We've been living in The City of Angels for 1 whole year now. I still haven't made the adjustment to needing a car like I need legs, but I'm getting there. And because we made it over the 1 year hump, I figured we weren't going anywhere soon. Therefore it was time to get all the boxes out of our apartment.
After going through the motions of trying to get rid of excess stuff via Goodwill and the trash dumpster, I searched online for storage units. There's a storage facility about 2 blocks away from us in Venice, but that one cost about double what another one did less than a mile away in Marina Del Rey. I got a 4' x 5' unit for a bargain, especially considering we'd be getting more than that space back in our apartment, and the little boy would have more room to push his toys around.
Taryn at the storage center office had me sign documents saying: I wasn't in the military, I wasn't storing a car in a 4' x 5' space, or that I wouldn't live there or house animals or food in the unit. It felt like I was signing my life away when I was really only trying to rent a tiny piece of California. One of the last things to sign for was insurance, and because I already had renters insurance, I told her I didn't want it. Taryn told me that I get the first month's insurance free, but I'd have to come back into the office to cancel it later. I really didn't want to come back, but I thought: What the hell, it couldn't hurt.
So I loaded the boxes I had with me into the 4' x 5' space. I figured that was enough excitement for a Saturday and I'd bring the rest tomorrow. Besides, we had to go to Pasadena to meet Judah's brand new cousin, Siena.
The next morning I made at least seven trips up and down the stairs loading the wagon to take our boxes to the storage space. When I got there I did the routine of grabbing the cart, loading the boxes from the car to the cart, and going up the elevator. When I arrived at the third floor I saw some guy who looked like Borat with a couple carts of his crap blocking the hallway. I looked for an alternate route to get to my space, but another guy had blocked the hallway with his crap. I left my crap sitting on the cart and asked Borat-guy if he wouldn't mind moving his cart so I could get mine past. He was annoyed and told me to look in my space first because there was a flood last night, and I might not want to put my crap into a wet storage unit.
I walked over to my storage space, unlocked the padlock and looked inside. At first glance it looked fine. Then I touched the floor. Damp. Damn. I looked at a couple of the boxes and they were soggy near the floor. Luckily Taryn took care of me and got me a new, dry storage unit that was even better because it was near the entrance and the carts. She even gave me some new boxes to replace my soggy ones. Nothing was damaged too badly except the box that the microwave was in.
And the microwave is pretty sog-proof. Now I can cancel that insurance. What are the odds of lightning (or a flood) striking the same place twice?
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Double Vision
Do you ever receive industry schwag? You know, the stuff with whoever's company logo on it, handed to you so you can sell their company logo or whatever it is they sell by wearing the stuff they give out for free? In the industry I'm in, you get schwag everyplace you go. I can wear a different t-shirt from a different production/post/design company every day of the week and not wear the same thing twice.
Do you ever have those days at work where you might be wearing a similar outfit as a co-worker, only to be ridiculed by some other co-worker about not getting the memo that "We were supposed to wear the red polo shirt with the black jeans today. LOL!"?
Well I had the misfortune of wearing some industry t-shirt schwag to work, only to see the guy who sits right next to me walk in an hour later wearing the exact same t-shirt. Too bad that nobody else was there to make the "memo" joke. I couldn't resist, so I said it myself.
Do you ever have those days at work where you might be wearing a similar outfit as a co-worker, only to be ridiculed by some other co-worker about not getting the memo that "We were supposed to wear the red polo shirt with the black jeans today. LOL!"?
Well I had the misfortune of wearing some industry t-shirt schwag to work, only to see the guy who sits right next to me walk in an hour later wearing the exact same t-shirt. Too bad that nobody else was there to make the "memo" joke. I couldn't resist, so I said it myself.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Ironhead
My bike helmet had fallen to bits. Not the outside, silly, that's hard foam covered by a chocolately plastic shell. Mmm. It was the inside that was falling apart. The stuff that's supposed to be the soft cushion between my head and the actual hard helmet part. Yes, countless sweat-inducing rides had finally broken down the cushiony stuff, and what was left had become rags and bits of black soot that managed to stick to my forehead when I took the helmet off. And the velcro was now digging into my head, and that wasn't the comfy ride I was looking for.
