Road Killhttp://www.autoextremist.com/road-kill1/en-US2008-05-10T03:05:20ZSquarespace Site Server v4.1.2 (http://www.squarespace.com/)ROAD KILL #444http://www.autoextremist.com/road-kill1/2008/5/7/road-kill-444.htmlJanice Putman2008-05-07T20:18:17ZMay 7, 2008

Crawling from the wreckage, or tryin’ to anyway.

By Dr. Bud E. Bryan

Austin, Texas. Well sir, the only think I can think of right off the bat is that old fighter pilot expression about the quality of a landing, as in, "any one you can walk away from..." or something like that. The last time I left all of you out in WebVille, Jolene was typing an email to Nadine while I was out back drowning my sorrows in a bottle of Patron Anejo. Normally, a late afternoon session with a little Patron just adds that little bit extra oomph to my day, but that wasn't the case this time, because Jolene was hot. Not off the charts, blind-red fury hot, but hot nonetheless. Or should I say really, really agitated. You get the idea.

At any rate, as she was typing whatever it was she was typing, a few thoughts roiled around in my head. Oh you know, the typical thoughts I have on occasion like, "What the hell would I do if Jolene really did kick me to the curb?" Or, "What the hell would I do if suddenly I did end up back with Nadine?" That brief flash of a thought sent a chill down my spine that briefly paralyzed me for a bit, I'm quite certain. It was one of those scary moments where you want to speak, but can't. Want to move, but nothin' happens. Thankfully the moment - and the thought - didn't last. And the entire time I'm thinkin' my spectrum of scary life thoughts I hear Jolene banging furiously away inside on her keyboard. Now this girl can type, not like me (I can barely keep up with my own daydreams), and she was blazin' away letting Nadine know in no uncertain terms how this would all play out, I'm quite sure. Then I heard a definitive one-note slam on a key - and then silence - and I knew Jolene had just pressed "send."

Moments later the screen door opened, and she was standing right next to me. I just looked up at her over the top of my sunglasses, figurin' the last thing I needed to do was talk, seein' as how talkin' seems to be half my trouble these days. Jolene's expression was different. It was stern, oh, hell yes (she had her arms folded, which as us men know is always a bad sign), but there was something about it too. There was a little glint in her eye that suggested that my death sentence had been postponed, at least for now.

"What are you doing?" she said, abruptly.

Now, I bet you're all thinkin' the exact same thing, as in "Bud, for the love of god, man, don't say anything stupid." So I gave it a shot.

"Well, Baby, I'm just sitting here savoring my tequila, hopin' you're not ready to divorce me. And wanting to tell you that I love you and I couldn't live a day without you."

She looked at me for a moment, and then tears welled up in her eyes.

"And, I'm sorry."

With that she crumpled down on me and buried her face in my neck, cryin' her eyes out. I just held her as tight as I could as she let it all go. And after a few minutes, as we were just quietly sitting there, we heard the little email chime go off on her computer, signaling that she had new mail.

She gave me one of those kisses that made it clear I was still in the game, and then she got up off my lap and went inside.

Not ten seconds later, I hear, "THAT F---ING BITCH! THIS SHIT ENDS RIGHT NOW!" coming from inside the house.

I stood up and tried to say something helpful like, "Honey, I don't think it's a good idea..." but I heard the door slam and then I peaked around the house to see her peeling out of the driveway in her car.

Uh-oh. Now of all the scenarios that come under the definition of "not good," this one was something I didn't anticipate in the least.

I ran inside and looked at her computer, and Nadine - in typical hell-raising fashion - had replied, "Don't think for one second that you can keep me away from Bud, I don't care how good your Nurse Nightingale act was. If I really wanted him back, you'd be history so fast it would make your little head spin. You're out of your league."

My eyes popped out of my head. "Oh no she didn't!" I thought to myself. But she did. Boy, did she ever.

Now what could Jolene possibly be doing? I thought for a nanosecond and muttered to myself, Uh-oh, Part II. She was headin' for the hills, The West Hills of Austin, that is - where Nadine and Charles live.

Holy shit!

I was about to grab my keys and try to head her off at the pass somehow, when I happened to take one more glance at her computer screen.

I couldn't read all of it, but I got the drift. Jolene had written 10 reasons why Nadine would never, ever know me or love me like she does.

The last one being: "I didn't sit by his bedside 24 hours a day in the hospital - the hospital you put him in, remember - and then bring him home and nurse him back to health and build a life together with him to see it all blown up by your juvenile, slutty behavior. Grow up and get a life. Better yet, live your own life - and leave us alone."

I'd say that about covers it, don't you?

I grabbed my keys and headed out the door, thinking the entire time that this wasn't going to be good.

Now getting over to the West Hills is a pain in the ass at that time of day, so I knew this wouldn't be a quick trip. I decided to take an alternate route in hopes I could get there before Jolene, but I had this sinking feeling that I wasn’t going to make it.

I contemplated warning Nadine, but something tells me she was provoking Jolene into some sort of confrontation, so she probably wouldn't answer if she saw my number come up anyway.

It seemed like it took f-o-r-e-v-e-r to get over there, and as I was pulling down Nadine's street I saw the ass-end of Jolene's BMW take a hard left into Nadine's driveway. Shit. Way back when I had taken Jolene on a tour of the West Hills, and we did a drive-by of Nadine and Charles' house. How the hell did she remember where it was? Now, just as I was about to pull in, here comes Charles in his big black S-Class Mercedes coming from the other direction, and then he pulls into the circular driveway, from the other side.

(Now their house is sort of this Tuscan-esque mini-palace with cobblestone driveway, opulent front door and entryway, and lavish landscaping. It's beautiful to the last detail, but the tasteful ambience wasn't on my mind at that particular moment.)

I did a bat turn into Nadine's driveway, only to see Nadine and Jolene no more than a foot away from each other on their front porch, locked in a deep confrontational discussion, no doubt. I tore out of my car and ran over there, arriving just as Charles was doing the exact same thing.

"How dare you conduct yourself like some out-of-control coed in heat! Quit embarrassing yourself!" was the last thing I heard Jolene say - right before Nadine hauled off and slapped her - hard.

I grabbed Jolene and wrapped her up in my arms and started pulling her away, just as Charles clamped down on Nadine to do the same. Both girls were flailing away trying to get at each other, with their feet off of the ground, screaming at the top of their lungs.

I dragged Jolene off toward my car. I don't know what Chucky was doing, but I assume he was trying to drag Nadine inside at that point. What a mess.

Then, just like that Jolene totally stopped and said calmly, "Put me down."

"Now Baby," I said. "Come on, let's get outta here."

"I'm fine. And I’m not going to behave like this. It’s stupid and I won’t sink to her level." With that she just stood there, her arms folded, a big crimson welt looming on the side of her face, glaring across the driveway at Nadine.

I looked over to see Chucky getting right in Nadine's face. I couldn't hear what he was telling her, but I could tell he was royally pissed-off and she was listening intently, looking down at her 4” high Jimmy Choo pumps.

"Let's go home, Baby. Come on." I started to lead Jolene away when I heard Nadine say, "Wait!"

I tried to keep moving Jolene along when she stopped and turned around. "What?" she said defiantly.

Then I see Charles leading Nadine over to us with a vice grip on her arm.

Now Charles is the quintessential "suit" kind of guy, buttoned-up, detailed, great big-bucks smile. The kind of guy who wakes up makin’ money. Slick, jovial and country club smooth, he’s basically a dweeb. A very rich dweeb, but a dweeb nonetheless. But I hadn’t seen ol’ Charlie like this. He was pissed and the grim expression on his face told me that there was at least a pulse in the guy, which was encouraging to know. He couldn’t be a total stiff if Nadine tolerated him.

