Her name is Lo-la

Dear people who know things about car values,

I was feeling curious, so I decided to check on the current "trade-in" value of Lola, my Corolla. It's slightly higher than what I paid for her (used, before taxes) last year. Is that even possible?

I'm guessing that NADA just hasn't adjusted prices down for 2009 yet or something. It's funny, though, to think that the value of a depreciating investment (my car) is holding up better than the values of my IRAs and condo. Le sigh.

Yours truly,
Jane

P.S. I got a letter from Honda a few days ago asking to buy back my 1996 Civic. Sadly (for both me and Honda), I sold the Silver Bullet a few years ago to a starving artist and his musician girlfriend. I wonder what took people so long to learn to love small cars - the Bullet was pretty much the best car ever. I used to fill up the tank for $10 once or twice a month. And the car was quite the looker:


(a less dinged-up twin of the Silver Bullet)

Rock the Vote and stuff

Dear Jane,

Good job for voting in just about* every election (major or not) since you turned 18, even without the helpful advice of celebrities.



However, since you giggled at just about everything Sarah Silverman said in this video, I question your maturity nonetheless.

Love,
Brain

*I did miss a couple of city council runoff elections when I was in college. BAD JANE!

Zaps

Dear Homeless Guy,

You zapped me as I walked by. From the surprised look on your face, I am pretty sure that you were only trying to get my attention, and had no intention of shocking me with static electricity. In fact, as I am a notorious foot-dragger, it was probably my fault.

However, it was weird nonetheless.

~Jane

Thursday morning, early October

Dear Internets,

< (good-natured) whining >
I keep expecting things to calm down - the last few weeks have been a blur of furniture merging, Goodwill trips, Craigslist posting, houseguests, music festivals, needy tutoring students with pushy parents, multiple day-long meetings with vendors that melt my brain, presidential debates, and, far too occasionally, sleep. As my brother-in-law put it, I'm kind of burning the candle at both ends, which can't go on forever. But I think (hope) things should calm down by early November. At the very least, I'll have a few days off. Despite having a fairly full plate, I'm thinking of signing up for this in November, if only because all of the current craziness has led me to accumulate about 33 half-written blog posts.
< /whining >

My ACL post is coming; my memories of the weekend are still a little too jumbled up to have made it to paper yet.

In the meantime, I thought you all might be wondering if anyone took me up on my tagging challenge. (Probably you are not wondering about that, but I am giving myself the benefit of the doubt, Internets.) Indeed, the always-delightful Talia took me up on my offer to write bad poetry for anyone who responded to my tag.

In honor of Talia (and her super-awesome Tony the Tiger slippers), I present:

Cupcakes are Contagious

It's morning, our computers are not yet warm
"Time for our daily dose of frosting," we think
We yawn, we stretch, we click... and finally, we smile
Our screens once again a delightful shade of pink

At last, a Cupcake to engage us

Would she really mail us cupcakes? we wonder
We bet she would; she's tackled more difficult projects
Football, Christian rockers, park salvation, Spain, London,
and tacky student service director rejects

That Cupcake is couragious

To read her blog is to discover truths:
"missed connections" are newsprint addictions
flaky baked goods are better than flaky boys
judgy hipsters are walking contradictions

And Cupcakes won't betray us

We'll come back, of course, and bring our friends
Tomorrow morning, and the next, frosting on our minds
For a treat that's as sweet as plum pie
(but perhaps a bit kinder to our waistlines)

Because Cupcakes? They're contagious

If anyone else would like me to make the Internet's eyes bleed with bad poetry, I am more than happy to write an ode to anyone who responds to my tag. (I won't hold my breath.)

Love always,
Jane