8/13/07

I was going to say that Guantanimo Cuba is very nice this time of year, but have been advised against it. So, what has been going on? Let’s see, Thursday evening John and I went to see “Hot Rod,” the “Napoleon Dynamite” wannabe movie about a geek who thinks he’s a stunt man. It was funny, but not a very good movie. Friday I spent the day in Cuba as a guest of the gubment… No, wait. No I didn’t. I was here at work. Yeah, that’s right, at work. Going about my normal business, as usual. Yeah, that’s it. Saturday morning, based on previous weeks’ experience that if John doesn’t call Friday evening to confirm he’s coming he usually doesn’t show up on Saturday, I headed to the shop to meet Marty Smith at our prearranged time of 0900 h. Of course I would have been a bit tardy for that as well, but who’s counting? I get a call from John, on behalf of Marty, asking what my ETA is. I inform them I am en route and will arrive within the semi-demi-hour. That would be half of a half hour, or fifteen minutes, by the way. I arrive and assess John's situation. I grab a few tools I will need for the shackle installation, assuming it will even be possible, and then Marty and I head for GDRA. Marty gets the keys to the auto shop from the GDRA office and we get to work. We finger out where to locate Fifi on the lift and pick her up. I notice a big floor jack and we try to use it to lift the axle. The truck begins to teeter on the lift so we reassess. We go back to the original plan of lowering the truck so the ground takes the weight of the axle. I crawl under and begin to remove bolts. Apparently we hit the height just right with the lift because the first bolt comes right out. I remove the nut from the second bolt but cannot remove it due to (tee hee, doo-doo!) it hitting the frame. It is in from the “wrong” direction. I move to the other side and perform the same disassembly procedure. I have Marty lift the truck so the shackle will drop below the frame rail but it hangs on the shocks. I disconnect them and we try again. Now the axle hangs on the brake line just shy of the point where the bolt will come out. We pry it out finally and I move to the other side. This time I realize I'd be better off lowering the truck so the bolt comes out above the frame rail. This we do and the stock shackles are out. I wrangle the new shackles into the frame and insert the bolts. Marty finesses the lift until I can get the bolts in the spring end of the shackles. I reinstall the shocks and he sets the truck on the ground where I tighten all the bolts. I get up and stand back to have a look. Well, I guess it is more level now. The whole truck still needs to come down about half a foot, but it is better, I suppose. See, my problem is that I can’t see changes like that unless they are drastic. Oh well. We clean up and head back to my shop. Gregg calls to say he and Dave are on the way with a battery so they can try to start the engine in the black RX-7. I say, “Cool,” because it is. Well, no, actually it was very hot, but I digress. John has changed the mirrors on the blue four-door 510 and is in the process of changing the rear springs. He takes a break to look at Fifi and gives it a “thumbs up.” He finishes and drives around the building. It is still too low. He’s wore plumb out so I suggest he take a breather while I back Fifi in to re-weld one of the zorst hangers. He allows me to do this. When I'm finished he asks if I'd be willing to go to the store and buy some Gatorade. I try to send him in the air conditioning of Fifi but he wants to get cracking on changing the springs, again. I neglect to tell him that Gregg is coming and agree to go to the store. On the way out I meet Gregg. We chat and I head out again. I get back and John downs a quart of Gatorade. Gregg and Dave are installing the battery in the RX-7 and John is halfway through the second spring swap of the day. I help John after checking on G&D. John finishes up as Dave gets a call from some dude he knows who’s out running around in his new Mustang GT. They give him directions to the shop and he shows up. The three of them talk while John and I decide to go to lunch. I hop in Stinky and follow John to Don Pablo’s. We eat and I head back to the shop. They are still standing around talking. Gregg and Dave have convinced this guy he needs to buy a bunch of hot rod parts for the Mustang and are ‘splaining what all he “needs.” After a while, talk turns to the Seven so I let Gregg take the guy for a hoon. They get back and he’s hooked. He’s a “speed junky” now. He finally leaves and the three of us go to Joe’s Pizza and Pasta for food. I'm considering it dinner, they consider it lunch. I drive Mr. Wiggly there and they follow. I hook the turn at the railroad tracks and leave Gregg in the dust. They can’t believe Mr. Wiggly will do what I just did with him! Tee hee. They stop for some gasoline, since we thought at that time that that was what was keeping the RX-7 from firing, and I head back to the shop. With fresh gas in the tank, they try the RX-7 again. No dice. We shoost some ether in but it still doesn’t fire. We declare it dead and decide it is a good thing. Now it won’t distract Gregg from the Z-car and Seven projects. Of course it still means two more dead vehicles at my shop but he’s paying the rent on that spot so I'm easy. We all head for our homes. Around 2200 h I get a call from Amy. That would be the original Amy, not the one from the railroad/airport. She wants me to come out drinking. I agree and head that way. She’s sitting with a friend, Ally is her name, and I join them. We have a few beers and Ally asks if I'll do a shot with her. “Why not,” I say and she goes to the bar to get them. She’s cute enough, I'm obsessed with her “Roman nose” by the way, so I figure I'd go with whatever the night holds for me. Amy’s husband arrives and we hang for a bit longer. The “band” packs up and says they are going to another bar to see another band. It is described as “Circus Metal” and it piques our curiosity. I settle up my tab so we can go and that song from “Plump Friction” er, I mean “Pulp Fiction,” the one that goes something like “Girl… [dee dow dow dow] You’ll be a woman… soon,” comes on the jukebox. I say, “I HATE this fucking song,” as I arrive at the table. Ally says something like, “Oh, I can just picture that scene from the movie when I hear this.” I ask, “Plump Friction?” and am acknowledged as being correct. I announce that I hate Quinten Tarrantino as well and declare him a hack. Ally says the two of us can never fall in love because she thinks he’s great. I think to myself, “Honey, with my commitment issues, QT is the least of our worries,” but let it slide. We head for the second bar. There is a $12.00 per head cover to get in. We pass. Well, Amy, Sam, and I pass, Ally goes on in. The rest of us chat a bit in the parking lot and then head for our homes. I crash out and don’t roll out of bed until 1030 h Sunday morning. I wait around for mom but she eats at the church. I head for the shop thinking I'll take the Seven to the gas station and for a little hoon but meet Marty Smith on the way in. He asks if I've eaten lunch yet, and since I hadn’t, we go to Sweet Home Chicago. It is hot in the restaurant but we eat there anyway. Back at the shop I notice the thermometer on the wall reads 120 degrees so I decide I'm not going to do anything there after all. I go for a drive in Fifi instead. After burning up some dinosaurs, fuck the environment and all you tree-hugging environmentalists, I head home. I waste the evening waiting for “The Comedy Central Roast of Flavor Flav” then go to bed. Now I'm here at work and y'all are caught up. It is now lunchtime so I'm going to go eat. Talk to y'all tomorrow.