“Nadine has something to say,” Charles said. “Hey, Bud.” He looked at me, giving me a fleeting look that said ‘I know my wife still loves your ass and it really pisses me off, and I know you know that I know that you know, but here we are.’

Like I said, it was quite a look.

“Nadine.” Charles pulled her tight next to him.

“I apologize, Jolene. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. And I probably shouldn’t have done the gas station thing either,” Nadine said it through her clenched teeth. You could tell she didn’t want to say it, but she did anyway.

“What gas station thing?” Charles looked sideways at Nadine.

“The gas station thing when she draped herself all over Bud and made a very public scene, carrying on, sticking her tongue down his throat, and rubbing all up against him. That gas station thing,” Jolene responded.

“What the F---?” Charlie was hot now and he spun Nadine around to make sure she knew how hot he was. She definitely did.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Nadine said.

“You’re damn right we will,” Charles shot back.

There was a painful silence, and then Jolene said, “Fine.” She turned around, and started walking to her car at a fast clip. I glanced back to see Nadine and Charles standing there, his arm still locked tightly around hers, and Nadine gave me this look that only I have seen, I’m quite sure.

The look said something like, “I’m not done with you, Bud.”

Yikes.

I turned and caught up with Jolene; made sure she was belted in her car, and then followed her, never wavering from her ass the entire way home.

We pulled into the driveway and Jolene bolted for the house. I could take a hint: She didn’t want to talk. By the time I got inside, our bedroom door was closed and she had the shower running.

Now, you’re probably thinking, that was pretty okay for Bud-Land, all things considered. And I was thinking the exact same thing. A bullet dodged. An ass saved, or somethin’ like that. It wasn’t all good, but it wasn’t bad either. I mean that confrontation could have gone nuclear at any moment, so I was actually quite pleased with myself, come to think of it.

That night, I stayed in my office until late reading some old Indy 500 race reports, and when I finally looked at the clock, it was pushin’ midnight. I went in and checked on Jolene, and she was sound asleep. I’m sure she had been for at least a couple of hours anyway.

I went around the house turning the few lights off that were burnin’ and went back into my office. Just as I was about to turn my computer off, an email came in.

It was from Nadine.

“Bud – I’m really sorry for all this. I just can’t help myself sometimes when I get around you. You still got it, Baby. You’re still The One for me, no matter what happens. And oh by the way, I’ve left Charles. I can’t take it anymore. I can’t be the Country Club Queen one more minute. I’m at the Four Seasons if you need me. I Love You – more than you’ll ever know. - Nadine”

The pain started somewhere down my leg, shot right up my back and burst into an instant migraine that about knocked me off my feet. I slumped into my chair and re-read Nadine’s email again.

“I’m at the Four Seasons if you need me...”

Just then my cell phone lit-up like the Fourth of July.

“Hey, Bud.”

“Uh, hey, Nadine. What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m just callin’ to say goodnight.”

“I gathered. But you need to go home, Nadine. There is not one bit of this that is going to be good. Do you hear me?”

“My, my, my, so when did you become the Voice of Reason all of a sudden?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s my long dormant self-preservation instinct taking over.”

“Nice try, Bud. But you never had a self-preservation instinct. Not ever. If you did, you’d be married to a very nice, plain girl living in a very nice, quiet suburb with three very nice, quiet kids. That’s not you by any stretch of the imagination now is it?

“No,” I said sheepishly.

“Weren’t you the guy that picked me up at the Gruene Hall on a wing and a prayer, talkin’ some sweet talkin’ bullshit?”

“Yeah.”

“And we didn’t come up for air until three days later now did we?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Weren’t you the guy that drove me to San Antonio in a Mustang convertible at 2:00 in the morning, and all we were wearin’ were our cowboy boots and smiles?”

“Uh, yes, m’am.”

“And, correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you the guy who jumped off my balcony into my swimming pool, wearin’ nothin’ but a Texas longhorn headdress and clutching two bottles of tequila, yelling ‘I’m the King of the World’?”

“That would be me, yes.”

“So spare me the bullshit, Bud. It’s me you’re talkin’ to. Self-preservation instinct my ass. And no matter what Jolene says, nobody knows you like I do.”

“I still think you should go home, Nadine. Really.”

“Well Bud, that’s not your call now is it?

“I guess not.”

“You guessed correctly. And Bud?”

“What?”

“I love you. And I want you. So there.”

At that point, I could no longer speak. She said “goodnight” and hung up the phone. I turned my damn phone off and slowly pushed myself away from my desk. I shut my computer off and tried to stand, but my legs felt like five-year-old pipe cleaners. My head was bangin’ like a collegiate bass drum.

And all I could think of were those fateful words by Nancy Kerrigan, which were ringing in my ears...loudly.

“Why me, why now?”

Oh, brother...why me, why now indeed.

To be continued...

]]>ROAD KILL #442http://www.autoextremist.com/road-kill1/2008/4/24/road-kill-442.htmlJanice Putman2008-04-24T23:30:00ZApril 24, 2008

Everything's beautiful at Dr. Bud World Headquarters, right? Wrong, Friend-O.

By Dr. Bud E. Bryan

Austin, Texas. Soze, as I'm sittin' here peckin' away at my laptop, sippin' some Patron on our back deck (with my boxers, cowboy boots and AE T-shirt on, of course), you're probably all wonderin' - am I dead man, or what? But let's back up a minute first and do a recap, okay? Yes, I did have an encounter with Nadine, but I mean - dang - from my point of view it really wasn't my fault per se, seein' as I was accosted in broad daylight and all by the Austin Firecracker, aka The Bitch Who Shot Me (twice), the wildly unpredictable and endlessly fascinating Nadine. If you find runaway freight trains fascinating, that is. So, after Jolene walked passed me on her way to meet Annie Mae (Tom's wife) for lunch, I had a good three hours to decompress, as they were doing some shopping afterwards. Which was damn good, because I needed it.

Judging by the bunch of email y'all sent in to the website, most of you long-term readers got a instant headache when you saw the names "Jolene" and "Nadine" in the same column. After all, if there's such a thing as a quintessential definition of "Not Good" together - those two are it. From ugly evil eye encounters to an out and out, full-on, swingin' cat fight in the El Arroyo parking lot, these two (along with me) have been around and around and around and back again. Veteran readers know the whole story, new readers will just have to wait for the book that's coming (right, like when? - ed.) but suffice to say, it's a highly combustible mixture of two unbelievably headstrong, extremely smart, and pretty damn hot women who find each other unbelievably tedious, for different reasons, of course.

But that said, we all seemed to have reached an understanding, or at least I thought so anyway. As far as Jolene is concerned Nadine is flat crazy but ultimately harmless, because I'll never go back to the girl who damn near killed me. And in her own weird way, Jolene kind of "gets" Nadine, understands where she's comin' from and is not threatened by her in the least. Oh, Nadine pisses Jolene off plenty, but she's not concerned that anything bad is gonna happen.

As for Nadine, she thinks Jolene was a conniving little opportunist who took her man right out from under her, and she's never forgiven her for it. But in her own weird way she "gets" Jolene and kind of understands where she's comin' from too. After all, Jolene did nurse me back to health after the shooting - never once leaving my side - and Nadine respects the hell out of her for that, but at the end of the day these two aren't sharing any girlie birthday cards anytime soon, if you know what I mean.

Now since Nadine up and married Charles out of convenience, it has been a little calmer. (It's more of a business deal, actually. Even though they're both wealthy, he keeps her in the style she's accustomed, and he gets a wild-ass piece of arm candy. It works for them, what can I say?) She has been relatively on the subdued side of late, though. Oh sure, she sends me the odd email here and there, telling me about Charles and their country club life, usually bitchin' about the fact that "Charles likes three things: Business (making money), golf, and makin' sure he has the hottest girl on his arm at the club. In that order." But Nadine plays the role to the hilt when she has to, and as you might imagine she's damn good at it. She's even found a partner in crime to raise hell with at the club (another highly irreverent and sassy trophy wife), and it's all good, more or less.

