Meet my Truck… She’s a He!

Yes, I drive a truck.  A 2003 Dodge Ram 1500 with Hemi engine.  Dark Gray with just a little rust starting to creep-up along the rear wheel wells, like the distinguishing gray hair that begins to show on the side of a guy’s head and his sideburns as he ages.  Folks tend to call their cars, boats, trucks, motorcycles “shes”.  But I think my truck is a “he”.  I mean how many chicks are there with “Hemi” engines?  Don’t answer that….

I bought my truck for several reasons:

  1. I needed a new car, the tiny Ford Escort station wagon that I had been driving was causing my spine to curl up as I crammed my body into its miniature cockpit.
  2. I felt confident that having a pick-up truck in the driveway would help me fit in more with the neighbors and make any potential home intruders suspect that there may be lots of shotguns and other armaments inside.
  3. I wanted a car with four-wheel drive that could get through our unplowed, snowy roads in the winter and my mud filled driveway in the spring.

Actually #3 was the primary reason.  #1? Yeah I really did need a new car.  #2? Purely in jest!

What is it about guys driving trucks?  Sure, I can see if you’re a builder or a farmer or some other man-type where you need space in the back to throw all your lumber or hay or other such dirty items.  But there are a lot of guys that own and drive trucks that not only have never had anything of any manly significance piled in the bed of the truck, but have also never driven it anywhere but back and forth to work, or to the mall, or maybe to a Wal-Mart!  I liken it to the SUV craze that hit this country in the last couple decades that only recently has begun to decline as gas prices scared people off.

I’m somewhere in the middle.  I use my truck to drive a thirty minute commute back and forth to work.  Other than on really snowy days when the roads haven’t been plowed, it’s a pretty stupid way to get to work and back.  At about 12-13 mpg’s, it’s a terribly inefficient vehicle and very costly to keep filled with gas.  But I love it!  At 6′ 1″ tall I fit comfortably in it, and yes, I have hauled stuff in it, lumber, gravel, furniture, hay bales, bags of garbage, junk going to the dump, even the pieces and parts of a friends swimming pool prior to installation.  Friends ask to borrow it occasionally when they have their own stuff to move around and I’ve gladly let them take “him” for a spin.  I’ve even given the kids the occasional ride around the “country block” in the truck bed.  Frankly, I’m not sure how the last 5-6 years would have gone had I not had a truck available when I needed it.  Especially during the 4-5 years when we were actively renovating our farmhouse.  It’s been useful, and although I am aware I am doing my part in destroying the ozone layer, I have justified its necessity in making my life run just a little smoother.

But now I may be getting close to the decision to buy a new car.  Yes, something that gets some decent gas mileage and doesn’t cost $60.00 to fill up every week.  Something like a Ford Edge is the direction I am heading.  I’d still like to keep my truck though.  He’s all paid for and if it’s not too costly to keep some insurance on him maybe I can just keep him around for the occasional renovation project, the occasional dump trip, the occasional snowy day, the occasional testosterone filled man-event!

And someday when the time comes to let him go… what’s the proper burial?  Put him up on blocks out in the field and let him rust away… like those iconic pieces of farm equipment that dot the graveyards of our country’s rural landscape.  Or send him to the junkyard?  Hopefully, that’s a decision I can avoid making until a time far down the road… and a dirt road would be preferable!

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My New Years Resolution: To become a Famous, Ripped, Best-Selling, Rock Star Amish Furniture Maker

I can’t quite figure out if I like New Years Eve.  Yeah, the parties are usually fun and festive, hanging out with friends, having a few drinks and overeating.  I actually think watching the Times Square ball drop is fun too.  Maybe that’s from my years as a resident of the great state of Long Island… (uh, I mean New York, yeah I know there’s more to NY than just Long Island and NYC… WHATEVER!!)  I have never actually gone to Times Square on a New Years Eve though.  Over a million people packed in there… YIKES… that’s way too big a crowd!

