Sunday, January 16, 2016.
Thinking About Beetles. Goodbye, Again.
It's a very chilly morning. I sleep badly, thinking through the PT Cruiser Massacree. Mary Leigh is up early for her. She will head back to D.C. at noonish. She'd like to have breakfast with me. We go to Mattina Bella for pancakes, scrambled eggs and bacon. The restaurant is nearly full at eighty-thirty. We talk about the wedding plans and the VW Beetle. She's all for my buying it, for the usual reasons. She wouldn't have such a car herself (although she's close to doing so, since she drives an Audi). But she thinks the Beetle is a perfect match for my personality. I agree. But we have to sit on the whole thing all day, because auto dealers are prohibited from operating on Sundays.
When the Marys head to the airport, I take a five-lap walk around the grounds. First good walk I've had in a week. I take a long nap. MA returns, and we have dinner at Zea. The usual menu for me: tomato soup, the southwestern crab cakes, a scoop of ice cream. MA has a salad. We return and I take another nap, after first making a list of all the things I have to do brought on by the car collision. Making such a list always tones down the angst.
I come to a conclusion: I will buy the Beetle tomorrow. Pulling that together requires me to compose tomorrow's newsletter tonight. Which I do.
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Monday, January 18, 2016.
MLK Day Is Beetle Day, Today.
Number Two Program Director Todd Menesses told me that I will have no radio show today. Martin Luther King Day is a company holiday, and while I would have preferred doing the show as usual, I know a lot of the support staff wants and deserves the day off, so I let it go.
Besides, I need the time myself. I call the VW dealer and tell them to get the paperwork and the car ready: I will adopt it. It feels good. While waiting, I look at some old magazine ads for the original Beetle. I don't have to check the dates on the ads to know how old they are. These VWs are from sometime between 1958 and 1961. I owned a 1959 and a 1960, so I can tell the subtle differences.
[caption id="attachment_49935" align="alignnone" width="320"]
Dining room at Smoke.[/caption]
We have lunch first, at Smoke. That's the new barbecue joint created by the guy who owns Ox Lot 9 in the Southern Hotel in Covington. A minute after we place the order, I get a call from my insurance agent, who wants to record my description of the accident. It goes on long enough that Mary Ann finishes her lunch. She waits for me, still picking at a pair of ribs. I eat a brisket sandwich. It is spectacular, with slices of beef about as thick as two stacked dimes. The edges are charred and a quarter-inch-deep smoke ring flanks it. The beef is very tender, without a hint of dryness--the big problem with barbecue brisket. I think the cole slaw is great. Does MA? "It's the second best I've ever tasted," she says. "Yours is Number One." Well, well.
It takes all afternoon to fill out the forms for the car, and figure out which of the extended warranty programs, if any, are worth getting. Then Hans shows off the potentialities of the Beetle's radio. It's astonishing. The only thing I can't find is the HD button--but that's always invisible. He also points out a host of lighting inside the car, most of which seems more decorative than useful.
I discover that my Beetle has a turbo. Great! The PT Cruiser had turbo, too, and I have become accustomed to it.
So far, I like this car. I wonder what part of my satisfaction has to do with the fact that this is a modern resurrection of my first automobile, and the halcyon days in which I owned it. I feel sixteen again.
Smoke. Covington: 1005 North Collins Blvd. 985-302-5307.
Dining room at Smoke.[/caption]
We have lunch first, at Smoke. That's the new barbecue joint created by the guy who owns Ox Lot 9 in the Southern Hotel in Covington. A minute after we place the order, I get a call from my insurance agent, who wants to record my description of the accident. It goes on long enough that Mary Ann finishes her lunch. She waits for me, still picking at a pair of ribs. I eat a brisket sandwich. It is spectacular, with slices of beef about as thick as two stacked dimes. The edges are charred and a quarter-inch-deep smoke ring flanks it. The beef is very tender, without a hint of dryness--the big problem with barbecue brisket. I think the cole slaw is great. Does MA? "It's the second best I've ever tasted," she says. "Yours is Number One." Well, well.
It takes all afternoon to fill out the forms for the car, and figure out which of the extended warranty programs, if any, are worth getting. Then Hans shows off the potentialities of the Beetle's radio. It's astonishing. The only thing I can't find is the HD button--but that's always invisible. He also points out a host of lighting inside the car, most of which seems more decorative than useful.
I discover that my Beetle has a turbo. Great! The PT Cruiser had turbo, too, and I have become accustomed to it.
So far, I like this car. I wonder what part of my satisfaction has to do with the fact that this is a modern resurrection of my first automobile, and the halcyon days in which I owned it. I feel sixteen again.