I figured I was going to skate under the whole thing and it wouldn't be an issue at all. You're probably thinkin' right about now - was I being completely delusional? Did I hook up the Patron tequila IV drip again, or what? There's no way I was going to escape the wrath of Jolene, especially since I was dumb enough to actually put the most recent encounter with Nadine in my column. But here's a little tidbit I've never shared with my readers. You see, Jolene doesn't read my column. She sort of got out of the habit back when things weren't going' good (which admittedly was quite often), and besides, she warned me to keep our personal shit off the Internet because it really offended her proper Southern Belle sensibilities, from what I gather. And she didn't want to read about "that bitch" anymore either. So there.

So, knowing all this, and not hearing anything about it except from Peter - who suggested I had lost my mind for writing about it - I went to bed that night thinkin' it was all going to blow over and nothing would come of it. Nadine didn't even email (I kind of figured she wouldn't, she just likes to pull my chain and she's damn good at it), and it was cool. It was even cool a couple of mornings later, as Jolene and I enjoyed a nice breakfast and hung out talking about nothin' in particular. She was going to a charity function/luncheon with Annie at noon, and I was going to supervise some landscaping installation in the afternoon (sometimes my "Honey Do" list consists of me picking up the phone and calling in the experts). Just another perfect day down here in the Live Music Capital of the World, right?

Wrong, friend-o.

Just as the landscaping crew was pulling out, my cell phone rang.

"You son of a bitch!" Uh oh. It was my bride, and she was lights-out livid.

"What part of kissing that slut in public seemed like a good idea? And how many times have I warned you not to put that shit in your column?"

Talkin' didn't seem like the smart thing to do at that particular moment.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Are you f---in' crazy? Or just stupid?"

To make a long story short, while Annie and Jolene were at their little function, Annie asked Jolene if she had read my latest column. Since she hadn't, Annie thought it was absolutely critical at that moment in time to get it up on her Blackberry so Jolene could read it while sitting there. Helpful, right? Being the polite lady that she is, Jolene read it, didn't say a word, finished the luncheon and punched me up on her cell while she and Annie were walking to Annie's car.

Not very good. Not very good at all, as a matter of fact.

Well, Jolene screamed at me her whole ride home. And she was screamin' at me when they pulled into our driveway. And she was still screamin' at me when she stormed through our side door, too, even though I was sitting there in the kitchen with my cell on the table - on the "speaker" setting.

"How dare you humiliate me like that by putting it in your column. Something's wrong with you!"

I think that was about the 20th time she said it, but the last one had more impact in person. I attempted to say something, but given her volume and cadence all I could muster was a couple of "ums," "errs" and "ohs."

"I've had it with you, Bud."

With that she stormed back to our room and slammed the door.

Now, I don't know about you, but right then and there I figured that wherever this is going is not going to end up good, but I just had to go back to try to talk with Jolene through the door.

Big mistake.

"Aw come on, Babe. It didn't mean nothin'. You know the bitch is crazy. You know I'd never do anything with her."

"Oh yeah? 'Those eyes. Her smell. Those incredible lips.' That doesn't sound like a guy who wouldn't do anything with her. You bastard. Get the hell out of here!"

I backed away from the door, slowly, turned on my heel, grabbed my laptop out of my office (and the power cord), and went to the coffee place I always go to when I need some air. I emailed Nadine as soon as I got there and gave her a three sentence summary of what was going on. She wrote right back and said, "I'm sorry, Bud, but if you're dumb enough to write about it I guess I can't blame Jolene."

I replied "thanks a f--- of a lot" and sat there and stewed. That bitch is crazy, as if I needed to be reminded. After I was tired of the coffee shop vibe, I went over to El Arroyo and had a drink. This was bad. It wasn't my intention to blow things up between us. Not at all. I wasn't happy. As I was finishing my margarita, my phone buzzed. It was Jolene, texting me.

"Get your ass back here" was all the message said.

As I was making my way through the door she was sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for me. I didn't even have a chance to open my mouth before she started in.

"Now you listen to me, Bud, and you listen to me really good. I've told you before but this is the last time I'll say it. I will not allow that bitch to destroy us. I didn't way back when and I'm not going to allow it now, either. But here's the deal. I want her email address. And then I will take this from here."

"I don't have it," I said stupidly. (I admit, I must have taken a double-dose of stupid pills that day.)

"Oh cut the crap, Bud. Give it to me, now."

I gave it to her.

And she walked back to where her computer is, sat down, and turned it on.

This can't be good, I thought to myself.

I changed and set up camp on the back deck, which is where this column started.

Maybe there is somethin' wrong with me, as Jolene said. Or maybe I am stupid.

But, hell with it, I'm determined to ride this thing until it bucks me, and I'm gonna keep writing...

As the sun starts to get low in the horizon, I hear her tapping away in there through the open screen window.

And my only friend at this very moment is Senor Patron.

To be continued...

]]>ROAD KILL #441http://www.autoextremist.com/road-kill1/2008/4/16/road-kill-441.htmlJanice Putman2008-04-16T16:00:13ZApril 15, 2008

The four words no man likes to hear.

By Dr. Bud E. Bryan

Austin, Texas. Well, after surviving Spring Break week and the entertaining visit by Jolene's niece and her Teen Queen pal (thanks for the sympathy emails from out there guys, I appreciate it), things were settling back to normal down here, or at least so I thought.

I was going about my business last week, which consisted of: 1. Checking out smokin' hot ESPN sideline reporter Erin Andrews on YouTube (even a guy in USA Today commented about the phenomenon in today's paper, so I'm glad it's not just me). 2. Falling asleep toward the end of the NASCAR race from Phoenix out of sheer boredom. 3. Watching the MotoGP last Sunday. 4. Working on my Spring "Honey Do" list from Jolene, which seems to be growing exponentially by the minute. 5. Avoiding writing my column until the last minute (or not writing it at all - ed.). 6. Reading endless stuff about the NFL draft. 7. And helping Jolene find a new car. Now, among all that was drinks with my buddy Tom one night, which didn't get out of hand, and which our respective spouses were quite pleased about, given our history. Plus more work on my book. Plus a bunch of other stuff not worth mentioning...

The car thing is worth mentioning, however. Jolene had been driving a 3 series BMW wagon, but she was sick of the wagon thing, and so we embarked on "the process" of finding her a new car. Now, the way we usually do it is I start mentioning things to her about certain cars, or she'll hear Peter and me talkin' about cars, or she'll comment on a car commercial or a magazine ad that she noticed. Then there's seeing cars on the road, the occasional dealer lot "drive-bys," etc., etc. So after a couple months of that she had narrowed her choice down to a.) another BMW, b.) the new Cadillac CTS, or c.) the Honda Fit. A Porsche Boxster was on the list but only as a fantasy pick (she's always wanted one but she decided not this time). The first two finalists were fairly understandable, with the BMW being her pick, the CTS being my pick and the Honda Fit being "our" alternative pick.

We then checked them all out. The 3 Series was her first choice, but she was interested in a Coupe this time. I then got her to seriously check out the CTS, and she really liked the car, so it was a strong contender (she likes that commercial too). And the Fit was my off-the-wall suggestion for something fun in the urban environment, and she surprised me by sparking to the idea and actually taking the time to drive one and thoroughly giving it strong consideration. She even encountered a professional sales guy at the Honda dealer who didn't do or say anything stupid in her presence, which pleased her to no end.

