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Well, it would seem I've sorely neglected spewing my sarcastic cynicism by way of this blog for quite some time. To my defense I was tricked into starting to blog and then real life decided I needed an intervention just for the hell of it.
So, what's new? Most everything, I would say. I have relocated some 540 km north of my previous home town, thus making a skip sideways and maybe slightly back to the place where I once grew up. The very place that began the shaping of the human I am today.
It all began when the news desk I've been working at for the last two summers contacted me and asked if I could fill in for one of their journalists here in Gällivare. Naturally I decided to take the plunge, three months more experience (as well as a steady salary during that time) is definitely nothing to scoff at. So, said and done. I packed the most necessary things into my little Golf and drove northbound. The first two months or so I stayed with a friend and her family since it's almost impossible to find vacant apartments in quick order (even if you, like me, had seven years of queuing for one). The cats and my horse had to make do without me, which they seem to have done perfectly well, aided by my wonderful friends and stable-mates.
Then I finally got an apartment. It's really cute, bigger than my previous one but with lower rent so I jumped at it. I have come to realize, though, that I've got way too little in the way of furniture. My living room still looks quite unbalanced at the moment, with way too many empty areas. But no matter, I'll fix it later. Thanks to the apartment I could finally fetch my cats and rent out the apartment in Umeå to a wonderful friend. The horse came up shortly after and is now quite happily installed at a brand new stable and spending his days having breakfast, lunch and dinner with a hot Spanish young thing. He seems quite happy though he's still doing his best to uphold his usual heteronormative behavior. Poor boy's got to be confused with all those gorgeous Spanish and Icelandic boys going gaga over him.
Anyway, back to my favorite subject, me. The three months of temporary work were up this Sunday (which I deeply lament since I had a heap of fun working at that news desk). Now I'm once again without a job, but only for two months. Then I'll hop onto two months of working for the rivaling news desk in this town. Something that is so exciting I can't even begin to describe it. It'll be fun to see things from that side of political colors.
Lastly I think it is more or less required of me to say something about my darling cars. The Toyota got a big red mark for the shock absorbers and is thus currently loitering on my friend's yard until I can afford buying new shock absorbers and convince someone, by way of my oh so considerable charm, that they would like nothing more than to tinker around with installing the damn things. I'll write an update on my success someday in the future.
The Golf is singing on its last verse, and quite a bit out of tune at that. The generator is making the most awful noises, like someone torturing a banshee ghost with a wooden spoon, at inopportune moments, usually when we're driving through a resident block late at night... I'm currently taking bets as to how long it will take before a) the generator flips me the bird definitely and the car won't start or b) an enraged mob decides to take matters in their own hands and reduce my little red bullet (or the Cow as it is fondly addressed as) to a pathetic pile of rusting red metal... To be updated if I get away unscathed.
So, that was probably all I had to write now. Now I'm going to return to staring fondly at my new ceiling lamp.
Visar inlägg med etikett cars. Visa alla inlägg
Visar inlägg med etikett cars. Visa alla inlägg
torsdag 19 april 2012
torsdag 3 november 2011
Sad news
After spending about a week in the Swedish fall season, complete with rain and temperatures that cannot seem to remain stable, trying to dry the inside of the windshield from fog while driving I made a heavy but necessary decision this weekend. I have finally realized that my beloved Toyota has been begging for a retirement for quite some time and I have also realized I have no choice but to obey it. Needless to say, it wasn't an easy decision since I really do love it but with the prospect of even more visits to the workshop to fix the surly heat fan, as well as the realization my little red trooper probably wouldn't pass the yearly inspection due to four lousy shock absorbers, I took a deep breath and went car hunting.
In the end I found a cute little red VW Golf from 1987 (so it's the same age as my Toyota, as well as almost the same color, if only a bit fresher in that area). It's got an automatic gear box, which was quite interesting since I've only ever driven an automatic once before, and only for a short distance. However, once I relaxed I realized that automatic is indeed easier than manual. I no longer have to drive for miles before realizing I'd forgotten to put in a higher gear (consequently lowering the amount of fuel needed). I don't have to watch how I balance the clutch and the gas pedals in order to drive smoothly. And the Golf is quite a bit more perky than my Toyota. Not that I'm especially much of a speed nut, quite the opposite. but even I have to grin a bit when the little red bullet takes off, and yeah, it is fun to press the gas pedal :).
Now all I have to do is switch the tires between the two cars (one of the prerequisites for my "new" car was that it had to have the same dimension on the tires as the Toyota. Since those tires, both sets of them, are less than a year old and I really don't want to put money into buying yet another set of tires).
What's going to happen to the Toyota, then? I wish i could say that it would get a well-deserved retirement, spending the days in a warm garage, all cozy and sweet. However, I only have one parking space, and I'm afraid I need that one for my Golf. So the Toyota will most likely end up donating choice parts to whomever wishes to do the surgery and then move on to car heaven. I will miss it, of course. It's served me and my family fairly well for so many years it wasn't an easy decision. But one has to know when it's time to put an end to the misery. And this is it for my darling Toyota, I'm afraid.
