As mentioned no less than 25,000 times before, I was featured in a Welsh-language radio program earlier this month. Wednesday, just two weeks after the program aired, I received a CD copy of the program in the mail. The CD was in a package bursting with Radio Cymru paraphernalia. Some of the stuff was kind of cool, like the full-sized Welsh flag, or the two pens, or the hat. Other stuff is a little odder -- I was sent 4x6 color photos of just about every on-air presenter. I am trying to think of something funny and artistic to do with these. If you are funny and artistic maybe you could help me out.
Here's a picture of everything they sent me (except for the hat). For those of you who read this blog in the UK, I thank you for paying your license fees so that I can get pictures of Welsh presenters and a funny bucket hat.
It looks as if my brother may have found me a car. Rachel and I have been a one-car family for about a year now, leaving me to either bike to work or bum rides from either my wife or my dad. But earlier this week, Jon, who works at an auto body shop, called me up and said he had come across a car for $250 (£143).
"Does it run?" I asked.
"Uhm. Dunno. I'll have to check it out."
"What kind of car is it?"
"Don't know that either. You interested?"
"Well, check it out for me and call me back."
He called me back today.
"Is it alright?" I asked.
There was a long pause.
"It runs," he said.
"Nah. Well, yeah. I mean, there's not too much rust, but it's got its fair share of dents. Needs new front brakes, I think, but we can put those on (hooray!). It'll hold up through the winter."
I'm going to pick up the car next week. It's a 1983 Oldsmobile Delta 88. Hell yeah. Here's a picture of one. Odds are mine won't look half as good. I can't wait.
This is kind of big. I didn't get the sense that it received much attention here in the U.S.
News stories with literary themes:
-- Poetic justice
Charlotte says she's been depressed lately. Maybe she should follow this guy's lead. He seems to know how to have fun.
Hey, you can see how much it sucks without having to go there -- here's a walk down Fargo's Broadway. If you go down the street far enough, you'll get to the place where Esther and I used to drink.