Most people tend to look at the end of the year by focusing on NEXT year.  Ahhh, the new years resolution!  What can I do next year that I fabulously failed at accomplishing this year.  Exercise more, eat less, work more, work less, spend more time doing <insert holistic, mind-fulfilling, life-altering activity here>, spend less time doing <insert sinful, destructive, life-shortening activity here>.

I’ve never made a New Years Resolution (maybe I should start).  What I tend to focus on at the end of each year, especially as I get older is all of the unrealistic accomplishments that I have fabulously not yet accomplished in life.  Can you say “mid-life crisis!”  As I look back, I think;  I haven’t become a famous <insert spectacularly-awesome skill here> yet; I haven’t figured out a way to have enough money to not have to work anymore;  I haven’t figured out how to make a killer living as an Amish furniture maker;  I haven’t figured out how to become a “homesteader” yet still be able to pay my mortgage, keep my blackberry, drive my truck and save for my kids college education;  I haven’t been able to peel away the last layer of abdominal fat and see the six pack of abs I had as a college student; I haven’t come up with the Harry Potteresque storyline to write a series of best selling novels; I haven’t yet found the “idyllic life”  (https://brownroadchronicles.wordpress.com/2010/12/05/looking-for-the-idyllic-life/!

I can hear you saying, “Boy, Steve, those are pretty lofty goals for a New Years Resolution.”  Yes, yes  they are.  But you know what, this is the year… this is the year I will become a Famous, Ripped, Best-Selling, Rock Star Amish Furniture Maker.

I think my odds are pretty good, you know… if I can just put my mind to it!

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Shave and a Haircut? No thanks, I’m having commitment issues!

I got my hair cut yesterday.  Not a very exciting event in my overly exciting life but a necessity nonetheless.  I like getting my hair cut and us guys with short hair need to have it groomed quite frequently, lest we start looking like Tom Brady or Justin Beiber! 

(Sidenote: people often tell me I look like Tom Brady, what do you think?  I only wish I had his athletic skills and money).

Will the real Tom Brady please stand up!

I’ve never really had a barber or a hair stylist that I’ve frequented for a long time.  Often I’ll patronize the same place for a few years, but I never really care about who is actually doing the cutting.  My hair always seems to look okay when they’re done so I haven’t spent too much time courting a relationship with someone.  In hindsight maybe I have “barber” commitment issues!  I can only imagine building up this magnificent, wonderful relationship with a barber (we’ll call him Gus) only to one day, on a whim, decide I want to get my hair cut somewhere else.  How do you break off a relationship with a barber or a hair stylist?  Could that possibly be harder than breaking up with a girlfriend or boyfriend?  I don’t know.  I guess you just stop showing up… but I live in a small town, what if I bump into Gus in the grocery store or at a school function?

Gus:  Hey Steve, how’s it going?

Steve:  Uh, great, things have been really busy!

Gus:  Great, haven’t seen you in a while.

Steve:  Yeah I’ve been really busy with work, haven’t had much time to get my hair cut.

Gus:  Oh… well it looks pretty short right now.

Steve:  Yeah… uh… well… um… uh, well you know I’ve been trying out a new diet, kind of a vegan thing, sort of, but where I can still eat some meat… and uh, well… uh… I think it is affecting my hair growth.

Gus:  Okay, well good luck with that diet.  If it starts to grow again, well you know where to find me.

Steve:  Okay, see you around Gus.

Wow… see how uncomfortable that would be.  I’ve worked up a sweat just thinking about it!

Lately I have been getting my hair cut in one of the larger suburban towns nearby at a place called SportsClips.  If you’re not familiar with SportsClips it’s a chain-style hair salon for GUYS ONLY and its all full of SPORTS themed paraphernalia, TV’s showing SPORTING EVENTS, and CUTE STYLISTS wearing black and white REFEREE style clothing.  I have to admit they do a nice job so that’s been my latest “hair cut” fling.

