Let me start this week by wishing a big Happy Birthday to two of the most important people in my life and two of the best people I’ve ever known. My beautiful wife and my incredible father both celebrated a birthday between the writing of last week’s post and this one. They are two of the people who are most responsible for making me the man I am today. I meant that to be complimentary, but I very well may have just offended both of them with that onus. To be more clear, I was thanking you both, not blaming you. Anyway, I love you both and hope you both had a wonderful birthday.

I think we are just about through all of our vehicular themed weekends for the fall. We’ve been through the Jeeps, the bikers, the fart cars, the classic cars, and the Corvettes. I have mixed opinions about many of these groups. I enjoy MOST of the vehicles as much as the next guy. But some of them are just not exactly lining my pocket when they’re in town. To be honest though, those German Junk Jockeys of H2O International have set the asshole bar so high, that everyone else pales in comparison.

It will never cease to entertain me when I see our once standard September and October demographic of ‘Newlyweds’, and ‘Nearlydeads’ come to visit without doing any research. They come for a nice quiet romantic weekend at what they think is the best possible time of year. Then find themselves completely surrounded by shiny colorful metal, and ridiculously high decibels emanating from the never ending parades of genital overcompensation on wheels. At this point, I have grown to accept the income loss and just enjoy the awkwardness.

There is one more pending gasoline driven weekend coming up that most of you have not heard about yet. In fact, I’m starting it myself, right here, right now. This will be the first annual minivan weekend in O.C. This weekend is for a wide range of people who, like the other automotive themed weekends, have only their vehicles in common. There will be a combination of superhero-esque soccer moms who pull off the impossible on a daily basis getting their children to and fro without ever complaining. Parents who just have that look of complete defeat having accepted their own pathetic existence. They’re just numb to the perils of parenthood, and sit at red lights fantasizing about the lives they once had or could have had. There are the creepers who have darkened out their windows and will one day be the real life inspiration for a character on a Criminal Minds episode. There are the cheerleading and gymnastics Moms forcing their own failed dreams onto their poor unsuspecting daughters and living vicariously through them; perpetually clinging to a big haired, pleated polyester skirt wearing, pom pom wielding, self absorbed 1988 version of themselves. And finally, there are the fast approaching middle aged fathers of multiples who have broken through to the other side. They actually embrace the minivan, all of its diminutive inhabitants, and the perpetual Disney soundtrack played inside of it. They’ve come to grips with their own existence to a point that their own level of coolness is transcendent. They may have once driven a vehicle for the sole purpose of getting laid, and now they have one for the sole purpose of keeping their beloveds safe and happy. In fact, it’s actually conceivable (hypothetically speaking of course) that this guy’s last vehicle prior to the minivan was a fully loaded black Mercedes Benz E class with all black leather interior and a kickass sound system. Just sayin.

So if anyone is looking for me this weekend, I’ll be in the parking lot where the Hooters used to be uptown. I’ll be sitting in a beach chair under a canopy next to my 2008 Honda Odyssey which of course will have the hood propped open for you all to ogle my sheer unbridled parental piston power. I will have the soundtrack to the movie Frozen blaring through my beastly factory installed speakers and sheets printed with all of the lyrics. Stop by my tent for some artichoke dip in a pumpernickel bowl paired with a nice chamomile tea, and even get your photo taken next to life-sized cardboard cutouts of Olaf the Snowman and racing legend Richard Petty.

And now, without further adieu, I’m going to continue on with some more random thoughts whose point of origin is that warped, gaping abyss that is my mind. They then found themselves onto the pages of my soon to be famous little green notebook due to my acceptance of the fact that if I don’t write my thoughts down as they come, they have a shelf life of about 4 minutes. If a stranger were to happen upon this notebook and read it, the contents would mean about as much to them as Jimmy Buffett lyrics do to anyone other than himself. Although, tragically there are just enough 65-year-old, ponytail wearing, wannabe beach bum, white guys who pretend to understand his lyrical diarrhea that Buffett just won’t go away.

These random thought pieces and purging of my notebook may go on for awhile, and return periodically. This is for a few reasons. The first is that the notebook is overflowing with warped thoughts and observations. The second is that this time of year, there just isn’t a whole lot going on to write about. And third, that I’m desperately trying to talk myself out of running what will no doubt be at least a two or three part piece featuring my diatribe about Common Core and the current state of our education system. (But if enough of you want to hear it, I’ll bring it.)

I didn’t leave myself enough space for another 10 thoughts, so I’ll fit in as many as I can in the space I have allotted.

  1. It’s been well documented that I have a bit of an almost unhealthy affinity with ironies. One of my all time favorites is about Ramses, a powerful Pharaoh from ancient Egypt. Now if you are not familiar with Ramses, he is said to have fathered over 100 sons, and over 60 daughters. Now this is where the fun irony comes into play. There is a popular condom brand called Ramses. Now if you can somehow sell THAT particular product, with THAT particular name, you are not only some sort of marketing genius who preys on the stupidity of those who probably shouldn’t be spawning anyway, but your twisted sense of humor has garnered you a seat at my head table.
  2. Somewhere there is an older gentleman with the name William Thomas Ford. He’s always been a hard worker, an overachiever, a sharp dresser, and always drove very nice cars. In fact, all of his cars used to have vanity tags that started with his initials and he used to always wear dress shirts with his own monogram on them. I don’t know the guy personally or if he even really exists. But if he does, I promise you that he is freakin furious over the advent of texting. (Take all the time you need with that one.)
  3. And finally, this week, what the hell is going on with the resurgence of fedoras? And at what completely unnecessary point did Jason Mraz become a fashion icon? The last three guys to pull off the fedora thing and actually look cool were Bear Bryant, Tom Landry, and Vince Lombardi. So essentially what I’m saying is that if you aren’t a dead legendary football coach, you really just kind of look like a dick.

Thanks for playing along. Until next week, Syd Nichols
Please feel free to share your thoughts and input with me at sydnichols@yahoo.com