My father was long deceased, my brother back from Vietnam. My sister was eleven. We were living in a solid Dade County Pine wood house in Miami. It had survived the hurricanes of the mid sixties just fine.

My mother purchased my first automobile for me. It was a dark green 1960 Plymouth Valiant.  It featured four doors, vinyl seats and a 225 cu in (3.7 L) Slant-6 engine. I think it had about 45,000 miles on it. It looked great. It drove great.

Earlier, during the summer the torture of learning to command a steel automobile on the highways took its toll on me. By the time the summer thunderheads had moved away, replaced by the clear blue skies of October, I was exhausted. A number of individuals had attempted to teach me the skills necessary to keep the Valiant between the lines.  I’m not sure if all of them actually had driver’s licenses themselves. One of them may have been drunk at the time. Several of them took up drinking after working with me.

Eventually my mother paid money she didn’t have to the Easy Method Driving School. A professional. I’m not sure about his recreational drinking habits, but he was good, and soon I was driving my 1960 Plymouth Valiant alone to Miami Central High School.

The excitement and the freedom that driving brought to a 17 year old is difficult to describe. I recall it with fondness as one of the great feelings of all time. This was before I discovered drive-in movies and necking, but that is another story for later, after the kids go to bed.

The Valiant was a stick shift. Three speeds and a reverse. I drove it about three miles to school and then back. Each day I experimented with different roads. I avoided any traffic lights that featured even a slight incline, as I had not mastered the ability to release the clutch and break and then shift into first gear without stalling or rolling backward too far. I was fine on flat roads, and thankfully there were plenty of those in Miami then.

It took me longer and longer to get home from school, as I found long round about routes to gain more experience. I avoided left turns onto major highways, as my mother told me a few right turns can equal one tough left. She was right, sort of.

The Valiant did not come with air conditioning, but it did have an AM radio and an analog clock that didn’t work. I could listen to the two rock and roll stations, WFUN and WQAM. I favored WFUN most of the time, but really, I listened to whoever was playing the rock and roll instead of a commercial.

I drove all over Miami with the windows rolled down listing to “Sugar, Sugar” by the Archies, “Build me up Buttercup” by the Foundations and “Crystal Blue Persuasion” by Tommy James and the Shondells.

The Valiant had window vents, like most other cars of the time period. A small window that you could push out or in and thus direct air from the outside into the vehicle. Of all the old things on old cars I miss, it is the glass vents I miss the most.

After driving all over for about three to four weeks, something very scary developed. The gasoline gauge neared the big red “E” indicating empty. Holy crap! You see, I wasn’t an opinionated loud mouth arrogant so and so then. I was a bashful, shy nervous kid. I had no clue how to obtain gasoline. I was terrified. Each morning I would stare at the red needle of the gas gauge, praying that I could make it to school and back without having to face buying gas. But each day the red needle sank lower and lower.

Back then self service was unheard of. You pulled into a gas station and rode over a rubber hose that went Ding Ding loud enough to make the mechanic who had his head stuck in some one’s engine block hear it. This big hairy man would amble out of the garage and wait on you. No one left their vehicles. The guy would come out and ask you want you wanted. You would tell him. He would get the gas going and then pop your hood and check your oil, water and anything else he could find. Then he would close the hood, wipe his finger prints off your hood with a dirty red garage rag, and then wash your windshield.

It really was pretty simple. But when you are a skinny kid with zero self confidence, something as simple as getting gas could be akin to walking into hell. You see, I grew up believing that the space that my little body took up in the universe could be better utilized by plain air. I had a speech defect so severe that until the fifth grade few people could understand what I was saying, if I wasn’t too scared to say anything at all.  I was often mistaken for a Cuban refugee.

Everything I did I did wrong, and I lived in a constant state of embarrassment. So, just figuring out how to get gas for the Valiant was a very stressful thing for me. I was intimated by air, so the big ugly mechanic was like a monster to me.

One sunny afternoon, with the gasoline needle dipping below “E” the fear of running the gasoline tank dry and having the car stop in the middle of the road became greater than my fear of the gas station. I drove up almost shaking. The rubber hose went Ding! Ding, and I hoped the guy wasn’t too busy. Some stations hired gas jockeys to do nothing but pump gas. But not at this little garage. As I was about to drive off, I saw the mechanic emerge from the garage, wiping his hands on his dark blue work slacks.

