Allow me to explain…
It’s been kinda krazy since I escaped the gravitational pull of the Arizona desert and limped back home. It wasn’t easy, nor pretty – especially with the lion’s share of my cash tied up in a luxury home and pool in Oro Valley.
Thus I had to do everything imaginable – short of dealing drugs – to fund my not-so-great escape.
Throw in some lame bus and train trips, a complicated U-Haul misadventure, and awkward weeks spent packing up my life’s ongoing, traveling roadshow.
OK, what else…
Had a couple weird getaways to hangs like Mayfield, Kentucky. A year of playing musical cars at BMW, Volkswagen, Masarati and Alfa Romeo – in Topeka, Lawrence and Kansas City.
Then I finally got the green light to replace both of my knees – at the same time. That required three separate surgeries and left me borderline bedridden, followed by wobbly and now in therapy. A hoped for return to the automotive sales world is penciled in for this February/March.
On top of which, after moving back last year, some loser driving his girlfriend’s uninsured Ford Taurus crossed the center line in Topeka and totaled my beloved Honda. A couple of emergency room visits, were followed by me getting an even hipper steed, a 40th Anniversary Volkswagen GLI six-speed manual.
Of course, I’ve had to nursemaid what’s left of poor Dwight, after his tennis racket debacle with a gay, Mission Hills house sitter who literally ran him down near his house during COVID.
Any fun stuff, you ask? Not much…
But who doesn’t love a long distance divorce with a lawyer wife.
Besides me.
And frankly, while the crashing of cars and knee surgeries weren’t exactly a blessing, they made up n an odd way for what passes for my non existent romantic life…
Met a friend of my wife who was (and is) a totally lame conspiracy buff.
She gave me the phone number of a dude she knows that sells 8 ounce cans of water in drab military-looking cans for like ten bucks each…to dramatically hasten my recovery from the knee surgeries. She got up at the crack of dawn each day to listen to a weird a woman “prophet” from Texas, who says she’s on a first name basis with God. Who gives her the skinny on what the “mainstream media” is up to.
Conspiracy buff, right?
More recently, I’ve been texting a grrrl whose grandmother had a May / December relationship and marriage to Glen Wood Dickinson Sr. -the founder of the Dickinson Theaters movie chain. Like a million years ago.
She lives in a Missouri town so small I can’t believe it has a name, and gets by by driving Amish women to see midwives in out-of-the-way, middle-of-nowhere locations. It’s not what you’d call lucrative, but who doesn’t wanna make a buck a mile.
So here’s the deal; I’m planning on giving all this up and getting back into the car racket nest year.
BMW and Volkswagen? Count me in. Masarati and Alfa Romeo? Uh, pass. Honda, Nissan or whatever, hey, I really like cars and people and those could work.
And I’m making a vow to Platte County Landmark publisher Ivan Foley to choke out a column a week, come heck or high water.
Small step for mankind, right?
And like everybody else on our planet, I’m excited to watch Donald Trump drive people of a certain philosophy krazy. And lest losers like Harley wanna brand me, let me remind you: I’ve voted for Nixon, Ralph Nader, Obama as well as Mr. T – so I play the field.
Now let’s find out what’s gonna happen with Patrick Mahomes goofy, missing-in-action brother. And how long Travis Kelce can string Taylor Swift along before she figures out what a classy dude he is.
He’s in the chips now, but he’s dangerously close to leaving football and those celebrity cereal box deals could be harder to come by for a podcaster who drinks way too much, and acts the fool after Super Bowl wins.
Onward!
