantly blurts out, "Where are we? Where are we?" as she somehow continuously forgets which measures we're playing. Then there's the guy who has come to both classes but WITHOUT a guitar. "I forgot to bring my guitar," he said to Leone. How can you forget to bring your guitar? It's a guitar class!

Leone surprised us all by revealing that he would be splitting the class into two groups and two sessions. The first hour would be for the folks who need a lot of help and support, and the second hour would be for those who can move a little faster. After my performance in class (I have to admit, I didn't do much practicing), I felt sure he'd stick me in the "slow" class. My heart started to pound as I prepared for the embarrassment, and he went around the room publicly telling each of us which class we would be in. The violent string plucker woman made it into the fast (aka "smart") group. The English woman made it into the fast group. And *I* made it into the fast group. Whew!

Maui pics

Yes, that's right. At long last, the Maui pics are up. You can view them here.

What do you think? Favorite photo? Least favorite photo? Photo you'd like to see? Post your comments.

22 hours

So I picked up my car last night around 8 o'clock and, after only stalling about 6 times as I threaded my way through the happenin' Redwood City night life practicing my shifts into first gear, I couldn't help but smile as time and again the RPMs smoothly went up and the acceleration threw me back in my seat.

At stoplights and sometimes busy intersections, I'd shift into first, clutch all the way in, and then with a expectant grimace on my face and an anxious look in my rearview mirror I'd slowly add the gas and lift off the clutch, breathing a sigh of relief if I made it through with nothing worse than a little of that "I'm new at driving stick" herky jerky motion.

I did a test run to my school, not wanting to pull in this morning with my students, both current and of the past, ooohing and aaaaahing at my new wheels and then watching me stall out as I waited in line behind the school bus to find a parking spot. The test was successful. I glided my car into a front parking spot. Pleased with myself, I then decided to take her home because by now it was getting late and you know how too little sleep makes Mr. Evans grumpy.

Indeed I pulled off a smooth entry to the school parking lot this morning. And I swear the news of my new car spread around the school like wild fire. As I first pulled in, two of my former students who are now eighth graders were sitting on the front steps and said, a look of incredulity on their faces, "You got a new car??!!" They all know about Lady in Red, how I've had her since I was 16, and car problems I've had the last few years. As soon as I parked, several students came up and asked me about it, and as I walked to my classroom through the playground, somehow, some way, kids already knew about it: "I heard you got a new car!" "How much was it?" "Will you take me for a ride in it?"

22 hours after finally picking it up (hence the title of this blog) I had my first encounter with a policeman. 22 hours!!! That must be some kind of record. I'm waiting at a stoplight when a cop on a motorcycle pulls up right next to me and he's looking at my car. I'm thinking, "hmmmm.... he likes my car. Ha ha!" But then he motions to me to put my window down, and I immediately got that sinking feeling you get when you're in trouble (I wonder if J. or A. or J.C. get that feeling when I keep them after school???).

"Don't even ask me what you did wrong!" he begins. Not exactly the most pleasant way to begin a conversation. So I didn't ask him. I waited for what was next.

"Even though I couldn't see the light because I was on the other side of the intersection, it sure looked to me like you ran a red." I was still quieted by his initial command to not ask him what I did wrong, so I kept mum.

"Am I right?" he asked.

I figured it was safe to answer him this time. "Well, actually, I believe the light was yellow when I entered the intersection."

"No, I don't think so," he replied in that 'I'm the policeman here so I'm right' kind of voice that some members of our law enforcement community have. "You need to be drive more carefully so you don't get this new car of yours in an accident. SLOW DOWN!"

But wait - hadn't he just accused me of running a red light? Now he's saying I, the king of driving the speed limit, was speeding? But I simply replied "Yes, sir" as he drove away, my heart pounding a bit in my chest, realizing that not all the attention my car was getting would be positive...

I now own two cars

As of yesterday, some time in the 6 hour marathon that was my trip to Menlo Mazda in Menlo Park, I became the owner of two cars. More importantly, I became the new owner of a silver Mazda RX-8, soon to be with spoiler!

So the deed is done. I figured a big event like this would be worthy of starting up my blog again which has lain dormant since the day after Mark got stung by a jellyfish while we were in Maui. That's quite a long time - perhaps I was stung, too. While it gave Mark a burning sensation and whip-like marks all over his body, maybe it made me blog-averse.

I had to lapse into "Darron the Negotiator" mode (a very rarely used mode, I should say) to get what I felt was a fair price, both for me and for the dealer. I suppose the highlight might have been when, on the verge of a deal with Pedro, the internet sales guy over there, I asked him to give me a few minutes while I called another Mazda dealership from across the bay to see if they could give me a better deal. I HIGHLY RECOMMEND this strategy. I called Al over at Putnam Mazda and told him what Menlo was offering me and he said he'd call me back in 5 minutes with a counter offer. 20 minutes passed. Tension filled minutes, I might add, for Pedro. He kept glancing over at my phone as we awaited the return call, passing the time with small talk about his experience growing up in Peru and the Peruvian restaurant down the street.

Sure enough, the other dealer made me an offer for a more loaded car, with $1100 in extra features that I wanted anyway, for just $500 more than the price Menlo Mazda was offering. Pedro disappeared into the back room to talk to his manager and returned to say they'd match the deal. And so my second car was born. Final price for the car itself prior to taxes and all that: $29,200. About $300 over invoice, $1,000 less than Edmunds.com's True Market Value price. Could I have done better, given the time of year? Maybe, maybe not. Will they be offering some crazy cash back deal in the next few weeks that would have saved me thousands of dollars had I just waited a bit? Maybe. Historically, my timing isn't that great (with women, at least). But I won't worry about that - I got a beautiful car that I wanted for less than what I was willing to pay.

So where is it? Why don't I post a photo? Well... I don't actually have it yet in my physical possession. There's this thing about insurance - you've got to have full coverage to drive it off the lot, and I don't have full coverage on my Camaro, so I've had to wait through this long Labor Day weekend for my insurance agent to get back to work! Frustrating? A bit - but c'est la vie.