As he walked up to my window, I rolled it down and stuck a $5.00 bill at him and shouted “Fill it up please!”

The guy looked at me like I was an idiot. He stuffed the five dollar bill back at me and told me to pay after he filled up the tank. He then started the gas pump and popped the hood and checked the oil, brake fluid, radiator fluid etc.  I was terrified he might find something that was low, because all I had was the five spot. Worse, what if he said my oil was down a quart? What would I do? If I didn’t OK the oil purchase would he think me a total idiot? Unlike today, I actually cared what total strangers thought about me. Thank God I got over that!

I sat in the Valiant filled with tension, my fists gripping the steering wheel. Eventually the gas pump shut off automatically, he closed the hood and walked around back to remove the gas hose. Then I paid him. He gave me change. Yes, five dollars filled up my tank and gave me a quarter and a dime change.

I thanked him and started the car. He stopped me.

“First car?” He asked. Yikes, how did he know? Did I do something stupid?

‘Ah..yeah, it is.” I stammered

“You hit anything yet?” He asked.

“No sir.”

“Good. Relax then kid. We’ve all been there. Just relax and drive carefully, you hear?’

“Yes sir.”

“In a few months you will get the hang of it and feel a lot more comfortable. Just don’t get too comfortable, know what I mean?”

“Yes sir, I will, I mean, I won’t, I mean, yes sir!”

“Nice car. Slant six. They are almost indestructible. See you again soon, kid.”

He then knocked on the side of my car with his hand and waved me away.

As I shifted from second to third I smiled to myself, feeling excited. I had gotten gas!!! All by myself! (Sort of).

You have to know my early childhood to understand why this was such an accomplishment for me. Just trust me now, it really was. And the big hairy mechanic was nice to me. Wow.

I drove down a quiet road I knew at 40 MPH with all the windows open and freedom flowing into my soul as “Time of the Season” by the Zombies blasted out of the radio.

Just like your first kiss, a man never forgets his first automobile. My 1960 Plymouth Valiant.

I also never purchased gasoline anywhere else for years, until that station closed.

Some Blogging Guy

I work on a large campus that features numerous buildings separated by sidewalks. That means I am constantly putting my sunglasses on, then removing them, then back on, then off, ad nauseum

My entire life I have purchased cheap sunglasses from the grocery store or the local combination pharmacy/convenience store. Walgreens, CVS, etc. I generally go through at least three pairs a year, often more like five or six. I almost never lose a pair. They break. Either the lens pops out, or the cheap plastic becomes so scratched that I can’t see through them, or the arms break in some manner.

I calculated that I must be spending an average of $50 to $100 a year for cheap sunglasses. They usually cost me anywhere from $12.00 to $19.99. More often about $15 bucks.

It is somewhat frustrating when the stupid sunglasses break. It really became irritating having to purchase a new pair every three months or so. I do my best to take good care of the glasses, but utilizing a case is impractical.

So, today, after several months of pondering the obvious, I decided to purchase a pair of real sunglasses. Something that would put me back more than $14.99.

My first stop at the mall early this morning was at the Sun Glass Hut. The huge kiosk in the middle of the mall seemed like a good starting place.  Wow, was I mistaken. The cheapest pair he had was on clearance for $120. Most of the others had prices above $250. I mean way above.  Thankfully, the guy had a little compassion and directed me to one of the fancy department stores. Macy or Dillards he told me, might have lower priced sunglasses.

He was correct. I was able to locate a decent pair of Oakley sunglasses at Dillards.

They fit very comfortably and seem to do a competent job of keeping the South Florida glare out of my eyes. I didn’t have a lot of options, as I wasn’t interested in spending a whole lot of cash on just sunglasses. I mean, I was willing to move up from $14.99 but I wasn’t willing to break into the hundreds.

This pair is called by Oakley the “Square Whisker”, and depending upon the particular model you can purchase them online from Oakley for $150 to $225.

I paid $42 plus tax at Dillards. They had them under double lock and key in a glass display case, like they were shotguns or 200 year old wine. Weird. I mean, they are just sunglasses!

So, tomorrow the experiment begins. I’m interested in seeing how they hold up to my abuse. Granted, I am going to attempt to take better care of them, but I’m still not going to treat them like eggs or anything. No case, just sticking them on my face and then in my shirt pocket, then back on my face, then the shirt pocket and then eventually on top of my desk.