But after all that she gravitated back to where her heart was - which was with another BMW - and she ended up with a 328i Coupe (white with black interior), with the CTS running a very close second and the Fit gaining a huge measure of respect for being the fine small car that it is. But I will add this, when I showed her pictures of the upcoming CTS Coupe she said flatly, "That will be my next car." So, all in all, the whole deal went down pretty well. She's happy and the car drives great, so, it's all good.

But then, when I went down to put some gas in her car for the first time the other morning, something crazy happened...

I was minding my own business, while watching the total for the gas climb skyward on the pump, when I heard a very familiar voice say, "Well, well, well, if it isn't the infamous Dr. Bud. E. Bryan."

I knew that voice well. Oh, did I ever. It was my almost ex-wife, the girl who spun my head around and could still do it if she set her mind to it, the girl who damn near killed me, the girl I left Jolene for - you get the picture - yes, it was the One and Only Nadine.

I slowly turned around, not knowing exactly what to expect, only to find her standing two feet away from me, with that megawatt smile of her's all aglow. She didn't even give me time to react before she wrapped her arms around me while flipping her sunglasses up on top of her fiery red mane, and proceeded to kiss me like she was Homecoming Queen and I was Homecoming King - and the whole school was watchin'.

"Hey, Baby" she said, almost whispering.

And in that instant it all came rushing back to me. Those eyes. Her smell. Those incredible lips. In the vernacular of today, all I could think of is OMG, WTF am I doing here at a Mobil station, kissing my ex-girlfriend?

A very weak-kneed and feeble "hey" was all I could muster, as she held me like I had been away at sea for a year. I started to break free from her grip so I could at least get a look at her from head to toe, but she would have none of it.

"Oh, come on, Bud, one more for old time's sake, it won't kill you."

I wasn't so sure about that. The act may not kill me per se, but the whole shit storm afterward definitely could. But it was too late, we completed our second kiss, the kind that was a little too long if you know what I mean, the kind that only two people who have been through Hell and back with each other can understand, the kind that either leads to serious, adult-type fun stuff, or divorce court - whichever way the wind is blowing.

Too hot for daytime TV, in other words.

I gathered it up, broke free of her grip and pushed her away - so I could at least catch my breath - and I stood back to have a look at her while she refused to let go of my hands.

This was the Country Club Nadine persona as opposed to the Hot Tart persona. She had on an extremely tight black pencil skirt, a nicely refined but very sexy mint green designer top (with cleavage of course), dazzling but understated diamond earrings and pair of naughty black CFM pumps on that could wake a dead man.

"My, don't you look like the perfect little Country Club Trophy wife!" I said, not knowing what else I could say.

She let go of my hands and did a little twirl and coquettish bend at the knee for me, sticking her butt out at the end while touching her lips with one index finger. Frickin' unbelievable is all I could think. Just then I noticed this old guy out of the corner of my eye at the pump across the way, his mouth was hanging open as big as a double-wide, and his eyes were about to pop clean out of his head.

"Well, Nadine, you look fantastic, that's for sure..."

"Well thank you, Bud. I'm glad someone at least notices."

"Oh come on, Nadine. I've watched three guys walk back to their cars just about doing an exorcist swivel move with their heads just to check your ass out. You still got it."

"Yeah, well Charles sure doesn't notice, and seein' as he's allegedly my husband and all, that can be a bit of a problem."

With that, she marched right back up to me, pulled me up close to her again and then laid another toe-curling kiss on me.

"I'm glad I still turn your head, Bud. I always loved the way you looked at me."

Now, seein' as my gas stopped pumping five minutes ago, it occurred to me that this was probably goin' nowhere good and that it was time for me to extricate my ass from the situation.

"You definitely still turn my head, Nadine, but you know, I really should be going. It was really great to see you though."

I gave her one of those quick maintenance kisses that people who have been together do just to cover things, and then tried to go back to what I was doing, but she would have none of it.

"Whoa. What the hell was that? Uh-uh, Bud. Get back here."

"Look Nadine, I gots to go..."

She wrapped her whole body around me this time and pressed me up against my car - a move she has done with great relish in the past - and then finished me off with a kiss that made me see stars. No shit.

"Now, Bud, that's more like it. I'm gonna email you when I get home. We need to talk."

With that, she turned on those breathtaking heels, and slinked away from me like a cat walking a tight rope over a hot skillet. She got in her Mercedes and peeled out of the gas station knowing full well I would watch her fade off in the distance until she was a speck on the damn horizon.

"We need to talk?" I said to myself. OMG is right.

I spent the rest of the morning in a daze. I stopped at a coffee shop because my knees wouldn't stop shaking, not that I needed any caffeine at that point, but I was afraid I smelled like Nadine and I just couldn't go home and have Jolene notice. I drove around a little more and then returned, only to have Jolene breeze right past me on her way out the door, because she was late meeting Annie for lunch. There was a fleeting directional air kiss exchanged and she was off.

I went inside and just sat in my office in a stupor, staring at my computer screen as it refreshed endlessly on its own.

"We need to talk."

The four words no man likes to hear - I don't care how old you are, how married, how single, or how many cumulative man-woman experiences you've had - those words bring a chill to a man's soul.

I'll add two more words to this whole dang rodeo: Not Good.

To be continued...

]]>ROAD KILL #439http://www.autoextremist.com/road-kill1/2008/4/3/road-kill-439.htmlJanice Putman2008-04-03T16:13:04ZApril 3, 2008

Old Dogs, the Lolita complex, and I'm damn glad they were just visiting...

By Dr. Bud E. Bryan

Austin, Texas. Men are stupid. Just ask any woman. We're also childish, unbelievably immature, tediously juvenile, at times intolerably gross and generally tolerated by women for the few things that we are good for. Which is, admittedly, a sliding scale of diminishing returns as we get older, but what the Hell - I know we're damn sure good enough for some things anyway. Rather than do my list, I would ask each and every guy out there to silently compose their list (okay, it didn't take long, did it? Damn, I hate that), and we can move on to today's discussion.

Now, I was going to title this column, "Doc, she was 17 going on 30, if you know what I mean..." but Jack Nicholson already played that scene better in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest so there's no need for me to add to it. Let's just say I just survived a fairly interesting week down here at Dr. Bud's World Headquarters. You see, it was Spring Break, and Jolene's sister thought it would be a good time to visit - and bring her 17-year-old daughter and her 17-year-old girlfriend with her so they could check out the University of Texas campus - because they'd both applied, and since they're little brainiacs will most likely breeze their way in.

Which is fine and all, because I figured with the two older sisters reminiscing about their salad days while showing the young up and comers "the ropes" so to speak, I could be left relatively alone and unscathed from the chaos except for a few dinners. Now, how could I possibly think, after all this time, that things would work out as planned?

First off, me and Jolene's sister (Julie) get along just fine, so that wasn't going to be an issue. But when they pulled up to the house and the two girls bounded out of Julie's brand new Enclave, I was like, whoa, what happened to cute little Kelli who I saw, oh, maybe five years ago? Let me paint the picture for you...

Kelli was wearing black form-fitting workout pants (the kind that end too short and flare out at the bottom - I have no idea what that's about), flip-flops, a black tank top with the words "Too Hot for You" written out in glittery script, big silver hoop earrings and ultra-hip sunglasses, and her friend Daisy (no kidding) had on, appropriately enough, the shortest and tightest pair of Daisy Duke jean shorts that I have ever seen, a black tank top with no writing necessary, apparently, a pair of kick-ass cowboy boots, hip sunglasses, big jangly earrings and a black baseball hat. And to top it all off, needless to say, these girls weren't twelve.

I came out on the porch with Jolene, and she took one look at the girls and their, ahem, "grown-up" figures and one look at me (I must have had that dazed cowboy look I get with my mouth hanging part way open) and said (so only I could here), "Oh boy."