So, that is the ending of the chapter called "The little red pebble - going strong since 1987" in the book "Cat and the cars". However, stay tuned for the next chapter, "Red Bullet and the automatic", in the tragically comical story that is "Cat and the cars" or "How Cat pissed off the car fairy in a previous life and is paying dearly for it now".
In the end I found a cute little red VW Golf from 1987 (so it's the same age as my Toyota, as well as almost the same color, if only a bit fresher in that area). It's got an automatic gear box, which was quite interesting since I've only ever driven an automatic once before, and only for a short distance. However, once I relaxed I realized that automatic is indeed easier than manual. I no longer have to drive for miles before realizing I'd forgotten to put in a higher gear (consequently lowering the amount of fuel needed). I don't have to watch how I balance the clutch and the gas pedals in order to drive smoothly. And the Golf is quite a bit more perky than my Toyota. Not that I'm especially much of a speed nut, quite the opposite. but even I have to grin a bit when the little red bullet takes off, and yeah, it is fun to press the gas pedal :).
Now all I have to do is switch the tires between the two cars (one of the prerequisites for my "new" car was that it had to have the same dimension on the tires as the Toyota. Since those tires, both sets of them, are less than a year old and I really don't want to put money into buying yet another set of tires).
What's going to happen to the Toyota, then? I wish i could say that it would get a well-deserved retirement, spending the days in a warm garage, all cozy and sweet. However, I only have one parking space, and I'm afraid I need that one for my Golf. So the Toyota will most likely end up donating choice parts to whomever wishes to do the surgery and then move on to car heaven. I will miss it, of course. It's served me and my family fairly well for so many years it wasn't an easy decision. But one has to know when it's time to put an end to the misery. And this is it for my darling Toyota, I'm afraid.
So, that is the ending of the chapter called "The little red pebble - going strong since 1987" in the book "Cat and the cars". However, stay tuned for the next chapter, "Red Bullet and the automatic", in the tragically comical story that is "Cat and the cars" or "How Cat pissed off the car fairy in a previous life and is paying dearly for it now".
söndag 19 juni 2011
Continuing my masterpiece
It's time for another chapter in the horror comedy/oddly amusing, in a twisted way, tragedy called "Cat and the cars".
The setting this time is the stables... to begin with.
Yesterday I was on my way home from the stables after a nice training session. I slid into my beloved Toyota and turned the ignition... And then turned it again. There wasn't even as much as a "click".
It was clinically dead, not even a single blip on the radar.
Taking a deep breath I climbed out and gingerly made my way over to where the husband of the stable owner was sitting. Feeling like the most airheaded bimbo (if you can be one while wearing baggy clothes covered with dust) I asked him if he knew anything about cars. Not too long after that the stable owner returned from her horseback ride and the two of them helped me electrocute the Toyota with the jumper cables (in an operation that looked a lot like the TV show "ER" would look... if it happened outside... in the shade of an old barn). I managed to get my ass home, thinking it was ok now since my darling car did indeed start even after I made a quick stop at the grocery store.
Now this is where the story takes a darker turn and the tension-building music starts to fade in...
Today I once more slid into the driver's seat, on my way to pick up my co-rider since we'd planned to take a nice horsebackride in the forest. And, wonders above wonders..., the car was dead again. Not a single dip or up on the EKG of cars (if you don't count the fact that the clock did indeed light up when I had the key in the ACC-mode. It went out once I turned to ignition, though...).
Exasperated and feeling much like my favourite pet dog had just bitten me I got out, texted my co-rider who, thankfully, came by with her car so we could get to the stables. The horsebackride was nice, though the horse I'd borrowed was quite different from my own so we had our discussions.
Back from the stables again my co-rider kindly parked her car next to mine and we attempted the jumper cable routine again. It seemed to work. My darling started up nicely and was allowed to mooch some power from her car for a while. Then, when we thought it'd done so enough, we disconnected the cables again. I'd barely removed the cable for the minus pole when the headlights of my darling started dimming off. And by the time we got to remove the plus pole... Well, it was a close call whether the car wanted to stop altogether or jump a few times before stopping.
Not wanting to find out what would happen if my Toyota turned bronco I turned it off and... lo and behold, didn't get it to work again afterwards. Apparently it can't seem to hold the charge.
So now I'm sitting here with a clinically dead car, a mere two weeks before I'm supposed to be apx 30 Swedish miles north for work. Tomorrow I'm heading to the store to buy a new battery and offer up some very sincere and heartfelt prayers to appease whatever short-tempered car-god whose sensibilities I've apparently managed to severely wound. Let's just hope I'll manage to connect the new battery correctly and that there aren't any other issues effing things up...
The setting this time is the stables... to begin with.
Yesterday I was on my way home from the stables after a nice training session. I slid into my beloved Toyota and turned the ignition... And then turned it again. There wasn't even as much as a "click".
It was clinically dead, not even a single blip on the radar.