The hard portion of the helmet seemed fine. And the rule of thumb is that you get one good wreck where you bonk your noggin against the ground, a car, whatever, then it's time to toss the helmet in the trash and buy a new one. But because I hadn't had the one good wreck yet, I figured I might just be able to buy the cushiony inside stuff.
So I went to my nearest bike shop, looked around, didn't find any, then went to the dude at the register and asked if they carried such a thing. "No, we don't sell that. How long have you had your helmet?" I said "I dunno, like four years maybe?"
"Four years, huh?" he said and I knew the sales pitch was coming. Register guy continued, "You might be able to find that inner stuff from your helmet manufacturer, but they're probably gonna say 'Four years, huh? It's time to buy a new helmet.'"
Not to be deterred by his sales pitch, I came back with "Why's that?"
Register guy told me "The elements, you know, they break the helmet down. UV rays, stuff like that."
UV rays indeed. They break down plastic covering hard foam to the point where my helmet might not work after four years of being in the sun a lot less than I am. I better get some stronger sunscreen if that's the case. Well I figured I was either gonna live with black particles and chafing velcro on my forehead every ride or I was gonna buy a new helmet. So I walked over to the helmet area and tried a few on.
This one was too weird looking, that one was too feminine. That other one was way too expensive. One of the bike shop employees saw me trying on helmets and came over and said in some Euro voice "Why don't you try dis one?" and pointed to the more expensive end of the helmet wall. I tried it on and it looked weird. He had me try on 5 more helmets before we found one that fit both my style and price range. He told me he wasn't a salesman, but a mechanic, and he walked over to the register to see if this one was on clearance. I followed him and stood, next in line.
The bike mechanic disappeared. I waited. The guy standing on my side of the register was buying the entire store and trying to figure out what else he needed. It was taking forever, and I really didn't want to buy a helmet that day anyway, so I left the helmet at the counter and walked out the door.
The next day I went to REI and bought a great helmet at 1/3 of the price and used my REI dividend to reduce the price even further. Good times. I tossed my old helmet in the trash. Wouldn't want anybody to mistakenly try to use it after all those UV rays might have secretly broken down the helmets innards.
I rode home wearing my new helmet and I could immediately feel the difference. Not only was there no sense of velcro chafe-age, there was actually more wind flow cooling my noggin! Amazing.
The next day I set out for work with my new helmet on. About 2/3 of the way there, as I turned to leave the Santa Monica beach bike path, my front tire slipped out on a swath of sand. I went to the ground so fast I can't remember it happening. Smacked my right shoulder on the pavement. I can't remember if I knocked my helmet or not. Yep, not even 24 hours after buying my new helmet, I wreck. Funny how that works.
The hard portion of the helmet seemed fine. And the rule of thumb is that you get one good wreck where you bonk your noggin against the ground, a car, whatever, then it's time to toss the helmet in the trash and buy a new one. But because I hadn't had the one good wreck yet, I figured I might just be able to buy the cushiony inside stuff.
So I went to my nearest bike shop, looked around, didn't find any, then went to the dude at the register and asked if they carried such a thing. "No, we don't sell that. How long have you had your helmet?" I said "I dunno, like four years maybe?"
"Four years, huh?" he said and I knew the sales pitch was coming. Register guy continued, "You might be able to find that inner stuff from your helmet manufacturer, but they're probably gonna say 'Four years, huh? It's time to buy a new helmet.'"
Not to be deterred by his sales pitch, I came back with "Why's that?"
Register guy told me "The elements, you know, they break the helmet down. UV rays, stuff like that."
UV rays indeed. They break down plastic covering hard foam to the point where my helmet might not work after four years of being in the sun a lot less than I am. I better get some stronger sunscreen if that's the case. Well I figured I was either gonna live with black particles and chafing velcro on my forehead every ride or I was gonna buy a new helmet. So I walked over to the helmet area and tried a few on.
This one was too weird looking, that one was too feminine. That other one was way too expensive. One of the bike shop employees saw me trying on helmets and came over and said in some Euro voice "Why don't you try dis one?" and pointed to the more expensive end of the helmet wall. I tried it on and it looked weird. He had me try on 5 more helmets before we found one that fit both my style and price range. He told me he wasn't a salesman, but a mechanic, and he walked over to the register to see if this one was on clearance. I followed him and stood, next in line.
