Happy dude working on the car

Well, he smiled and waved right before the picture.

The middle part is whited out to protect the guilty.

(Literally dozens of minutes later I would find out his hame is Willie.)

What's worse than a blown tire?

A blown tire on a rental car.

What's worse than that?

Blowing the spare an hour or two later.

After first flat...

ME: I put the spare on. Do you want me to take the car to one of your local offices?
RENTAL CAR LADY (after apparently thinking towns 163 miles away are "local"): You can drive up to 1,500 miles on the spare.
ME: Really?
HER: Yes, up to 1,500 miles. Just don't go faster than 65.
ME: I am returning the car in the morning anyway, so I'll just do that.
HER: Sir, I couldn't care less what you do.

OK, that last line was made-up. Anyway ... I trodded along in the slow lane (keeping it around 55-60) behind an 18-wheeler, which limited the line of sight. So I didn't see the staggeringly enormous pothole until it was too late

And boom went the spare (shown above).

Get towed to a Pep Boys (where I blog from now). My dad says, "I hope it's not the one I use. Those guys move at the speed of light. You can almost see their feet move."

I tell him where it is. After asking me to explain exactly where the cashier is in relation to the waiting area in relation to the truck flaps with the dancing women on them, he confirms our fears.

"That's the one. Bummer."

I almost stole my mother's car for this trip. Either I lucked out by not doing damage to it, or it being far better built that this damn Chevy Aveo that is under constant threat of being blown off the road would have meant it could have handled the impact.

Oh well. Next chapter of this story could be me fighting with the rental car folk as to who will pay for the tire.

I might have to pay cash, but they will pay with their souls, damn it!

Or something like that.

The Who better rock again tonight.

Pete looking like a ghost

Quote of the night after Pete notices members of the crowd drinking beer out of bottles: "The Native Americans have got it sussed, huh? Gamble a little, drink some beer and go see The Who."

The Friggin Who!

About to see 'em for the X-teenth time (will try to count later) but for the first time in Connecticut! Which means little to many, but I get a thrill out of it.

Bought a great ticket when they went on sale, figuring maybe I will be able to make it back east for the show. But last week decided it would be too much hassle and that I should sell the ticket.

Look for ticket. Can't find it.

Figure it must me an email/printable one. Find the email confirmation.

My ticket is at will call.

Crap. Can't sell it.

Oh well. If I must see The Who, I'll see The Who. With a big assist from Mr. Pearce at work, got a Southwest freebie. And here I am.

And tomorrow I will be in NJ seeing the band again.

And next month I will see them twice in L.A.

Take that, Jess Klein!