Taking a deep breath I climbed out and gingerly made my way over to where the husband of the stable owner was sitting. Feeling like the most airheaded bimbo (if you can be one while wearing baggy clothes covered with dust) I asked him if he knew anything about cars. Not too long after that the stable owner returned from her horseback ride and the two of them helped me electrocute the Toyota with the jumper cables (in an operation that looked a lot like the TV show "ER" would look... if it happened outside... in the shade of an old barn). I managed to get my ass home, thinking it was ok now since my darling car did indeed start even after I made a quick stop at the grocery store.
Now this is where the story takes a darker turn and the tension-building music starts to fade in...
Today I once more slid into the driver's seat, on my way to pick up my co-rider since we'd planned to take a nice horsebackride in the forest. And, wonders above wonders..., the car was dead again. Not a single dip or up on the EKG of cars (if you don't count the fact that the clock did indeed light up when I had the key in the ACC-mode. It went out once I turned to ignition, though...).
Exasperated and feeling much like my favourite pet dog had just bitten me I got out, texted my co-rider who, thankfully, came by with her car so we could get to the stables. The horsebackride was nice, though the horse I'd borrowed was quite different from my own so we had our discussions.
Back from the stables again my co-rider kindly parked her car next to mine and we attempted the jumper cable routine again. It seemed to work. My darling started up nicely and was allowed to mooch some power from her car for a while. Then, when we thought it'd done so enough, we disconnected the cables again. I'd barely removed the cable for the minus pole when the headlights of my darling started dimming off. And by the time we got to remove the plus pole... Well, it was a close call whether the car wanted to stop altogether or jump a few times before stopping.
Not wanting to find out what would happen if my Toyota turned bronco I turned it off and... lo and behold, didn't get it to work again afterwards. Apparently it can't seem to hold the charge.
So now I'm sitting here with a clinically dead car, a mere two weeks before I'm supposed to be apx 30 Swedish miles north for work. Tomorrow I'm heading to the store to buy a new battery and offer up some very sincere and heartfelt prayers to appease whatever short-tempered car-god whose sensibilities I've apparently managed to severely wound. Let's just hope I'll manage to connect the new battery correctly and that there aren't any other issues effing things up...
söndag 17 april 2011
On the subject of being busy and other musings
Let's start off by talking about my car. It has been an active topic of discussion within my circle of friends and family (well, mostly my mother and me) for the last few weeks.
Anyhow, since the heat fan decided to give up a few weeks back I have discovered that I can still get some warmth into the car by changing some of the settings for the fan. It won't blow out any hot air but opening the air vents fully, combined with some other things, while driving on the highway to the stables I've found that the warm air from the engine area is pushed into the car coupé, thus keeping the worst of the fog off the inside of the wind shield. It's not a long-term solution, of course, but it works for now.
On another, related note, however: I'm starting to give up on ever finding a workshop I can trust! During a previous visit to the work shop the mechanics told me that the heat fan was in a bad shape and would have to be replaced, which is why I bought a replacement for it now that it had, in fact, gone and died. So, thinking all was well and it would be fixed I took my beloved car to the workshop this week. Sometime during the afternoon that day the work shop called me...
Apparently they had tested both the heat fan itself and the fan module (and charging a ridiculously high price for doing it) and found that nothing was wrong with them! So there I'd bought the replacement, which wasn't free y'know, completely unnecessarily. They then went on to say that most likely there was a problem with the electrical wiring which resulted in the heat fan not getting any electricity.
However, as they said, they'd only planned for the time it would've taken to replace the heat fan. When they'd decided it wasn't necessary to replace it they then went on to fix some completely unrelated, marginally important things (which, granted, probably needed to be fixed anyway sooner or later) and in the end they "ran out of time, so they couldn't check the wiring".
In other words, not only did I, on recommendation from that same work shop, buy a completely unnecessary replacement for a working heat fan... I also left my car at the work shop for a full day and picked it up afterwards, without getting the actual problem fixed. And on top of that I had to reschedule for a date at which they could check the wiring.
Long story short... As it looks right now, if I continue using that work shop, my heat fan won't be fixed until sometime in early May, at the earliest, and I had to pay for them fixing things I'd never asked them to fix. Not to mention that they failed to notice that one of the light bulbs at the front of the car was broken and should've been replaced. I mean, since they were at it, fixing things unrelated to the actual problem, why the heck couldn't they then fix the lamp?
So, needless to say, I am quite disenchanted with car work shops. Once again. I thought I'd gotten over all that when I got rid of my previous car *deep sigh*.
The thing is, though, that I will still have to take my Toyota to the work shop. Not only because I have no choice, I need a working car since I can't get to the stable where I have my horse otherwise, but also because, despite the troubles, I still love my little red pebble. I feel happy when driving it, I feel content and, most importantly, I feel safe. It's old but it's comfortable, and cute, in a washed-out, quaint way. I fall more and more in love with it as time goes by.
As an example:
This time last year, when I still had my previous car, and when the snow was turning into deep, nasty slosh, 6 times out of 10 I barely got out of the parking lot at the stables without asking for help to push the car since I got caught in the slosh.