"Oh boy" wasn't on my mind at that moment. It was more like "Oh, shit" as Kelli came bounding up on to the porch to give me a big ol' hug saying, "Hey, Uncle Bud!" as she wrapped her little rock star figure around me. I, of course, tried to keep it as quick as possible, saying lamely, "Well look at you! You're not so little anymore!"

And then Jolene and Julie said almost in unison, shooting me a look, "No, she certainly isn't."

Then, I shook hands with Daisy, who looked at me with this big mega-watt smile as she said, "It's so nice to meet you! I've heard so much about you!" Yikes.

The rest of their five days and four night stay was pretty much a blur. The four of them did, in fact, spend a lot of time together, which was good, and I was treated to a parade of fashions that well, let's just say it was all I could do to keep my thoughts from poppin' up like balloons over my head - the kind of thought balloons that Jolene can read from across a room, I might add.

And I succeeded for the most part, except for one morning...

I got up early to enjoy a little peace and solitude before the chick-fest got into high gear, put on some coffee and was enjoying the paper, when about 20 minutes later, Jolene joined me. That was fine and everything until Daisy came wandering into the kitchen with a see-through camisole top and some very brief men's boxer-briefs on, followed shortly by Kelli who was wearing very brief spandex workout shorts and a half T-shirt. That's it.

Okay, I couldn't help it. They were both standing by the refrigerator jawing away, and I was just mesmerized, transfixed by the young, nubile beauties just five feet away from me. I was brought out of my Lolita stupor by a well-placed kick in the shin from Jolene, as she calmly said, "Girls, I think you should go put some more clothes on." They politely said "okay" and then ran off to the bedroom to get dressed. I, of course, watched intently as they disappeared from view.

And then I turned to Jolene and said, "What the fuck? What's with the kick? Damn, woman." Big mistake.

"Bud," she fired back, her eyes getting that intense glare that I know oh so well. "You know damn well what that kick was for. They're se-ven-teen (saying it with her teeth clenched) for heaven's sake. It's called jail bait, and you, more than anyone by the way, should know better. Grow up. You're old enough to be their father."

I thought for a moment that it would be best if I just kept my mouth shut at that very moment, but then a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.

"I can look if I want to. They're in my house and they're right there, flaunting it in my face. You may think they're little innocent Teen Queens, but trust me, they understand full well the power at their disposal, and they're learning to use it."

As I was finishing my statement, Julie walked in. Now, I don't know about you, and I don't know how long you've been readin' my columns, but I have a way of getting into it with women (I refer to 'em as Texas Hell Cats), and it usually gets out of control in a big hurry and doesn't go good. And right now, I had two riled-up sisters giving me the same look, not knowing which one of 'em was going to let me have it first.

"I'm glad you could join us, Julie, because I was just telling Bud what an asshole he is for leering at your daughter and her friend like he was at a strip club," Jolene said gruffly.

"Really? My, now isn't that mature, Bud."

I shot back, "Oh, like I'm the first man who has noticed your daughter's budding maturation? Give me a frickin' break."

And what part of that I could possibly think was a good idea I'll never know, because that unleashed a five-minute firestorm/tongue-lashing from the two of them that had them dressing me up and down using words like "typical," "idiotic," "sending the wrong message," "grow up," "pig," "jerk," "juvenile" and a whole bunch of other stuff that you can probably imagine.

And then there was a lull in the beat-down, so I calmly got up, got my keys, and went to the coffee shop up at the corner for a little peace and quiet, avoiding the whole thing the rest of the day, as they went shopping, etc., etc.

Okay, so I was guilty but then again, I couldn't help it. These girls were seventeen going on T-r-o-u-b-l-e with a capital "T" if you know what I mean.

When they came in later in the day, I was in my office with the door closed, avoiding the issue entirely. And I stayed there, until Jolene knocked saying that dinner would be on shortly.

Everything was cool that evening as the sisters sort of made nice with me, figurin' they might have been a little hard on the Old Dog. And the girls were their carefree selves, blabbing at a mile-a-minute and eager to get on with the whole college thing.

And, amazingly enough, I kind of got the last laugh in this story, as Kelli blurted out right before the end of dinner, "Mom, why don't you and Aunt Jolene go do something tomorrow so Uncle Bud can give us his version of Austin and UT?"

I sort off looked off into the distance like I didn't hear it, and then I heard Julie say to Jolene, "Well, I wouldn't mind hangin' with you for lunch tomorrow, if that's cool with you."

Jolene gave me a brief little look that it was okay, that they both knew I would be on my best behavior and said simply, "Sure. Sounds fun."

Well, well, well. I took those two hot little Teen Queens on a tour of Austin like they never dreamed of. I drove 'em around, showin' 'em all the cool clubs and all. Told 'em where to go for good cheap eats, where the best breakfast place is, etc., etc., drove 'em around so they could ogle all of the strapping young men without Julie and Jolene hovering over 'em, showed where it was all goin' on essentially, and then I finally took them to El Arroyo - the "Cultural Center of the Universe" down here - and one of the best damn bar-restaurants in town, all-time.

They l-o-v-e-d every damn minute of it too.

And funny thing was, about half-way through lunch I noticed that a few guys were givin' me quick little smiles and acknowledgements as they walked by, or from across the room, which I was slow pickin' up on. I mean, what were they so frickin' cheery about? And then it dawned on me. These girls could be my daughters, if I had daughters, but they didn't look like me at all. And these other guys were thinkin' all those bad thoughts that got Jolene and Julie all riled-up in the first place. And they were just very happy for me.

I just leaned back and smiled and enjoyed the glow of youth sitting across the table from me.

It was a perfect day, if I do say so my own self.

Life can be pretty good sometimes, and sometimes when you least expect it too.

But I'm damn glad they were just visiting...

Adios until the next time.

]]>ROAD KILL #438http://www.autoextremist.com/road-kill1/2008/3/27/road-kill-438.htmlJanice Putman2008-03-27T15:19:32ZMarch 27, 2008

Lost in Hulu.

By Dr. Bud E. Bryan.

Austin, Texas. I probably should have ignored or deleted the email that Peter sent me a couple of weeks ago about this new website called hulu.com, a venture by NBC Universal that has altered my on-line life completely, but I couldn't help it and I just had to check it out. For a TV Kid like myself, Hulu is a treasure-trove of complete episodes from classic television shows, new shows, movies, etc., that just goes on and on and on. And it's free. It isn't YouTube, which is good, because I actually like it better.

Just last night, for instance, I stumbled upon a whole slew of "McHale's Navy" episodes, one of the classic comedies from the 60s starring Ernest Borgnine as Lt. Comdr. McHale, the brilliant Tim Conway as Ensign Parker and the magnificent Joe Flynn as the memorable Captain Binghampton, with an indelible cast of characters that careened around the South Pacific during WWII in an unending series of uproarious adventures that are still hilarious to this day. The writing and the ensemble acting on "McHale's Navy" was every bit as good as any "M-A-S-H" episode (if not noticeably better), and you can see how the creators of the Korean War comedy spent a lot of time studying the earlier show.

But that's just one sliver of an example. You name the TV show - new or old - and it's on Hulu. And that's not even getting into the full-length movies that are available on the site either. On the first day I went to the site the featured movies were "The Big Lebowski" and "The Girl Next Door." I don't know about you, but I never get tired of watching The Dude and his pals in their excellent L.A. story. I mean when you're sitting at your computer and it's right there, I defy you not to at least watch a few minutes of it. The same goes for "The Girl Next Door" - the spiritual successor and tribute film to "Risky Business" - the best coming of age movie ever done. "The Girl Next Door" features the future stars Emile Hirsch and the frighteningly delicious Elisha Cuthbert in a romp that rivals "Business" at every turn.

