Who Inspects the Inspectors?

Something most New Yorkers have to go through is getting their car inspected. Since my first car, I always had this fear that mine wouldn't pass inspection and I would have to spend hundreds of dollars repairing something that I wasn't even sure needed to be fixed. It wasn't so much the fear that I would have to spend a lot of money but the thought that someone could possibly take advantage of me. I'm not completely clueless about cars, so that fear has subsided a little over the years, but there's always the lingering feeling that it would still not pass.

What has also helped was that I had cars that were better than the last. I'm not talking about expensive cars. I currently drive a Mazda Protege (not the hatchback) and it's probably the "nicest" car I've owned. It's completely reliable and great on gas, but I wish I had power windows. Still, the second car I ever owned was a Ford Explorer, which I purchased after being involved in a crash. I was scared of small cars because the one that was totaled in the accident was a small two door sports car. So, to get over my fear of tiny cars, I thought I'd buy the biggest car I could afford with the money the insurance company gave me. Boy did I make a huge mistake with buying that Ford.

The very first inspection I had done on the Ford cost me over a grand in repairs. I was only 19 at the time and my dad slapped the back of my head so hard that I'm sure my 39 year old self felt it, and I'm not looking forward to experiencing that pain again. This is definitely where my anxiety of car inspections stems from. 

Hopefully I'll be a successful writer one day and I won't have to deal with that. I'll be able to purchase a car that I know will pass its inspections. On top of that, the cars had better be new, and if they're not, they damn well better be gorgeously restored sports cars. I'd like to think no one in their right mind would fail a '69 Mustang Fastback. Now that's a Ford I wouldn't mind owning.

Damn You, Deadpool!

"Just stick me in a quiet room and let me throw up for a minute" would be the best way to describe how I felt after leaving NYCC. I can honestly say that I haven't walked around with my head tilted skyward in years. It's one of the trademarks of a tourist in NY and that is exactly how I felt during this Con.

There was more to take in there than I had ever experienced before. It was loud, there were flashing lights, people screaming from every direction, and the flow of the crowd was non-stop.  To be honest, I thought back to the stories friends had shared about their experiences of shopping in Tokyo and wondered if this was what it was like.

About an hour into it, my friend and I seemed to have enough. We turned to each other with wide eyes and we could tell something was up. I was dizzy and he wanted to throw up. The two of us wanted nothing more than to sit down, close our eyes, and shut the world out for a few minutes. Of course, this wasn't going to happen.

So, after taking a breather, we split up to cross off items from our own agendas. We decided that using our cell phones to keep in touch was the best thing to do. Boy were we wrong. God knows how many fanboys were posting pictures on their blogs, twitter, and facebook pages straight from their phones. The service was shot to hell. It wasn't until I turned off 3G (barbaric, I know) that I was able to send out a text.

There's an upside though. As much as I couldn't stand certain aspects, I can't wait for next year's NYCC. I saw things I would never see in my normal life. I took a picture with a life size Optimus Prime, witnessed Chewbacca hug Mr. T, snapped a photo of Shaun in between his slaying of zombies, and had a few Sonic Screwdrivers pointed at me. Trust me, I'm going to plan that trip a lot more than I did this one (there was no plan. We didn't know what we were in for).

It also helped me realize how much I freaking love Doctor Who. The very first thing I saw was an Ironside Dalek. As I snapped a quick photo of it, I knew it was going to be a great time. I also learned that I'm really not a nerd. Yes, I watch Doctor Who and submit a pull list to a local comic shop, but I'm not a nerd. My friend Josh said it best, "we're cultured in those areas, but we're not nerds".

Here's to knowing that I'm just a normal guy who knows what he likes. Oh, and being called a hipster by a fat girl cosplaying as Deadpool. Allons-y!

Photos from NYCC:

Commemorative Plates

Imagine my frustration as I'm cruising down the highway when I was suddenly cut off by someone who didn't signal. They flew right past me and across to the next lane. In a raging fit of anger, I silently muttered their demise in my car and turned up the radio. I'm sure they got the point.

After a few minutes, I completely forgot about the incident and continued on my way to work. Everything was going smooth and I was enjoying the ride. Suddenly, the same car was within my vision. The very first thing I did was turn down the radio and concentrate on the car. Nothing was muttered until my eyes settled on their license plate. Wouldn't you believe it? They were from Jersey. God help the person who would have to read my eulogy if our interaction resulted in my death. 

"We're here to celebrate the life of Eric Remly, who was so suddenly taken from us by the douche of Jersey. Too young and too soon. May he rest in peace and Jersey lay in ruins." That's about right.

Terrible thoughts of how much I hate Jersey ran through my head. There was more muttering and raising of the stereo volume. It was then that the car slowed down and I got a better look at it. I had been so wrong. This driver wasn't from Jersey. No, not at all. He was the tragic victim of my prejudice because he had the most recent New York plate.

Oh God, could he ever forgive me? This poor man must not have seen me when he was merging. For all I know his turning signal was busted. Man, did I feel like crap.

It's all that damn Yellow's fault.

No. That dude was jerk. 

Slap 'Em With Kindness

Picture the scene: WOMAN talking on her phone barks order at a coffee shop worker. In between each customized order, she barks orders at her phone. There's a lot of "no"s involved. Uncertain, the coffee shop worker stops and erases the transaction. They start all over again and we find out the person on the other end of the phone is her husband. I let out a loud "ha" and continue to sip my drink.

Somewhere in the last two decades, the human connection was lost. The art of appreciating one another went right down the toilet. I don't mean to say that everyone has lost  their good sense, but that things aren't the same as they used to be.

Earlier this morning, a couple from out of town were out wandering around the Lower East Side. They stood at the corner where I was waiting for a friend, with their map out, and completely lost. They kept to themselves and searched for the street signs and how it corresponded with what they held in their hands. After thirty seconds of feeling bad for them, I offered my help. I pointed to our location on their map and wished them a good day as they left. Turning to my friend, I simply said "breaking that stereotype." He laughed because we know that as New Yorkers, we're not thought of as nice people. New Yorkers are tough, but it doesn't mean that we can't be kind.

So, I've created a personal challenge. I'll do my best to be kinder. Don't get me wrong. This doesn't mean I'll a be pushover. I'm not that woman's husband. I'll simply try my best to be a gentleman and stand against the current.