This year, with the Toyota, I haven't had to ask for help even once. Sure, I've still had to have a bit of speed when braving the slosh but I've gotten free and away on my own every single time. My Toyota also feels much steadier and safer when driving on icy winter roads, I don't have to worry about being blown off the road every time there's a slight gust of wind and it feels like I have a much better overview of the road. I also think that the full beams on my Toyota are much better than the ones on my previous set of wheels. All in all, to me the Toyota is a better car, which makes me more motivated to grit my teeth and endure the annoyances of work shops in order to fix it.
With my previous car I used to fantasise about the day I would get rich and could buy a new car. I would fix everything that needed to be fixed on the old car... and then push it off the quay into the river. With my Toyota on the other hand... even if I bought a new car I have a feeling I would still, if possible, want to keep my little red pebble around. I'd fix everything that needed to be fixed and then use it for weekend driving or just for some evenings of nostalgia. I love it that much. Besides, I've always dreamt of having a Toyota.
And now, on a completely unrelated matter:
Apart from car business I've been working as hard as I can to find a new job. It feels like I've sent out applications to just about every place there is (which probably is quite the overstatement) but either I hear nothing from them or I get rejection after rejection. I'm seriously starting to give up hope of ever finding work that suits my qualifications and education. I really don't want to work in sales and if I can help it I don't want to work in any stores either. I want a creative, engaging job where I get to write and create, delve into interesting topics, rack my brain for the best wording or the best visual and where every new task is different from the one before it.
Lately I have also been thinking, quite seriously, of starting my own business. I've already narrowed it down to a few names I would like to call it and I already know what I will be offering and to whom. I've also decided on what type of business it will be. Now the problem is to solidify those plans in a way that will ascertain a successful start, and to deal with the bureaucracy. So far I've borrowed a pile of books on the subject of starting one's own business, I've bookmarked a volley of websites and I've even applied to participate at an information and seminar day for those who are thinking of starting their own company. Well-informed is well-prepared in my book, after all. Hopefully I will be able to take the step into realising my company in the near future. Please, do wish me luck!
Anyhow, since the heat fan decided to give up a few weeks back I have discovered that I can still get some warmth into the car by changing some of the settings for the fan. It won't blow out any hot air but opening the air vents fully, combined with some other things, while driving on the highway to the stables I've found that the warm air from the engine area is pushed into the car coupé, thus keeping the worst of the fog off the inside of the wind shield. It's not a long-term solution, of course, but it works for now.
On another, related note, however: I'm starting to give up on ever finding a workshop I can trust! During a previous visit to the work shop the mechanics told me that the heat fan was in a bad shape and would have to be replaced, which is why I bought a replacement for it now that it had, in fact, gone and died. So, thinking all was well and it would be fixed I took my beloved car to the workshop this week. Sometime during the afternoon that day the work shop called me...
Apparently they had tested both the heat fan itself and the fan module (and charging a ridiculously high price for doing it) and found that nothing was wrong with them! So there I'd bought the replacement, which wasn't free y'know, completely unnecessarily. They then went on to say that most likely there was a problem with the electrical wiring which resulted in the heat fan not getting any electricity.
However, as they said, they'd only planned for the time it would've taken to replace the heat fan. When they'd decided it wasn't necessary to replace it they then went on to fix some completely unrelated, marginally important things (which, granted, probably needed to be fixed anyway sooner or later) and in the end they "ran out of time, so they couldn't check the wiring".
In other words, not only did I, on recommendation from that same work shop, buy a completely unnecessary replacement for a working heat fan... I also left my car at the work shop for a full day and picked it up afterwards, without getting the actual problem fixed. And on top of that I had to reschedule for a date at which they could check the wiring.
Long story short... As it looks right now, if I continue using that work shop, my heat fan won't be fixed until sometime in early May, at the earliest, and I had to pay for them fixing things I'd never asked them to fix. Not to mention that they failed to notice that one of the light bulbs at the front of the car was broken and should've been replaced. I mean, since they were at it, fixing things unrelated to the actual problem, why the heck couldn't they then fix the lamp?
So, needless to say, I am quite disenchanted with car work shops. Once again. I thought I'd gotten over all that when I got rid of my previous car *deep sigh*.
The thing is, though, that I will still have to take my Toyota to the work shop. Not only because I have no choice, I need a working car since I can't get to the stable where I have my horse otherwise, but also because, despite the troubles, I still love my little red pebble. I feel happy when driving it, I feel content and, most importantly, I feel safe. It's old but it's comfortable, and cute, in a washed-out, quaint way. I fall more and more in love with it as time goes by.
As an example:
This time last year, when I still had my previous car, and when the snow was turning into deep, nasty slosh, 6 times out of 10 I barely got out of the parking lot at the stables without asking for help to push the car since I got caught in the slosh.
This year, with the Toyota, I haven't had to ask for help even once. Sure, I've still had to have a bit of speed when braving the slosh but I've gotten free and away on my own every single time. My Toyota also feels much steadier and safer when driving on icy winter roads, I don't have to worry about being blown off the road every time there's a slight gust of wind and it feels like I have a much better overview of the road. I also think that the full beams on my Toyota are much better than the ones on my previous set of wheels. All in all, to me the Toyota is a better car, which makes me more motivated to grit my teeth and endure the annoyances of work shops in order to fix it.