I don’t mind getting my hair cut by women.  I’m a pretty stylish guy and somehow I feel they know better how to make my hair look… well, you know… FABULOSO!  A little buzz here, a little snip-snip here, a handful of sticky hair-gel and VOILA… $20.00 and I’m outta here.  Plus, since us macho guys can’t be running around frequenting massage salons and getting our toenails done, getting our haircut is the closest thing to having a “tryst” with a pedicurist and getting a foot rub, and having a cute stylist dressed as a referee is (at least for now) better than some old guy with shaky hands and stale coffee breath.

But I also hope someday to find a great barber shop, where I can go and get a haircut and maybe a straight razor shave and a shot or two of single-malt whiskey and feel like the men of the first 60-70 or so years of the 20th century… before men started, well you know, putting gel in their hair.  The old-fashioned barber shop, with it’s spinning red and white barber pole, is really a lost art and a diminishing cultural institution in this country.  Barbers in the early days used to do all kinds of crazy medical treatments like bleeding people when they had diseases.  In fact, I read somewhere that the red and white barber pole stems from a representation of the bandages used during a bleeding treatment.  Thankfully most barbers are only cutting hair now and even the straight razor shave has been eliminated from most shops because of the liabilities involved with disease transmission if someone were to get cut.  But there are still a lot of great barber shops out there and hopefully that profession will continue to survive as a valued service in small and large towns and cities across the country.

For now though, I’ll continue to drive up to the “burbs” and get my hair cut at SportsClips.  At least until I start to get that relationship “itch” and feel like those “referees” are starting to know me a little too well.   Then, once again, I’ll have to break-up with my barber shop and go out into the world as a “hair bachelor” searching for that elusive stylist who can keep me groomed for a few more years.

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When the moment is right, where's the bathtub?

I don’t understand those Cialis commercials.  Cialis is, you know, one of those erectile dysfunction medications that you see advertised everywhere that your pre-pubescent children are sure to be watching… like during some wholesome movie on the Family Channel, or behind the backstop of a professional baseball game or on the sidebar of their Facebook page.

I understand Erectile Dysfunction.  We’ll actually I don’t really understand it… in fact I can’t imagine that is even a possibility in life.  But I understand that it is a problem that lots of men face and I guess I am glad there are options out there to treat it.  Thankfully I don’t have a problem getting a… uh… you know… uh… yeah… that… 

No, what I don’t understand is the whole bathtub thing.  It’s not even the conundrum that the two people are in separate tubs and clearly not going to be able to consummate any kind of a relationship until one of them climbs into the other’s tub.  I hear people say that all the time, “why aren’t they in the same tub”, with complete disregard to the fact that these folks happen to be sitting in clawfoot tubs that are strategically placed out on their porch or in their garden… or even occasionally out on the beach.

During some renovations of our house several years ago, with my brothers help, I had to carry a clawfoot tub up a set of stairs to our upstairs master bedroom.  Those things are really frickin’ heavy… they are cast iron, you know!  The tub was in the back of my truck having just been at the refinisher’s shop and I had picked it up, and now we had to somehow get it up stairs.  After a few minutes of frightful stalling, we said “what the hell”, each grabbed an end and started carrying it… first to the front door… then through the front door and straight up the stairs.  I don’t remember which one of us was at the front of the tub, walking backwards up the steps, hunched over with our vertebrae ready to give way and feebly grasping the edge with our fingers, hoping that it wouldn’t slip… and which one of us was at the back end of the tub, bearing the brunt of the weight, hoping that the guy at the top wouldn’t let go.  Regardless, we got it upstairs… and in hindsight I don’t think I’ve ever carried anything that heavy that distance.

So, I don’t think the marketing guys at Cialis understand how much a clawfoot tub actually weighs.  And I surely don’t think two people trying to get a little lovin’ are going to lift two of them and place them around their house or out on the deck and especially all the way out to the beach.  C’mon, that’s what lawn chairs are for!

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