Alarming News: I like Morgan Freeberg. A lot.
American Digest: And I like this from "The Blog That Nobody Reads", because it is -- mostly -- about me. What can I say? I'm on an ego trip today. It won't last.
Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler: We were following a trackback and thinking "hmmm... this is a bloody excellent post!", and then we realized that it was just part III of, well, three...Damn. I wish I'd written those.
Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler: ...I just remembered that I found a new blog a short while ago, House of Eratosthenes, that I really like. I like his common sense approach and his curiosity when it comes to why people believe what they believe rather than just what they believe.
Brutally Honest: Morgan Freeberg is brilliant.
Dr. Melissa Clouthier: Morgan Freeberg at House of Eratosthenes (pftthats a mouthful) honors big boned women in skimpy clothing. The picture there is priceless--keep scrolling down.
Exile in Portales: Via Gerard: Morgan Freeberg, a guy with a lot to say. And he speaks The Truth...and it's fascinating stuff. Worth a read, or three. Or six.
Just Muttering: Two nice pieces at House of Eratosthenes, one about a perhaps unintended effect of the Enron mess, and one on the Gore-y environ-movie.
Mein Blogovault: Make "the Blog that No One Reads" one of your daily reads.
The Virginian: I know this post will offend some people, but the author makes some good points.
Poetic Justice: Cletus! Ah gots a laiv one fer yew...
Just scraped the following image off Google Earth, Street View.
Oh yeah, and that’s cute, the image hosting service calls it “meatpump” from the local filename me-at-pump.jpg. Go on, get yer minds outta the gutter…
Anyway. The make/model of the coupe is not immediately recognizable. Sure looks like Bessie, with that distinctive, out-of-time, late-eighties “compact cars are still sort of compact” body style & shape. And that’s exactly where I used to fuel up, that very pump. That stall, that pump, that side. “Please pull up to forward pump,” the signs say, and since I was just learning to drive I always took that literally. That’s over three decades now, I have always pulled up to the forward pump.
The wife says it isn’t me, it’s a Honda Accord and not a Toyota Corolla. On closer inspection, it looks like she could be right. There’s a certain bulbous shape to this that I don’t recall from the 340 thousand mile iron chariot. B-u-u-u-t…there’s the other stuff. The hubcap design, for example. Very distinctive. Bessie had those. Not too many other cars did. This one does.
There’s a dude next to it, pumping the gas. Sure looks like me.
This coming Saturday we have a double-date. We’re meeting another couple at this very spot. We owe them a steak dinner, because the communist won re-election last year. Going to spend a couple nights at our favorite oceanside vacation spot. Last two or three years have been a bit rough, so we haven’t been going. Now that we’re cornered into it, I’m looking forward to it. Kinda need this break.
That’s 150.2 miles, from this spot (I reset the trip odometer when I fill up, don’t you?) to where you pull in, check in, haul your own luggage up to your room, soak your ass in a hot tub and watch the ocean waves crash up against the seashore. I know every single inch of that trip. It slices through the wine country in Napa Valley like a hot knife through a stick of butter. Mrs. Freeberg and I are going to be “tour guides,” of sorts, on this thing, and although everyone’s political opinions are not quite exactly the same — did I mention we’re really, really looking forward to it?
Back to the image, though: No it probably isn’t me. But it’s still creepy…
Update: Photo must be aged by a few years, which raises the likelihood somewhat. The gas station stopped being a Shell and started being an Arco AM/PM, quite some time ago.
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