With my previous car I used to fantasise about the day I would get rich and could buy a new car. I would fix everything that needed to be fixed on the old car... and then push it off the quay into the river. With my Toyota on the other hand... even if I bought a new car I have a feeling I would still, if possible, want to keep my little red pebble around. I'd fix everything that needed to be fixed and then use it for weekend driving or just for some evenings of nostalgia. I love it that much. Besides, I've always dreamt of having a Toyota.
And now, on a completely unrelated matter:
Apart from car business I've been working as hard as I can to find a new job. It feels like I've sent out applications to just about every place there is (which probably is quite the overstatement) but either I hear nothing from them or I get rejection after rejection. I'm seriously starting to give up hope of ever finding work that suits my qualifications and education. I really don't want to work in sales and if I can help it I don't want to work in any stores either. I want a creative, engaging job where I get to write and create, delve into interesting topics, rack my brain for the best wording or the best visual and where every new task is different from the one before it.
Lately I have also been thinking, quite seriously, of starting my own business. I've already narrowed it down to a few names I would like to call it and I already know what I will be offering and to whom. I've also decided on what type of business it will be. Now the problem is to solidify those plans in a way that will ascertain a successful start, and to deal with the bureaucracy. So far I've borrowed a pile of books on the subject of starting one's own business, I've bookmarked a volley of websites and I've even applied to participate at an information and seminar day for those who are thinking of starting their own company. Well-informed is well-prepared in my book, after all. Hopefully I will be able to take the step into realising my company in the near future. Please, do wish me luck!
tisdag 29 mars 2011
My future autobiography
I have finally decided what I shall name my future autobiography.
Cat and the cars - a match made on a bad day in hell
Yes, car trouble... once more. Then again, when have I not had car trouble? Actually, our family (or make that my parents and then me) seems to have angered the car fairy in previous lives. I've never been able to figure out another reason for why not a single car of ours has ever stayed whole for a longer time. But let's not get into my family matters. I'll just list off the cars I've driven since I got my license six years ago.
I will, somehow, scrape up the money needed (thank god for salaries) to fix its "ouchie" and then we will be happy again. I do not even want to think about not having my Toyota. I love it to bits (obviously). I've never felt more safe and comfortable as when driving my Toyota this past winter. Sometimes I swear, although it's probably just fanciful thinking on my part, that I can feel my grandfather sitting next to me, smiling and doing his best to hide the fact that he is quite worried about my driving.
My conclusion is that the slogan "I love my Toyota" is more of a rule than just a fanciful slogan. At least in my case. I really, truly adore my little red pebble. And if I ever rake up enough money to actually fix all the problems with it I'll probably convert to Toyota:ism, the religion where they worship the almighty Toyota. I'd gladly take up the position of head priestess, if the spot is open.
Cat and the cars - a match made on a bad day in hell
Yes, car trouble... once more. Then again, when have I not had car trouble? Actually, our family (or make that my parents and then me) seems to have angered the car fairy in previous lives. I've never been able to figure out another reason for why not a single car of ours has ever stayed whole for a longer time. But let's not get into my family matters. I'll just list off the cars I've driven since I got my license six years ago.
- Suzuki Swift -'89: My first car. I bought it for the equivalent of $473 (current exchange rate) in 2003-2004 somewhere. I hadn't taken my license yet but I thought it'd be nice to have a somewhat easier car to practise with than my father's heavy battle-ship of a Volvo 240 from 1983. The Swift wasn't by any means a pretty car. It was a murky white, with one black side panel that had been added to replace a rusted up panel and the interior was a bit worn. But god how I loved my little Swift. I had nice times with that one. It was smooth, easy to drive, quick to accelerate and extremely cheap where petrol was concerned. And it always started. I remember this one time when it had been buried under a blanket of snow in the coldest part of the winter, for over a month. We decided we had to pull it out to make sure it was still ok before the snow got it too badly. So with a little help from the stable owner and her sturdy Nissan Terrano we got it out of the pile and I slid in to turn the ignition key. I didn't expect much but my little Swift purred and started smooth as anything, without a single hitch. Unfortunately it wasn't too well off where other things were concerned. The undercarriage was so rusty I couldn't use the manual jack on it without the edges sinking in, and I'm pretty sure there was a hole straight through to the undercarriage under the carpet on the drivers seat. We finally decided to get rid of it for several reasons. One was that my dog was starting to get too big for it, he took up the whole back seat. But other reasons were a) an air tube broke quickly followed by the realisation that b) the cooler looked more like the Niagara falls than anything else. On top of that I got a flat tire in a nasty bend in the road while on my way to the stables. Thankfully I wasn't driving all that fast since the road was slippery from snow. However, we still careened off the road and into a rocky outcrop, resulting in a big dent on the passenger door. Afterwards we also realised that the spare tire couldn't hold air. All of those things happened within 2 months of each other. So, yeah, my lovely little Swift wasn't so lovely any longer.
