This picture also signifies the final receipt of our wedding
photos, 11 months post-haste (thanks again, Marcin – you’re a scholar and a
gentleman). I like looking back at all the pictures and being reminded of how absolutely
drunk I was during the reception. Somehow, I had imagined I was sporting a
tuxedo and top hat the entire evening, charming guests with my witty anecdotes
and delightful puns. In truth, I was stammering around for 2 hours with cake on
my shirt looking for various opened bottles while Anna chased after me for
photo ops. But I digress…
As of late…
The theme has been “so how’s Anna doing?” Frankly, it’s
getting on my nerves. Who knew that the minute a woman gets pregnant, the next thing
they do is turn the attention on themself for the next nine months?! No one cares
that I’ve beaten “Utlimate Spiderman” on the PS2. They want to hear all about
Anna, but the minute I start in about the killer sandwich I made on Thursday, they
lose all interest.
For those not in the know, she fares well, and enjoys
tracking Elena’s kicking and bumping throughout the day. We can be in mid-conversation
about the Japanese stock market (for one plausible example), and in mid
sentence she’ll grab my hand and place it on her belly with a smile. Apparently
our daughter already has strong opinions about the Nikkei, and I know
she's uninformed. Clearly, she’ll just love being an American.
So the Doc put one of those belly cameras on the Mrs. not too
long ago, and Elena put on a little show for us. It was a little like that skit from
Ally McBeal, only this infant was still technically a fetus. Ironically, at an
estimated 2lbs, our baby’s still heavier than Calista Flockhart.
Nonetheless, like that dancing baby skit, here’s Elena’s
opportunity to make it around the weird circles of the Internet with her very
first video. Next, we’ll begin her singing, acting and dance lessons with
professional coaches, and aggressively push her through a cycle of auditions
that she’ll swear on camera she “wants to do”, all the while planning record
deals with Disney and show contracts with Nickelodeon. By the time she’s 16, we’ll
be able to retire and live of the lucrative, shattered remains of our family.
Anna may not be on board with raising the next Hillary Duff
(you know, one of those drunken girls you see in the magazine rack as you’re checking
out at the supermarket), so nothing’s definite yet.
License to Haggle
Recently, we bought a car, because our current one isn’t
quite “kid friendly”. It’s a Mustang, better suited for picking up Motorhead
roadies than picking up play dates.
I don’t know about your experiences, but I don’t know why
none of my car transactions feel legitimate. Aside from buying a mattress or a
home, where else do you end up “discussing” the price? I’ve never tried this
elsewhere, but I’m inclined to see what would happen if I tried talking down a
carton of eggs with a cashier.
This wouldn’t work because 99% of the time, when you see a
price, that’s literally the price! There’s no “wiggle room” with a $3
notebook; it’s three dollars! So why the hell does a car manufacturer filter its
cars through seedy, degenerate businesses who prey on public ignorance to live
fat on markups?
We got to the dealership with little care for a purchase,
but we were prepared if the right price presented itself. We directed the salesman
to the exact model and edition we wanted, and saw there were three crappy
colors in stock. The stickers say $15,200. So, we shrug our shoulders and walk
away. Then, the anxious salesman, salivating over a potential deal, asks what
price we’d take the car for at that moment.
Let me repeat myself – the salesman was asking us,
the customer, for a price. I don’t like this at all. “I’ve got 23 dollars in my
wallet. How about an even $20 and we’ll call it even?”
So, I throw back $14,500. He eventually grabs it. Then we
leave the dealership to mull over the price at Denny’s for an hour. We eat our
Grand Slams and return to ask what the final price would be (after taxes
and a peculiar “administrative fee”). He comes back with $16,400. We don’t like
this, so we leave. Then that price drops to $15,200.
So, in the course of 2 hours, the car we first looked at
dropped by $2000 in price, which begs the question “if they could afford to
drop two grand, how much money are they really making?”
The kicker is as he’s writing the price down, once we’ve
shaken hands of course (that’s a car dealership ritual, apparently – no car is
sold until the hand shake), he actually writes $15,250. I corrected him
immediately. What balls a guy has to write himself a tip right in
front of our eyes! This ain’t a Casino, I ain’t a high roller, and you’re
not booth clerk. No, you don’t get a few chips for your troubles - you get my gullible
patronage. That’s it. We’re not friends, and you do not get a little extra for
your smile.
So we still probably got ripped off, but knowing how far we
could have been ripped off makes it less painful… I suppose. Man, the things
you do for an expecting baby! All I know is save room on your calendars; Elena’s
world tour starts in three months. Daddy and Mommy need a beach house!