The bike mechanic disappeared. I waited. The guy standing on my side of the register was buying the entire store and trying to figure out what else he needed. It was taking forever, and I really didn't want to buy a helmet that day anyway, so I left the helmet at the counter and walked out the door.
The next day I went to REI and bought a great helmet at 1/3 of the price and used my REI dividend to reduce the price even further. Good times. I tossed my old helmet in the trash. Wouldn't want anybody to mistakenly try to use it after all those UV rays might have secretly broken down the helmets innards.
I rode home wearing my new helmet and I could immediately feel the difference. Not only was there no sense of velcro chafe-age, there was actually more wind flow cooling my noggin! Amazing.
The next day I set out for work with my new helmet on. About 2/3 of the way there, as I turned to leave the Santa Monica beach bike path, my front tire slipped out on a swath of sand. I went to the ground so fast I can't remember it happening. Smacked my right shoulder on the pavement. I can't remember if I knocked my helmet or not. Yep, not even 24 hours after buying my new helmet, I wreck. Funny how that works.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
The Man Who Sold The World
I sold my laptop computer - a 2004 iBook G4 800 mHz 40GB HD 640MB RAM AirPort Wireless - last week on eBay. It's the first item I've ever sold on eBay. It's quite the exciting experience, let me tell ya. You get to see how many watchers are watching your item. See how much people are bidding. Or how much they're pushing the bid up to anyway.
When it was all said and done, the laptop went for $430 plus $20 shipping. Not too shabby when you consider how much mileage I got out of it.
Bought it for $1099
minus $430 (eBay sale)
equals $669
Had it for 41 months
equals $16.31 a month
divided by approximately 30 days a month
equals about 54 cents a day
Not too shabby.
When it was all said and done, the laptop went for $430 plus $20 shipping. Not too shabby when you consider how much mileage I got out of it.
Bought it for $1099
minus $430 (eBay sale)
equals $669
Had it for 41 months
equals $16.31 a month
divided by approximately 30 days a month
equals about 54 cents a day
Not too shabby.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
All About the Benjamins
The Washington Mutual Bank at 5th & Arizona in Santa Monica is a real mess. It's the most convenient bank for me to go to, but when I get there it's the most inconvenient place to be. There's always a really long line for the teller windows, and if I want to speak to a bank representative then I've got some sitting around to do.
Apparently I'm not the only one who thinks it's a mess. While waiting in the teller line at the bank recently, a bank representative from the desks asked "Does anyone have a straight deposit, no cash?"
The 2nd and 5th individuals in line turned toward the bank rep and raised their hands. The 5th guy immediately walked over and sat down. The woman who was 2nd in line threw her arms up in the air and muttered something to the 3rd person in line. She turned toward the 5th guy and shouted "I was next, but you can go ahead!" She shook her head and muttered something that sounded like a blast of tourettes to the 3rd person.
Then the doors to the left of the line swung open where a man with crutches stood, trying to hold the doors open. Everybody in line turned at once to look. He yelled "Whoever's working on the ATMs, ya can't shut 'em all down at once." I turned away, as if to avoid seeing what might come next. The bald bank manager in a teller window looked up. The man yelled again "NOW TURN ON THE GODDAMN MACHINES!"
The guy behind me let out a chuckle. The bank manager quietly said "We'll get right on it, sir". The man on crutches hobbled out of his door predicament. I felt good knowing that I was about to contribute to my child's college education.
Apparently I'm not the only one who thinks it's a mess. While waiting in the teller line at the bank recently, a bank representative from the desks asked "Does anyone have a straight deposit, no cash?"
The 2nd and 5th individuals in line turned toward the bank rep and raised their hands. The 5th guy immediately walked over and sat down. The woman who was 2nd in line threw her arms up in the air and muttered something to the 3rd person in line. She turned toward the 5th guy and shouted "I was next, but you can go ahead!" She shook her head and muttered something that sounded like a blast of tourettes to the 3rd person.
Then the doors to the left of the line swung open where a man with crutches stood, trying to hold the doors open. Everybody in line turned at once to look. He yelled "Whoever's working on the ATMs, ya can't shut 'em all down at once." I turned away, as if to avoid seeing what might come next. The bald bank manager in a teller window looked up. The man yelled again "NOW TURN ON THE GODDAMN MACHINES!"