I can only offer a word of caution before you go to Hulu, however. I don't care how snobby your viewing tastes are, or how allegedly "disinterested" you are in succumbing to watching sitcoms old and new, or classic and recent movies, etc. Because one tour of Hulu and you'll be hooked.

Before I got lost in Hulu, I was going to write about the Indians buying Jaguar and Land Rover from Ford, but that wasn't worth a whole column. Tata will either maintain the status quo for the brands, or they'll screw the whole thing up even more. We here at AE are among the dissenters who intensely dislike the new XF sedan, by the way, unlike Autoweek which can't seem to help itself in lavishing praise on the car in every other issue. There is nothing in the least that says "Jaguar" about the car except for maybe the grille. The shape reminds us of derivative Japanese design (especially the rear 3/4 view), and the whole car leaves us cold. If that's the future design direction for the brand, then good luck. But then again maybe the Indians will surprise us all and do a proper successor to the great sports cars that once carried the Jaguar colors on race tracks around the world. Short of doing that, we can't muster enough energy to care about the brand.

Anyway, that's all I have for this week...

Adios until the next time.

]]>ROAD KILL #437http://www.autoextremist.com/road-kill1/2008/3/15/road-kill-437.htmlJanice Putman2008-03-15T16:12:33ZMarch 19, 2008

Say it ain't so, Pontiac.

By Dr. Bud E. Bryan

Austin, Texas. Okay, I understand that Pontiac wants to get back to where it needs to be. After completely losing its mojo over the years with a series of bad product moves, they seem to finally recognize the need to get back to where they once belonged - as GM's "march to a different drummer" performance division with a bad-ass attitude. Peter has written about it many times over the last almost nine years of Autoextremist, and since he actually worked on Pontiac advertising during one of its renaissance periods (1980-85 - Peter wrote the famous print ad for the 1981 Trans-Am headlined "Soul Survivor" among other things - ed.), he knows of what he speaks. But a Pontiac "sport truck" - ? You gotta be kidding me.

Using GM's new rear-wheel-drive architecture from its Holden division in Australia (that will also appear under the upcoming Camaro) to rejuvenate Pontiac is one thing. That, I can see. The result is that we have the G8 hitting dealers now, and for fans of big, rear-wheel-drive sedans it seems to have all the makings of being a real stout machine. Plus, GM is already announcing the GXP version of the G8 (with 402HP!) at this week's New York Auto Show, which will be coming later this year. But in the midst of announcing that, GM also announced something called a G8 "sport truck," which is allegedly coming for 2010. I say allegedly because between the weak dollar and my hope that cooler heads prevail, we'll never see the thing in the U.S.

Now, don't get me wrong, the El Camino of yore was a semi-interesting ride, and I'm sure there will be a few people who get one of these things for nostalgia's sake, but just because they sell this thing in Australia currently doesn't mean it's going to translate over here in two years time. And no, I'm not losing it in the face of the Green-or-Die onslaught that's sending the country into a frenzy. Enthusiasts will still buy rear-wheel-drive, V8-powered cars for several more years to come. We'll pay dearly for the privilege, to be sure, but we'll still do it. But a Pontiac sport truck? WTF?

Did the names "Trans-Am" or "GTO" ever come up in the discussion at all? I mean, come on, there's no truck in Pontiac's glorious "Wide track" heritage. And there shouldn't be one in 2010, either. With rear-wheel-drive, V8-powered high-performance machines becoming a rare - if not soon to be endangered - species, you can't afford any missteps if you're a car company. You have to put your best stuff forward and make it count. A Pontiac sport truck smacks of a frivolous lark to me, something not to be taken seriously in today's market. And about the last thing Pontiac needs right now is to not be taken seriously.

And polling consumers to "name" the sport truck in a contest that's running on Pontiac's website doesn't exactly help Pontiac's cause, either. And no, I'm not going to offer up a cutesy name that slams the vehicle, because the whole thing is too stupid for words.

WTF are these guys at Pontiac thinking? I'll answer that one for you, because they're obviously not. Actually, I believe the guys in charge of Pontiac marketing have completely lost it at this point.

The people at Pontiac better hope Peter doesn't weigh-in on this subject just in time for next week's media unveil of the G8 Sport Truck.

But then again, I hope he does - because common sense has to come from somewhere - especially when it's obviously in short supply at Pontiac headquarters.

Adios until the next time.

]]>ROAD KILL #435http://www.autoextremist.com/road-kill1/2008/3/4/road-kill-435.htmlJanice Putman2008-03-04T18:04:10ZMarch 5, 2008

For the Unbridled Joy of the Game - and so much more.

By Dr. Bud E. Bryan

Austin, Texas. Brett Favre retiring? Yes, we all knew it was inevitable, but still this is a big deal, because he was so much more than just a quarterback.

Brett Favre was a throwback to a better era.

There, I said it. Other commentators dance around this all the time because they don't want to sound "old" or be accused of wallowing in nostalgia, but Brett represented a better era in sportsmanship, where personal integrity and substance actually mattered and where athletes played the game with a joy and a passion and with a belief in doing things the "right" way.

Sure, it's corny and oh so old school, but Brett Favre accomplished greatness through hard work and a built-in drive that knew no bounds. The man lived to play football. He loved to play football. He understood that it was just a game, but he respected the traditions and the heroes that came before him and he wasn't going to let them down - ever. Because he viewed it as a privilege to be able to play professional football, and it showed on every play and in every game for 17 memorable seasons

It was so refreshing to see Brett Favre go about playing the game. You were up and down and up again. Sheer exhilaration was regularly punctuated by gut-wrenching disappointment, sort of like life its own self, come to think of it.

In our shallow, media-saturated world where a five minute video constitutes a "lengthy" deep-dive into an important subject and where the average adult's attention span can be measured out in seconds, when I see an individual of the quality of Brett Favre leave the stage it pains me. Because he represents one less brace of humanity and integrity, and one less beacon of strength that we can count on to refocus us in this screwed-up world.

As we watch our so-called public discourse dissolve into a vicious, never-ending cacophony of noise and counter-noise, and as we see athlete after athlete conduct themselves in a reprehensible manner - and yet are automatically given a place at the table of import in our cellophane-shallow society - the news of Brett Favre's retirement is sad.

Brett Favre played the game the way it was meant to be played, and he played it with heart and an unbridled joy that made us all feel young again. When I watched him play, it was as if time stood still, and I could hold off the encroaching reality of the world for three brief but glorious hours.

I will miss him, but I will miss what he represents even more.

Adios until the next time.

]]>ROAD KILL #433http://www.autoextremist.com/road-kill1/2008/2/22/road-kill-433.htmlJanice Putman2008-02-22T19:41:40ZFebruary 22, 2008

Well, at least I've got a couple of corners in the castle anyway...

By Dr. Bud E. Bryan

Austin, Texas. The tired old adage about a "man and his castle" has been obsolete for so long that it's almost not worth mentioning anymore. That idea went by the wayside years ago, mostly because it was never true to begin with. Case in point? Part of the deal with this whole "Domestic Tranquility" business down here at Dr. Bud's World Headquarters is realizing that it ain't my "world headquarters" at all. Because the reality is that it's very much Miss Jolene's domain, and I'm just lucky enough to have a room here. Most guys learn at some point (some later than others, unfortunately) that this cohabitation thing basically involves serious compromises - mostly on our parts. Yeah, sure, our ladies shrewdly let us have enough stuff and hold sway on a few things just to keep us somewhat pacified, but make no mistake, they run the show at home - and the more we go along to get along the better our day-to-day life is. Yeah, no big revelation here, but it's as if I have to remind myself by sayin' it out loud or typing it once in a while just to be sure.