- Dad's Volvo 240 -'83: For a short time, while my Swift was working on losing air in the spare tire, I borrowed my dad's Volvo. Hoo-boy... To this day, it's the only car, that I know of, that have gotten an engine failure and shut itself off in a downward slope. Not to mention the fact that, even though I drove it apx. 5 Swedish miles a day for a consecutive week, one day it just decided not to start at all and never did again while in our possession. I finally got the permission of my father to sell the beast to folk racing for the equivalent of $315. I still count that day as one of the best I've had.
- Suzuki Baleno Wagon -00: Fed up with car troubles my mum finally decided we had to get a newer car. So she and I drove my little Swift to the car dealer and test drove a few cars. Finally we settled on a bottle green metallic Suzuki Baleno Wagon. It had room for the dog in the back and seemed quite fun to drive. It had a low mileage too. So we traded my Swift in for a part of the price of the Baleno and we thought things would get better... We should've known better, I guess. Just a few weeks after buying it I was testing the dog cage and was gently seeing if it fit. I swear to god I did not slam the back door, no matter what my dad was accusing me of at the time. Either way, the back wind shield went crack and dissolved into tiny, tiny pieces of glass. After that the heat shields underneath the car had to be removed and so on. I feel that there shouldn't be a single thing left on that car that we haven't had to fix. Let's not get into details, though, since it'll only depress me. Suffice to say, it came to a point where the car workshop guys knew me by my voice on the phone. So, needless to say, I was quite disenchanted with the car after 5 years of visiting the work shop. Which brings me to the latest little golden nugget (or more like faded red pebble).
- Toyota Corolla -'87: Yes, you read it right. I switched from a '00 car to an '87. And, man, I will never regret it. The car has been in my family since my grandfather bought it in 1992. It's been through a lot of things with my grandfather throughout the years but it's a real trooper. When my grandfather passed away in 2007 my uncle bought the car from my grandmother, who didn't have a license. He used it sporadically (since he lives in Argentina large parts of the year) and in the end decided that he really didn't have any use for it since he was planning to live more permanently in Argentina for at least a year and a half. So, I gingerly asked if there was a possibility that I could buy it from him, so I could finally get rid of the moody Baleno. Instead of letting me buy it he generously gave it to me, which I am extremely grateful for. The problem with old cars is that you can more or less take for granted that they have their problems. The fifth gear on the Toyota has always been a little finicky. So, while driving the 70 Swedish miles from Stockholm to my home town, Umeå, after switching cars at my parents' place, the fifth gear simply decided it had had enough and gave up around halfway home. Hoping it was something that could be easily fixed (the fifth gear does work, it's just that the stick won't stay in position so I have to hold it there with my hand while driving) I brought it to the workshop. The nice thing with having an older Toyota, as opposed to a semi-new Suzuki, is that just about any workshop can work on them. So I got to take it to a somewhat cheaper workshop than my previous ones. Turns out they'd have to replace the whole gear box. It was also discovered that the shock absorbers in the back was in a bad shape and would probably need to be replaced. Both things are quite expensive to fix on their own and put together...Perish the thought. The last major problem (as in: will be expensive to fix, most likely) with it is that the heat fan is moodier than a woman with PMS. It only works on the highest setting and more and more often lately it's just decided to quit working even there without any provocation at all. I've always managed to fiddle it back into working though. Or rather, I used to manage to fiddle it back. As of yesterday the heat fan decided to flip me the bird and retire. So today I spent most of the afternoon trying to get a hold of the workshop (which didn't work very well so I'll try again tomorrow). And then I went to the stables. it went quite well, if you discount the fact that I was freezing my ass off on the way there. On the way home, on the other hand... I had one hand on the wheel and the other holding a combined ice scraper and rubber... thingy, in order to clear the inside of the wind shield from fog. The outside was caked with road dust and salt. Stupid as I am I thought that if I'm quick enough I should still be able to wash the outside for a somewhat improved line of sight. The fluid froze in a thin film on the wind shield, leading to me having to get off the road to scrape the outside as best I could. And then back inside and driving the last bit home in darkness, being blinded by the lamps of meeting cars reflecting on the fog and scraping the inside of the windshield about every 30 seconds. My, and I thought it was bad that time there was a snow storm making me unable to see where the edges of the road was...
I will, somehow, scrape up the money needed (thank god for salaries) to fix its "ouchie" and then we will be happy again. I do not even want to think about not having my Toyota. I love it to bits (obviously). I've never felt more safe and comfortable as when driving my Toyota this past winter. Sometimes I swear, although it's probably just fanciful thinking on my part, that I can feel my grandfather sitting next to me, smiling and doing his best to hide the fact that he is quite worried about my driving.
My conclusion is that the slogan "I love my Toyota" is more of a rule than just a fanciful slogan. At least in my case. I really, truly adore my little red pebble. And if I ever rake up enough money to actually fix all the problems with it I'll probably convert to Toyota:ism, the religion where they worship the almighty Toyota. I'd gladly take up the position of head priestess, if the spot is open.
lördag 1 maj 2010
The Filial daughter or "How to drive Cat crazy in less than 2 days"
At the moment I'm visiting my parents in the capitol of Sweden, Stockholm (also known as the Hellish pit of overly stressed and rude idiots).