The guy behind me let out a chuckle. The bank manager quietly said "We'll get right on it, sir". The man on crutches hobbled out of his door predicament. I felt good knowing that I was about to contribute to my child's college education.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Song to the Siren
It's hot. Not unbearably hot, but summer in SoCal hot. Hot enough that sleeping at night is a bit of a challenge. Hot enough that when I go in to check on the sleeping boy, his hair is moist. Hot enough that even in loud-ville, the windows have to be left open.
Lily and I were lying in bed Tuesday night, discussing whether or not to close the windows, when we heard horrible off-key singing outside. I was convinced it was our apartment manager, because I had seen her bringing her easel and paints to the patio. Lily was convinced it was somebody else. It wasn't somebody else, and it really didn't matter much who it was, we wanted it to stop.
The choice to close Judah's window was a tough one: Close the window so he doesn't wake up from a shrill note tickling his eardrum, but potentially making his room too warm? Or leave the window open so a breeze will come through with the shrill notes? I decided to close the window but leave his door open so some air flow would get in.
We heard our manager singing the same song over and over. Same chorus again and again. I looked out the window to make sure it was her, and it was, and she had headphones on and she was snapping her fingers. Now how one can paint and snap fingers at the same time is beyond my comprehension, but she was managing it.
After our laughter had worn out and the joke wasn't funny anymore, we decided to close the window closest to the singing. I drifted off to sleep shortly thereafter, only to awake about 30 minutes later to hear the same chorus. Firework/gunshot sounds were a welcome tune the following night.
Lily and I were lying in bed Tuesday night, discussing whether or not to close the windows, when we heard horrible off-key singing outside. I was convinced it was our apartment manager, because I had seen her bringing her easel and paints to the patio. Lily was convinced it was somebody else. It wasn't somebody else, and it really didn't matter much who it was, we wanted it to stop.
The choice to close Judah's window was a tough one: Close the window so he doesn't wake up from a shrill note tickling his eardrum, but potentially making his room too warm? Or leave the window open so a breeze will come through with the shrill notes? I decided to close the window but leave his door open so some air flow would get in.
We heard our manager singing the same song over and over. Same chorus again and again. I looked out the window to make sure it was her, and it was, and she had headphones on and she was snapping her fingers. Now how one can paint and snap fingers at the same time is beyond my comprehension, but she was managing it.
After our laughter had worn out and the joke wasn't funny anymore, we decided to close the window closest to the singing. I drifted off to sleep shortly thereafter, only to awake about 30 minutes later to hear the same chorus. Firework/gunshot sounds were a welcome tune the following night.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
The Birthday Party
Another candle on the cake. Another year gone by. Another prime opportunity for my family (not my "new" family, but my "old" family) to make right all the crazy missteps through the years and finally find some appropriate gifts for somebody they've known this long. So when my (old) family gives a birthday present, I always hope that this year will be different.
Nope. From my sister: NOTHING! Actually, receiving nothing is better than the gifts she gives me, which over the years have included:
- A plastic blue "beehive" hairdo
- A pair of Abe Lincoln boxing puppets
- "Pee Guy": a small figurine of a latino-looking man with a plastic stream of pee going from his crotch to the base of the figurine.
Yes, all memorable and very useful indeed, but they pale in comparison with the types of gifts my mom gives me. It's always clothes. Clothes that must originate at the very bottom of the last-ditch bargain basement pile. For Lee's Birthday 2007 I got a t-shirt that is the color of poop. It's a weird brown color that has no other possible description. The kicker there is that the shirt is size 14/16. Now, I'm no XL person but I can wear adult size shirts, mom.
She also gave me two polo style shirts that, although I wear polo style shirts, would probably make the general public wonder if I had lost my way from the nearest mental facility. Does she see the clothes I wear now? Does she remember the types of shirts I wore as a teenager at home? My sincere hope is that she bought these for the homeless kids at the local shelter and they got mixed up with the fly threads she bought me. Boom, right into the Goodwill bag with the gifts.
The real tragedy here is that this gift-buying behavior is now being passed onto my son. Mom included an extra little gift pack for Judah along with the thoughtful gifts for me. With so many cute clothes for kids nowadays, how could she go wrong? Girls clothes. Yep. Poor kid.