Now, our house (which used to be my house years ago before she arrived on the scene) is a perfect example. What used to be a fairly nice little bungalow has been turned into a showpiece inside and out. Beautiful colors, exceptional details, lush landscaping, meticulous upkeep - the whole nine yards. Sometimes, I almost feel like a guest in my own house, except for my office and the garage. And I'm sure you readers out there are all silently nodding right about now. It just sort of happens. And it's wild just how quickly it happens too. One minute - when you're in that official Lust Stage - you're doing tequila shots downtown and then slammin' each other up against the walls when you get back 'til the wee hours of the morning. Then the next minute, she's moving "a few little things" in. And then the next minute you're being given strict instructions on where to put your shoes when you come in so as to not screw-up the fabulously renovated wood floors, you're being allotted a room for your "office" that she just throws her hands up about and shuts the door to it when you have company, you're warned about leaving clothes and towels around, and your hat rack is moved out of sight and has been overrun by weird colored hats that you wouldn't be caught dead wearing.

Oh well, that's what grown-up, guy-girl compromising is all about, I guess. When it comes to the household, girls dictate the what-when-where-why-how, and guys just kind of nod a lot, mumble a few things under our breath and say "ok" - figurin' we'll get to flash our resolute independence somewhere along the way. Me? I still go out to get the mail in my boxer shorts, long-sleeved Autoextremist T-shirt and cowboy boots. She cringes and yells "Bud!" out the window when she's home, and the old lady next door smiles at me when she sees me, but I think Jolene figures if that's the least offensive thing I do around here she can live with it. That, and she lets me have the garage, the last bastion of most guys' personal freedom once they've acquiesced to the whole domesticated thing.

Now, my garage is certainly no "Garage-Mahal" like those garages I see in Vintage Motorsport, but it's fine for me. Not that I wouldn't want one of those garages, especially with some of the iron those guys have accumulated, but I do have a refrigerator, a small LCD HD TV, a boom box and a rack for all my car-washing stuff, so I'm good. Jolene has a corner for all of her pots and other landscaping accoutrements, and occasionally while I'm out there she straightens things up and sweeps, but she learned long ago to let the garage be. After all, I keep her car clean, and she doesn't want to upset that routine, so she goes along with it. Not that I hang out there much, it's not that nice. But at least when I'm out I can pretend that it's my little domain.

We did have one semi-major episode here a while back though, and that is when I said that it was time to seriously upgrade the main TV in the living room. I had already gotten us situated with an HD LCD TV in the bedroom, which she bitched and moaned about - that is until she started seeing her favorite shows in HD - but the living room was another story. Now I don't know about you, but what is it about women and their distinctions between family rooms and living rooms? Most all of 'em I've run up against insist that a TV in the family room is ok, but in the living room, not so much. And Jolene is no exception.

Except we don't have a family room, per se, so that's a problem.

She's had the TV enclosed in this big piece of furniture for years, and she figured that if she could shut the doors on it and keep it out of view when not in use, then it was ok. So, I put an HD set in there, but you about needed a damned magnifying glass to see it. Every time I brought up getting a "proper-sized" TV (to my way of thinking - 50" or more) in the past, she insisted that the set would have to fit in the existing space, and as we well know, existing pieces of furniture and big flat screen TVs don't mix. So we've been stuck with this less-than-deal arrangement for a while now.

That is until right before the Super Bowl.

While she was getting primped-up one Saturday morning, I meandered into one of the local HD TV pushers and marveled at all of the new sets. I know they rig 'em up for optimum reception and all in the stores, but still, I found myself wandering around with about six other guys quietly "ooh-ing" and "ahh-ing" over the latest technology. (You can't just shout out, "Damn that's some picture!" in a TV store, you have to be cool. It's like secret guy code shit - even though we're all thinkin' it). So right then and there I decided that enough was enough and we were getting a new TV, no magnifying glass required.

I picked out the perfect set, went home and measured where it would go (minus her big wood thing, of course) and then waited for her to get home so she could hear about My Plan.

She quietly listened to my explanation, an impassioned 15-minute speech about football, technology, The Future (we had to do it with the new TV rules comin' and all!), how everything would be better including her shows (the Food Channel!), the Big Game, racing, even right down to Life its own damn self! After I was finished I was spent, like I had just finished another stop on the campaign trail.

She sat for a moment and then quietly said, "That's cool. I've been thinking of moving that armoire into the dining room for quite a while anyway. So when are we getting it?"
With that, she got up and wandered off down the hall.

WTF? I shouted after her, "You mean to tell me we've been watching football on that damn elf TV for months now and all along you were contemplating moving that wood thing?!?!"

I was incredulous.

Then her voice bounced back from the bedroom...

"Well, Bud, as you say, you just never know, now do ya'?"

I absolutely hate when she throws my lines back in my face. Fifteen minutes later, I was in the TV store finalizing the order. An hour after that Tom was over helping me move the dreaded wood thing into the dining room (Jolene pronounced it perfect). And two hours after that, they delivered the new TV and the pedestal stand.

That evening, while sitting on the couch with Jolene watching a movie, not able to completely savor the stunning picture on our new 52" LCD HD TV knowing full well that I had missed a whole season of football on it, I thought about that old "King and his castle" saying and just smiled.

After all, I may not be the King of mine, but at least I got a couple of corners I can call my own.

Adios until the next time.

]]>ROAD KILL #432http://www.autoextremist.com/road-kill1/2008/2/13/road-kill-432.htmlJanice Putman2008-02-13T13:19:13ZFebruary 13, 2008

The races to see in 2008.

By Dr. Bud E. Bryan

Austin, Texas. In keeping with this weekend's Daytona 500, I thought I'd put together my ultimate wish list of races to see this year, whether it be on TV or in person. It's always better in person, but hey, this wish list would have to be powered by unlimited funding to do it right, so let's just dream for a bit, okay?

The Daytona 500. It's one of only a handful of NASCAR races I deem worth watching during the year, plus it's the 50th Anniversary of the event. I wouldn't miss it.

The 12 Hours of Sebring. It's a party for some, it's a race for others, but I'd say it's both. And it's still the most historic and significant long-distance race in the U.S.

The Grand Prix of Long Beach. It looks like, by all indications, that this will be the first time in years in which a unified IndyCar series will race at the West Coast's premier road racing event. Halle-frickin-luja.

The Indianapolis 500. The greatest single motor race in the world, period. If you've never been, go, because the start of the Indy 500 is the most electrifying moment in all of sports. And with a full grid of competitive teams and drivers this year the race should be a real barn burner.

The Grand Prix of Monaco. I've never been, but I'm one of those guys Peter was talking about in his "Fumes" column today. I can't tell you how many times I've seen the movie Grand Prix, and one day I'll get there to see the GP of Monaco in person. F1 basically sucks for the most part, but this is another race I wouldn't miss.

The Milwaukee Mile. The traditional stop for the Indy cars after the Indy 500, it's still wild to see those racers at that track.

The 24 Hours of Le Mans. The greatest single road racing event in the world and one of the big three in all of motorsport (along with Indy and Monaco).

The Kohler International Challenge at Road America. The Monterey Historics get all the media attention, but for my money the Kohler International Challenge (with Brian Redman) at Road America in Elkhart Lake, WI, is the finest vintage racing event in the country. Not only does it take place on America's premier natural-terrain road racing circuit, the postcard town of Elkhart Lake provides a backdrop that Laguna Seca just can't match. Of course, just about any event at Road America is worth attending, just to see the most magnificent circuit that this country has to offer.

