In June 2016, I will hold an award ceremony, hosted by Morgan Freeman. Categories will include
- Best Passenger in a Supporting Role [aka Front Seat GPS Luddite]
- Farthest [Furthest?]
- Best Fact-Filled
Award Winning Short Films
The screen goes dark and instead of 45 minutes of previews, short films appear. Some are cartoons – line drawings morphing from a small child to a fully grown Tyrannosaurus Rex. Others could shine in the film noir section, circa 1949. Think Maltese Falcon.
These black-and-white glimpses into Saturday night’s one-toke-over-the-liners become my Ubers of Shame on Sunday mornings. I whisper, play Symphony Hall softly and try to make them feel better, just short of menudo. I suggest purchasing a can of ‘hair of the dog’; or, if they’re not that far down the razor blade to full-blown pro drinker, stopping at a greasy-spoon diner. For those whose destination is somewhere in the vicinity of where they left their car, I congratulate them.
More than once, I couldn’t find mine. Lost my red Ford Falcon Futura convertible somewhere around St Andrews Place in Los Angeles, in 1967. Later, I misplaced my orange VW with mag wheels, in Newport or Laguna, or Costa Mesa – name an Orange County city.
Millennials will never understand what life was like before the “Find my Car” app.
Lyft without the Mustache
Breaking news! I’ve just enrolled to be a Lyft driver. Stay tuned as my life gets an anthropological injection of comparative civilizations