Nope. From my sister: NOTHING! Actually, receiving nothing is better than the gifts she gives me, which over the years have included:
- A plastic blue "beehive" hairdo
- A pair of Abe Lincoln boxing puppets
- "Pee Guy": a small figurine of a latino-looking man with a plastic stream of pee going from his crotch to the base of the figurine.
Yes, all memorable and very useful indeed, but they pale in comparison with the types of gifts my mom gives me. It's always clothes. Clothes that must originate at the very bottom of the last-ditch bargain basement pile. For Lee's Birthday 2007 I got a t-shirt that is the color of poop. It's a weird brown color that has no other possible description. The kicker there is that the shirt is size 14/16. Now, I'm no XL person but I can wear adult size shirts, mom.
She also gave me two polo style shirts that, although I wear polo style shirts, would probably make the general public wonder if I had lost my way from the nearest mental facility. Does she see the clothes I wear now? Does she remember the types of shirts I wore as a teenager at home? My sincere hope is that she bought these for the homeless kids at the local shelter and they got mixed up with the fly threads she bought me. Boom, right into the Goodwill bag with the gifts.
The real tragedy here is that this gift-buying behavior is now being passed onto my son. Mom included an extra little gift pack for Judah along with the thoughtful gifts for me. With so many cute clothes for kids nowadays, how could she go wrong? Girls clothes. Yep. Poor kid.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Garbage
There are two trash bins in my edit suite. One is next to the door. One is next to the edit console. I noticed shortly after I started working there that the one next to the console was never being emptied. I noticed it because the bin was overflowing with trash, while the one near the door was consistently empty when I came in every morning.
Because the only option for speaking to the cleaning crew would be to stay much later than I'd like to, I decided to manually move the console trash bin to right next to the door trash bin every night as I left work. It worked for a while. Now for whatever reason, the door trash bin is empty while the console trash bin - which is sitting right next to the other one - is still full of the same trash when it was placed there the night before.
And I'm thinking "Why, that's odd. How could one trash bin be emptied while the other is not?" It's probably physically impossible to empty one without having it bump into the other. In fact, a person would have to be somewhat careful about not knocking over the other trash bin whilst emptying the first.
I have no idea what to do. Leave a note? Wait around to ask the cleaning crew about it? Put the entire trash bin into the other? I guess the easy answer would be for me to dump the trash from one into the other, but now this has turned into a game of who's gonna blink first. Stay tuned. I guess. If you really give a shit about the resolution of how this trash thing goes. Jeez.
Because the only option for speaking to the cleaning crew would be to stay much later than I'd like to, I decided to manually move the console trash bin to right next to the door trash bin every night as I left work. It worked for a while. Now for whatever reason, the door trash bin is empty while the console trash bin - which is sitting right next to the other one - is still full of the same trash when it was placed there the night before.
And I'm thinking "Why, that's odd. How could one trash bin be emptied while the other is not?" It's probably physically impossible to empty one without having it bump into the other. In fact, a person would have to be somewhat careful about not knocking over the other trash bin whilst emptying the first.
I have no idea what to do. Leave a note? Wait around to ask the cleaning crew about it? Put the entire trash bin into the other? I guess the easy answer would be for me to dump the trash from one into the other, but now this has turned into a game of who's gonna blink first. Stay tuned. I guess. If you really give a shit about the resolution of how this trash thing goes. Jeez.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Jailbait
With all the drunk driving arrests in the past year, it's kinda scary to be on the roads here in Tinseltown. Nicole Ritchie, Lakers owner Jerry Buss, Prison Break star Lane Garrison, Backstreet Boy Nick Carter, Lindsey Lohan, and Paris Hilton just to name a few. Thankfully they locked up Paris Hilton, and then locked her up again before she got behind the wheel and ran over some poor unsuspecting pedestrian on one of her late night burger binges.
Just think of how many NON-celebs are out there on the road at any given monment after increasing their BAC to a non-legal level. Joe Shmoe gets pulled over by the LAPD and ain't no paparazzi around snapping photos and selling them to the tabloids.
At least Paris Hilton got the worst punishment imaginable: Sarah Silverman ripping Paris a new one at the MTV music awards. That's gotta hurt more than enduring a few weeks in the cushy wing of the jail.