$42 still seems like a whole lot of dough for just sunglasses, so they best last me at least a year.

I would be interested in hearing your sunglasses stories. Just go up to the top of this post and click on comments.

Some Blogging Guy

It was pretty stunning.

Sawgrass Recreational Park was an excellent location to catch the sun.

And the early morning birds…

The rest of the drive up was nice but uneventful. After breakfast we traveled a bit south to Lake Placid, where my wife visited with her folks and I drove about enjoying the beautiful tree lined roads. No burger kings, no strip malls, no self storage buildings and no Walgreens on every third corner. Just trees and fields.

I was able to recharge my spirit.

And I ran across a couple of Sandhill Cranes.

After a lovely visit which also included watching a young Jimmy Stewart in the “Glenn Miller Story”, we heading back down Route 27 toward South Florida.

It being still summer, we ran into a monster of a storm.

Talk about a bruising sky…..the heavens opened up and we drove through several fierce rain storms. The kind that make you slow down to 35 or 40 and pop your flashers on while getting yourself right with God.

It was nice to arrive home where we could enjoy a quiet evening. And not go to work tomorrow because of the Labor Day holiday. Yeah, I’m sleeping late tomorrow.

Peace out.

Some Blogging Guy

Meanwhile, I decided to empty my iphone pics and see what I have captured the last few weeks.

Here is the photo of the Pendleton Blended Canadian Whiskey that my dear brother in Idaho has mailed to me.

Pendelton Blended Canadian Whiskey is hard to spell after you’ve had a couple of large sips. Took me 17 attempts. Who knew “Canadian” was such a difficult spelling challenge?  It is real honest to God Canadian whiskey aged in old 1950′s Desotos for five years before delivered by station wagons to the distillers in Oregon. Yes, I did say Oregon. Which is pronounced almost as one syllable. Never  “Ore-a-gone”. Do that while you are out there and a local will stick their boot up your arse. If you call up Dictionary.com and read the pronunciation guide for Oregon it says “awr-i-goh-nee-uhn” What the Hell is that? That is supposed to help me figure out how to pronounce it? If I try that it will sound like I am gargling with marbles.

Anyway, this is a closer view of their famous label, which honors the world famous and ever popular Pendelton Oregon Roundup.

It is designed to give tribute to the great cowboys and cowgirls of the Great West.

As well as crazy Florida bloggers who can’t hold their liquor.

My brother had to mail me a bottle as I was unsuccessful in locating it at a local booze superstore.I don’t think it can be found locally as yet.

Anyway, it has become my new spirit of choice. The first sip will be just a little like being smacked along the back of the head with a shovel. But from that point on it is smooth and silky. It has a almost vanilla flavor to it. I drink it ice cold.

I can’t swear to this, but I suspect it has minor time travel capabilities.

This next photograph that I downloaded from my Iphone is of a spear that I saw in my office as I left the building Friday night.

Yes my dear friends, that appears to be a spear. What it is doing resting against the wall by the employee exit I can’t rightly say. This was one of those “Oh…OK” moments, where you just take a photo and walk away. The point was sharp and it did have that red stuff on it near the tip. Some tape was wrapped around the handle at the other end. It looked like it had been used recently.

Beats me. And this was before the Pendelton arrived!!!

The above photograph is of a bench outside Pet Smart in Pembroke Pines. I just took the photo when I was in one of my artsy moods. Not too bad. Maybe when I sober up I will look at it and question my judgement, but that will be in a few hours….

This photo below is a very unattractive and most certainly un-artsy image.

However, it holds some special personal significance to me. It is the empty college classroom where I am teaching again this semester. Yes, Some Crazy Wacko Blogging Dude is college faculty. Who would have thunk it? It is only one course, but that is enough. I do so much enjoy the energy and enthusiasm of the college kids. They are so much fun. I know I often put down this generation, but there are a large portion of them that are really cool and interesting. Smart I am not so sure, but cool and interesting, yes. Like I said, they are literally bursting at the seams with the energy of youth. It does encourage me.

This is a picture of a 1960 Plymouth Valiant.

It was the first automobile that I ever owned. I am working on a memoir of sorts about the adventures of my first car. Keep tuned for that to show up in the next week or so.

Well, this late afternoon/early evening Saturday still holds some excitement for me I hope, so I am signing off for now. Have a great Saturday night my friends.

Some Blogging Guy