After retrieving my car, which is obviously possessed by the Devil and/or operated through a Windows-based system considering the amount of times it breaks down, from the workshop I felt slightly queasy because of the chilling knowledge that my car would once again cost a fortune to repair. I then packed my bags and drove that same car, with bad brakes on the back wheels, on an 8 hour drive from Umeå to Stockholm. It was nice as long as I could still consider myself being in Norrland. But as soon as I passed a city called Hudiksvall I could feel myself leaving the premises of said region and instead be enveloped by the atmosphere of the southern parts of Sweden. It is hard to describe that atmosphere but I will try my best.
Imagine you're having the worst hangover of your life, you've just woken up next to someone you have no idea who it is, or if it's a man, woman or Chewbacca, and whom you would've been better never having to lay your eyes upon in the first place. Then imagine that while you're lying there, wondering what train drove into your head at full speed (in the process obviously smashing certain vital parts of the facial appearance of whoever it is sleeping next to you), you realise you forgot to turn the sound off your cellphone. As is demonstrated by the sudden slicing pain (similar to undergoing a bypass surgery without anesthesia) of a tone you usually quite like cutting through your pounding head ache and self-loathing.
And when you pick up... It's your mother on the other end. Nagging at you because you forgot that you promised to drive her to her very important meeting. And she nags... and nags... and nags until you start to picture your hands slowly wrapping around her neck, seeing her face turn bluer and bluer. And when she finally hangs up...
Your grandmother calls. And nags at you because you forgot to drive your mother to her very important meeting. Repeat the strangulation scene. Substitute mother for grandmother. Hang up.
And then that creature next to you wakes up, thanking you for a great night, wondering if you'll be meeting again and if you wanna cuddle for a while. And so on. You realise you are really late for work... and stinking like that alcoholic over by the town square. So now you're full of self-loathing, annoyance, anger, murderous thoughts, bad conscience and top that off with stress x 100... Imagine all this and then multiply it all with 10... and you'll come fairly close to what I felt when I came closer and closer to the Hellish Pit called the capitol of Sweden, Stockholm.
Then top all of that off with realising that your parents' computer is slower than a turtle with only one leg and eyes full of cataracts...
Yeah, great, isn't it?
But at least I get to meet up with some old friends I haven't seen for years. And hopefully I'll get something nice for my exam project. So I'm going to live in the hopes that a week isn't very long, I'll be busy most days... and in the evenings I can lock the door to my room and catch up on all those homoerotic novels I've never quite had the time to read.
After retrieving my car, which is obviously possessed by the Devil and/or operated through a Windows-based system considering the amount of times it breaks down, from the workshop I felt slightly queasy because of the chilling knowledge that my car would once again cost a fortune to repair. I then packed my bags and drove that same car, with bad brakes on the back wheels, on an 8 hour drive from Umeå to Stockholm. It was nice as long as I could still consider myself being in Norrland. But as soon as I passed a city called Hudiksvall I could feel myself leaving the premises of said region and instead be enveloped by the atmosphere of the southern parts of Sweden. It is hard to describe that atmosphere but I will try my best.
Imagine you're having the worst hangover of your life, you've just woken up next to someone you have no idea who it is, or if it's a man, woman or Chewbacca, and whom you would've been better never having to lay your eyes upon in the first place. Then imagine that while you're lying there, wondering what train drove into your head at full speed (in the process obviously smashing certain vital parts of the facial appearance of whoever it is sleeping next to you), you realise you forgot to turn the sound off your cellphone. As is demonstrated by the sudden slicing pain (similar to undergoing a bypass surgery without anesthesia) of a tone you usually quite like cutting through your pounding head ache and self-loathing.
And when you pick up... It's your mother on the other end. Nagging at you because you forgot that you promised to drive her to her very important meeting. And she nags... and nags... and nags until you start to picture your hands slowly wrapping around her neck, seeing her face turn bluer and bluer. And when she finally hangs up...
Your grandmother calls. And nags at you because you forgot to drive your mother to her very important meeting. Repeat the strangulation scene. Substitute mother for grandmother. Hang up.
And then that creature next to you wakes up, thanking you for a great night, wondering if you'll be meeting again and if you wanna cuddle for a while. And so on. You realise you are really late for work... and stinking like that alcoholic over by the town square. So now you're full of self-loathing, annoyance, anger, murderous thoughts, bad conscience and top that off with stress x 100... Imagine all this and then multiply it all with 10... and you'll come fairly close to what I felt when I came closer and closer to the Hellish Pit called the capitol of Sweden, Stockholm.
Then top all of that off with realising that your parents' computer is slower than a turtle with only one leg and eyes full of cataracts...
Yeah, great, isn't it?