Just think of how many NON-celebs are out there on the road at any given monment after increasing their BAC to a non-legal level. Joe Shmoe gets pulled over by the LAPD and ain't no paparazzi around snapping photos and selling them to the tabloids.
At least Paris Hilton got the worst punishment imaginable: Sarah Silverman ripping Paris a new one at the MTV music awards. That's gotta hurt more than enduring a few weeks in the cushy wing of the jail.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Car Wash
Our "family car", a 2003 VW Passat Wagon, hadn't been washed in a while and it was so dirty that it was becoming embarrassing. A blight on the LA car scene. Not like we took it off-roading or anything, but the air isn't the cleanest around here and the fine particulate matter tends to come to rest on everything.
As I've now done the math and came to the conclusion that it's worth it to take my car to a car wash, I put in the required procrastinating and finally found a coupon in the bulk mailers for a few bucks off the standard rate at Millenium Car Wash in Venice. I took all the extra junk out of the car - baby strollers, sun shield, miscellaneous papers - so that they could vacuum every square inch, and I drove to Millenium.
On my way there I remembered that I forgot to bring a magazine to read when the car was being washed. When I got there, I left the car with the keys in the ignition, rolled up the windows, and told the checker I had a coupon. He handed me a ticket, I paid and took a seat with the rest of the car washees. Some guy and his girlfriend bitched at the manager because his passenger seat was soaked because the window wasn't rolled up. I wished I'd brought that magazine.
A short while later the car washer guy waved my keys in the air and I handed him the ticket along with what I deemed a generous tip. I pretended to have to put something in the trunk so I could inspect the vacuum job, because I've had problems with the trunk being overlooked in the past. Clean as a new car. It felt like I had a new car. I drove off and felt like a responsible LA citizen with my clean, new-feeling car.
I had to pick up some groceries, and as I pulled into the parking lot, I saw somebody pulling out of the rockstar spot. Sweet. All mine. I pulled in and went into the store. Bought some lunchmeat, some oatmeal for the boy, and some water. On my way past the bakery section, I grabbed a glazed donut for the ride home.
As I left the grocery store and stepped onto the pavement of the parking lot, I pushed the shopping cart and hopped on for a ride to my shiny new car in the rockstar parking spot. I pushed a little too hard and had to jump down to put on the sneaker brakes. As I was rushing by, I saw a car that looked just like mine, but it had a bunch of splotches of bird shit on the hood. I thought "that's not my... is that my? Aw shit."
Yep. Car Wash Karma.
As I've now done the math and came to the conclusion that it's worth it to take my car to a car wash, I put in the required procrastinating and finally found a coupon in the bulk mailers for a few bucks off the standard rate at Millenium Car Wash in Venice. I took all the extra junk out of the car - baby strollers, sun shield, miscellaneous papers - so that they could vacuum every square inch, and I drove to Millenium.
On my way there I remembered that I forgot to bring a magazine to read when the car was being washed. When I got there, I left the car with the keys in the ignition, rolled up the windows, and told the checker I had a coupon. He handed me a ticket, I paid and took a seat with the rest of the car washees. Some guy and his girlfriend bitched at the manager because his passenger seat was soaked because the window wasn't rolled up. I wished I'd brought that magazine.
A short while later the car washer guy waved my keys in the air and I handed him the ticket along with what I deemed a generous tip. I pretended to have to put something in the trunk so I could inspect the vacuum job, because I've had problems with the trunk being overlooked in the past. Clean as a new car. It felt like I had a new car. I drove off and felt like a responsible LA citizen with my clean, new-feeling car.
I had to pick up some groceries, and as I pulled into the parking lot, I saw somebody pulling out of the rockstar spot. Sweet. All mine. I pulled in and went into the store. Bought some lunchmeat, some oatmeal for the boy, and some water. On my way past the bakery section, I grabbed a glazed donut for the ride home.
As I left the grocery store and stepped onto the pavement of the parking lot, I pushed the shopping cart and hopped on for a ride to my shiny new car in the rockstar parking spot. I pushed a little too hard and had to jump down to put on the sneaker brakes. As I was rushing by, I saw a car that looked just like mine, but it had a bunch of splotches of bird shit on the hood. I thought "that's not my... is that my? Aw shit."
Yep. Car Wash Karma.
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