The two NASCAR road races. Until somebody goes and reinvents the Trans-Am series with the new Mustang, Challenger and Camaro, then the NASCAR road races at Sears Point (Infineon Raceway) and Watkins Glen will have to suffice. These races have displayed the best road racing in this country - hands down - for the last several years.

The IRL road races. Take your pick from Watkins Glen, Mid-Ohio or Sears Point in Sonoma, but the unified Indy Car series on these natural terrain circuits will be sizzling. Other than Long Beach, you can have the other street circuits these guys run on.

Eldora. Tony Stewart saved this dirt track by buying it, and it's worth the trip. Doesn't matter which race, just go.

Talladega. It's outrageous and uproarious, and that's just the infield. If you want the full-on southern NASCAR experience, you can still find it at Talladega.

The Bristol night race weekend. Seeing NASCAR at Bristol - at night - is a religious experience, I just can't express it any other way.

Sure, there are plenty more races to see. The NHRA Finals at Indianapolis. The Vintage weekend in September at Watkins Glen. A F1 race at Silverstone, England, or at Monza, Italy - the two spiritual homes of that sport. The ALMS weekends at Road America and at Road Atlanta for Petit Le Mans. The fantastic vintage events in England at Donnington that I've always salivated over. Or hell, it could be just going out to see your favorite little local short track on a Saturday night.

The important thing is to select a handful of events, do the planning, and go. It's always worth it...

Adios until the next time.

]]>ROAD KILL #431http://www.autoextremist.com/road-kill1/2008/2/6/road-kill-431.htmlJanice Putman2008-02-06T14:07:55ZFebruary 6, 2008

Dr. Bud's Racin' Rules - the 2008 Pre-Season Predictions Version.

By Dr. Bud E. Bryan

Austin, Texas. Well, now that the second-best damn Super Bowl ever has officially ended the football season (sorry Giants fans, I still rank SB III when Joe Willie Namath's Jets beat the 17-point favorite Baltimore Colts as a bigger deal), it's time to start thinking about the racing season. Okay, save your emails, I know the Daytona 24-Hour was run a couple of weeks ago, but let's face it, other than for us hard-core road racing fans, it didn't constitute the beginning of the season for the rest of the country because football was still goin' on. But now that the pigskins have stopped flyin' we can all get down to business.

Some driver somewhere will actually take responsibility for screwin' up on the track. No, I have no idea where or when this will happen, but I predict that a driver will actually dispense with this "we" bullshit - as in "We were runnin' really good today, just off the leaders' until we hit the wall," or, "We got the set-up just a hair off which is why we spent the entire race in a battle for 35th," or, "We got caught up with the pace car back there which is why we lost two laps" - and just admit that he or she f---ed-up royally. As in, "Yeah, I punted him off. Didn't mean to but I tried my best Michael Schumacher late-braking imitation and drilled him like an RPG." Or, "It just seemed like a good idea at the time to go four-wide into Turn 2. Guess what, it wasn't." How about this one: "I was so geeked coming off of 4 there was no way in Hell I was going to make the pit lane, but I tried anyway. I think they're still picking up the pieces." And how about in F1: "For sure I thought I could pass the first two rows of the grid going down into Turn 1. Big mistake. Did I really take out half the field?" I think racing fans of all stripes are tired of this "we" bullshit in racing. And no, we're not stupid - we understand, of course, that there is an entire team of technicians behind these drivers, but come on, did the team keep its foot in it while on the grass and shoot up the banking like a pinball causing the Big One? Did the team overshoot the pit box and send the whole pit lane scrambling? Did the team throw the race away while leading trying a bonehead move to even a score with a rival from earlier in the race? Nope. It was the driver, and the driver alone. I think it would benefit all of us fans if today's modern drivers - robots and otherwise - took to heart those immortal words of the great Buddy Baker, who nonchalantly climbed out of his car after hitting the wall one day and said after being asked what happened: "My brain blowed-up."

A race with just three finishers. The car count is so shaky in Champ Car that they'll actually try to pawn-off a 16-car grid (if they're lucky) as a "full field." Given the nature of half the tracks they run on, it's conceivable that three cars will be left running at one of their races. Would you be surprised? I wouldn't be. Notgonnahappen.com? We'll see.

Formula 1 will dissolve into juvenile petty bickering over some affront, real or imagined. As most AE readers know, F1 stopped having any appeal to me years ago. Yeah, I'll watch a handful of races a year, but beyond that the season is too long, the racing is either nonexistent (whoever leads into Turn 1 wins) or too boring, the media blather is too stupid, the cars have no appeal, but most of all, the fact that Bernie Ecclestone has turned the whole thing into his personal carpet-bagging money circus makes my skin crawl. When you add in the fact that these guys act like a bunch of five-year-olds half the time, the whole thing is a giant beat-off. And when you think of the budgets these guys are playing with, and the fact that this sport isn't doing one damn thing to advance the efficient automotive technologies of the future that we'll all be driving, I find it extremely difficult to give a shit. I'll watch a good Formula Ford race any day over the average F1 race.

The stick-and-ball media, Madison Avenue and Corporate America will start to lose its fascination with NASCAR. Actually, this started a couple of years ago. This is more Peter's thing, but I'll add my two bucks: NASCAR is oversaturated, oversubscribed, overblown, overwrought, overdone and on its way to being just plain over. And I couldn't be happier. My NASCAR viewing will consist of the following races this year: The Daytona 500, the Coca-Cola 600 (the last hour anyway), the two road races (Watkins Glen and Sears Point), the Brickyard, the Bristol night race and the Richmond night race in September. The rest of the schedule? NASCAR has become like the NBA - watch the first twenty laps and the last 20 laps and call it good.

This will be the last year for two separate open-wheel racing series in the U.S. Get your fill, Champ Car fans because 2008 will be it. The 2009 season will see the core top teams from Champ Car move over to the IRL. It's as inevitable as, well, as the Month of May at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway.

There will be an insurrection in the SCCA. Seein' as this weekend is the big annual convention for the SCCA in San Antonio and all, I thought I'd go down there and stir up some trouble. Nah, not really, but I predict a savvy group of members will unify and force some big changes in the SCCA, including moving the Runoffs from Topeka asap. I get the whole Heartland thing, but the SCCA has to get over itself and have its season-ending championship on a rotating schedule on this country's greatest natural-terrain circuits.

Danica will finally win a race. Or, let's put it this way, if she doesn't win a race this year her contract with AGR and her driving future will be in serious jeopardy, I don't care how popular her "Q" rating is.

Toyota will win several NASCAR races and contend for the Sprint Cup. This is like predicting the sun will rise in the east tomorrow. And, I wouldn't be surprised if Toyota's first NASCAR win comes on February 17th, in the Daytona 500.

Juan Pablo Montoya will contend for the Sprint Cup. This guy is good, what can I say? He is the toughest and most gifted driver in NASCAR this side of Tony Stewart and he will win races and contend for the championship. And if Toyota doesn't win the Daytona 500, don't be surprised if J.P. isn't right there at the end.

The ALMS will become the racing series. Linking future production technologies to our future production cars through racing is The Answer for manufacturers, and the ALMS will just keep on its upward trajectory (see "Fumes" AE # 430 - ed.).

Beyond the Indy 500, no one will care about open-wheel racing in the U.S. See my point above about the unification of the two major open-wheel racing series in the U.S. The sad thing is that even with a unified series, open-wheel racing in this country just might be done. Unless Tony George grows some cojones and launches the sport into a new technological dimension (see "Fumes" AE # 430 - ed.), then I'm afraid the Indy 500 will be the last race standing for hard-core open-wheel fans.

Somewhere, somehow, racing fans will find a way. There will be one fleeting moment at one race that will remind racing fans why they love the sport and why they'll keep coming back for more. And we should all be thankful for that, because the alternative would certainly be grim.

Adios until the next time.

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