But at least I get to meet up with some old friends I haven't seen for years. And hopefully I'll get something nice for my exam project. So I'm going to live in the hopes that a week isn't very long, I'll be busy most days... and in the evenings I can lock the door to my room and catch up on all those homoerotic novels I've never quite had the time to read.
måndag 26 april 2010
Traffic... again
One would almost believe it's Friday today.
I've made the observation that people are more reckless and careless when driving during Fridays. Sure, they want to get home after work and enjoy the weekend. It's expected for Fridays. But what I don't understand is why people are idiots in the traffic on a Monday.
Today I was driving home from the stables. I kept the speed limit, drove legally and did everything one should. And then, all of a sudden, an idiot in a white minivan behind me flashes his lights, blinding me through the rear view mirror, before he passes me and races off as if he'd stolen the car. Angry and annoyed I flashed my lights right back at his rear window in a pathetic and yet oddly satisfying display of childish annoyance. I hope he at least felt the lights sting his eyes the way his lights stung mine.
People! Please drive safely, take care of each other in the traffic. You won't get home any quicker if your careless driving causes an accident. Pay attention to the people in the cars in front of, behind and around you. For the sake of us all!
I've made the observation that people are more reckless and careless when driving during Fridays. Sure, they want to get home after work and enjoy the weekend. It's expected for Fridays. But what I don't understand is why people are idiots in the traffic on a Monday.
Today I was driving home from the stables. I kept the speed limit, drove legally and did everything one should. And then, all of a sudden, an idiot in a white minivan behind me flashes his lights, blinding me through the rear view mirror, before he passes me and races off as if he'd stolen the car. Angry and annoyed I flashed my lights right back at his rear window in a pathetic and yet oddly satisfying display of childish annoyance. I hope he at least felt the lights sting his eyes the way his lights stung mine.
People! Please drive safely, take care of each other in the traffic. You won't get home any quicker if your careless driving causes an accident. Pay attention to the people in the cars in front of, behind and around you. For the sake of us all!
fredag 5 februari 2010
Group pressure vs Cat 1-0
Everybody seems to be blogging these days. So who am I to play the rebel? Even though I have no idea what to write, how to write, which language to write in or even if I should spread my words where unsuspecting souls might stumble upon them...
"I blog therefore I am" or something such seems to be the theme of our generation.
Today we had another one of those oh so lovely winter days here in northern Sweden. I'm talking about snow dust and so much ice the Swedish national hockey league would've been able to practise comfortably. And, of course, idiots in expensive tin cans thinking that absolutely everyone drives cars with anti-spin and ABS-breaks. It was moderately amusing to drive along the E4 highway surrounded by people whose lives are so important that they happily risk everything and everyone just to get home half a minute earlier than they would've if they'd driven sensibly. Apparently it's crucial to spare that half of a minute on Fridays.
Anyway, I managed to drive home from the stables physically, if not mentally, unharmed. I guess I can view that as a small victory in a very large war.
As most of you probably have noticed way before I did it's Friday today, at least here in Sweden. And poor student that I am I will spend yet another Friday night mooching off the alcohol fumes that, like a dark menacing cloud on the horizon of my mental peace, are leaking out from my neighbour's apartment. I've said it before and will most likely say it again...
Once upon a time I used to dislike R'n'B. Then came my neighbour. And now, whenever I hear that specific brand of music, I am overcome with a desperate urge to grab the closest axe, rush outside and swing it mindlessly at anything and anyone in my vicinity. Preferably that anyone would be my neighbour but I'm not picky. Once I'd tired myself out with this quite counter-productive activity I would then crawl into a dark corner and rock back and forth, sobbing pathetically while muttering that 50 Cent told me to do it.
It'll be quite interesting to see where tomorrow finds me.
"I blog therefore I am" or something such seems to be the theme of our generation.
Today we had another one of those oh so lovely winter days here in northern Sweden. I'm talking about snow dust and so much ice the Swedish national hockey league would've been able to practise comfortably. And, of course, idiots in expensive tin cans thinking that absolutely everyone drives cars with anti-spin and ABS-breaks. It was moderately amusing to drive along the E4 highway surrounded by people whose lives are so important that they happily risk everything and everyone just to get home half a minute earlier than they would've if they'd driven sensibly. Apparently it's crucial to spare that half of a minute on Fridays.
Anyway, I managed to drive home from the stables physically, if not mentally, unharmed. I guess I can view that as a small victory in a very large war.
As most of you probably have noticed way before I did it's Friday today, at least here in Sweden. And poor student that I am I will spend yet another Friday night mooching off the alcohol fumes that, like a dark menacing cloud on the horizon of my mental peace, are leaking out from my neighbour's apartment. I've said it before and will most likely say it again...
Once upon a time I used to dislike R'n'B. Then came my neighbour. And now, whenever I hear that specific brand of music, I am overcome with a desperate urge to grab the closest axe, rush outside and swing it mindlessly at anything and anyone in my vicinity. Preferably that anyone would be my neighbour but I'm not picky. Once I'd tired myself out with this quite counter-productive activity I would then crawl into a dark corner and rock back and forth, sobbing pathetically while muttering that 50 Cent told me to do it.
It'll be quite interesting to see where tomorrow finds me.
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