American Idle

Love or hate the show, put that aside. If ever you were curious about what Bert from Sesame Street would look like if he were black, and, you know, a real person, look no further: HEY BERT

My early favorites? Blake Lewis and Chris Sligh (also the closest to being Ernie)

Dear Papa John's,

Dear Papa John,

As a father, you must surely realize the importance of protecting your children from harm.

With that said, I beg you to stop heating your pizzas in those oven pouches the drivers carry.

While I appreciate this commitment to "hot" and "fresh," I will be frank. I burn the roof of my mouth on your still-too-bubbly cheese every time.

And the pizza is hot, yes, but it's also a bit overcooked. And I generally don't eat food prepared using the power from a car's cigarette lighter, if you must know. It's unnatural.

So, please, just return to the insulation method of yesteryear. My mouth thanks you.

Best wishes,
Lisa

"What an unfortunate nickname," I thought.

A mini van cut me off on my way to work yesterday.
The license plate read JEFFGINA.
Looking back, it's probably Jeff & Gina. But I read it "Jeff-jai-nuh."

Assimilation Com--..... Assimilation Comp--

I'm slow to assimilate to Charlotte. I struggle with the thought of getting an NC driver's license or plates on my car. I refuse to say y'all or get excited about the teal-clad, unexciting Panthers. But I'm trying to do it, one step at a time. Baby steps.

For instance, I got my first oil change down here the other day. It's always good to forge a relationship with a local who can explain noises and whatnot that may stop your ride. As it happened, I picked a pretty interesting place to spend an hour reading weeks old Sports Illustrated and Sporting News addressed to some guy named Frank.

The lobby of the garage is really small - there were five chairs. So you see and hear everything.

A man came in with a 5-year-old girl in tow. Said he needed a new muffler, and you could hear when he pulled up that he did. After a quick estimate, the man was even quicker to turn down the quoted price. The guy behind the counter lowered the offer quite discretely, not to haggle, but out of obvious concern. The young father just turned and left with a loud engine roar. According to Counter Guy, his brake pedal was to the floor and the exhaust is leaking into the car's interior. He had lowered the price to try to protect the little girl. "You can't make someone be responsible," he sighed.

Next was a man who already had the part he needed. He carried this long, banged up muffler piece that if it was the working part, I'd hate to see the "old" one. He had warred with value and won, getting this part from a junkyard. "This part new is $200," went his battle cry, "and I got one for a dollar fifty." It cost him $60 to put the part on, and there's no guarantee that it would work, but that is beside the point. He ran off to Wal-Mart while the work was being done, undoubtedly in search of his next bargain.

Two early twenty-somethings came in needing some minor repairs, a man and a woman. I offered to shift over a seat so they could sit together, but they declined. They spoke over me in quick, staccato Spanish. And the best part is, ever since my high school Spanish classes, I've been waiting for a real conversation to take place in public that I could understand, and here I finally found it. A brief transcript:
Isabel's party is on Saturday.
On Saturday? Why not Friday?
She has school on Friday.
School?
I'm hungry.
Let's eat over there.
I'm hungry. Now.
What time is it?
What is the date today?
How is the weather outside?

Ok, I made up the last three. But the rest really happened.

North by Midwest

A couple random thoughts, scrawled in my notebook Wednesday at 30,000 feet:

• Either "Yanni" is a word in Chinese, or the people behind me really like talking about the singer.
  
• Flying over a half-frozen Lake Michigan is one of the most beautiful things I've seen. It's like a miles long green marble.