The return of the car

Seventeen days. It took seventeen days, but finally, my car was returned to me.

Back in April I detected a significant loss in power. In September, the turbocharger started to whistle. Naturally, I grew concerned and had it checked out by Timmons VW.

They told me nothing was wrong except for a blown diverter valve. I was still convinced something was wrong, since Ivo at Renner Motorsport seemed quite sure that the turbocharger was going bad. VW refused to do warranty work, and GEICO refused to cover work on a dealer warrantied engine. I decided to bite the bullet and have the repairs done on my own expense.

It was expensive, but I was right: the turbocharger was going bad. It had a bent compressor blade and the shaft was loose enough that the wheel was touching the wall, causing some scoring.

Hah!

Anyhow, I bought a used turbocharger and took it to Ivo, who told me it needed to be rebuilt. Samson, an associate of Ivo’s, told me he could modify the interior for a slight performance increase for just a little more cash. I said yes. This began a long and interesting saga. Samson realized he could not just modify the interior, so instead he slapped on a bigger turbocharger compressor. Half the turbo was now a different model altogether. When Ivo received it, he therefore ran into all sorts of fitment problems… hence, seventeen days.

After seventeen days it was done.

And now I have my car back.

The turbocharger, being custom, is effectively out of VW warranty-land. Thankfully, it is warrantied by Renner Motorsport. And since it’s the turbo that usually goes concerning the powertrain, I’m just glad someone’s got it covered.

And glad I got my car back.

And then some.

Turning 30 in Las Vegas

The day began early for a Saturday. I was up at six in the morning, too excited to sleep. Instead I finished reading Armor by John Steakley, then got ready to pick up Jo, Han, and Bryan at 8:30. Before that I stopped by the ATM for some cash. I ended up breaking the machine… well, break is such a strong word. Basically, it started emitting a high pitched beep as it spit out my money, card, and receipt. It was still screeching as I walked away, and the woman in line behind me told me, “”You broke it.”"

I shrugged and walked away. As I drove off, I could still hear the ATM screaming.

Right after picking up Jo, Sunyoung called and told me she was at my place with Nadia. What she didn’t tell me, but what I discovered later, was that she immediately played house and started emptying my garbage cans. As I pulled into my street I saw Joe circling around the cul-de-sac, Craig sitting on the passenger side. Craig handed me an imported Transformer — Sideswipe. Rock. Upstairs, I collected Sunyoung and Nadia; Nadia gave me the Matrix: Reloaded DVD. Check it out! My Amazon wish list in action. Kim appeared five minutes later and we were shortly on our way….

To a Starbucks drive-thru. This being my first time going through a drive-thru, I kept shaking my head as I got Sunyoung and Nadia their respective poisons. And then we were on our way….

To Ontario Mills Mall. We met up with Alan and Suzy here, as having them meet in West LA would have meant doubling back for them. We filled up our gas tanks and were finally, finally on our way… to Vegas.

But first, a traffic accident.

The 10 freeway zoomed along quite nicely. Alan was pace car, and I’m sure he was chomping at the bit since he couldn’t go faster than the speed limit; the other three drivers, which also includes me, collected speeding tickets recently and could not afford another one so soon. Not that it mattered, however, when we hit the 15.

Traffic. Traffic for miles. A warning sign noted an accident off the 138/15 interchange. 90 minutes later, we discovered the accident involved a sixteen wheeler, a tour bus, and another large vehicle. We had planned on making it to Baker before stopping for lunch, but with the resulting delays, we ended up at the In’N'Out in Barstow.

At a little after four o’clock we were in Las Vegas. We checked in and I beamed happily at the size of the room I got at the Venetian. Joe, Craig, Sunyoung, and Nadia hopped in with me to get beer, cups, and chips. That done, everyone else except Kim, who was at the Canyon Ranch Spa in the hotel, went to dinner at the Mirage Buffet. We totaled ten people. A sign said an 18% gratuitity would be added to parties of 10 or more. Cheapskates that we are, we split into two groups of five. We even split into the left and right lines.

With dinner squared away (and a little bit of sightseeing, watching that there volcano spew fire), we were back in the hotel awaiting the arrival of everyone else. There were Sue, Philip, and Karen, the Cornell lawyer group. Then Melissa, Leroy, Angela, and Louis, which could be considered a Stanford group. Then Adam, Nancy, and Nisha.. which isn’t necessarily a group unto themselves and therefore remain unlabeled. Then Howard and Joseph, which we can call the Zeborg (damn them to hell!) group. Then Melissa tacked on another two folks to hers. And that was it. Twenty-two people in the room, and it did not look like it. I swear, I thought there were only half that many, until I actually counted.

People danced and drank and laughed and schmoozed. Somewhere in there, Adam palmed me a Sauza Anejo Commemorativo and the Star Wars trilogy on DVD. Kim handed me the most unique gift of the evening: a flying lesson in December. Then Melissa got into a fight.

With me. Oh, now now, not that sort of fight. Just the same old wrestling match where she gets to do all the hair-pulling, kicking, scratching, and pummeling while I just try to avoid any bloodletting. And it ended just the same as it has countless other times in our youth. Though I have to say, she did manage to pin me down for a bit, which came as a complete surprise to me. So either I’m getting soft or she’s getting crazier. Go fig.

For some, this was the highlight of the evening. For tradition’s sake, the highlight was the cake with singing. Only it wasn’t a cake, but an overly large cookie with a photo of me on it. And I wouldn’t have called it singing.

At a little before midnight some of us headed for Treasure Island with the one goal I had set for the evening: to learn to play craps. And learned it I did. In fact, I had doubled my stake near the end of the run when these three guys at the other side of the table ate away my winnings and over half my stake in less than five minutes. Bryan, who played mentor, agrees with me: we were robbed, those fools owe us money.

I was in bed by 1:30, though Jo, Kim, and Nisha stayed downstairs at a bar, watching my sister and her friends dance the night away. The three of them finally retired around four. Melissa danced till six.

Even in Vegas, Sunday morning came slowly, sleepily, lazily. Coffee and donuts were bought and catalyzed a lot of lounging and morning chats. Joe and Craig said their goodbyes and left early. Nisha, the only non-caravan person staying in the rooms I had arranged, said goodbye at eleven, on her way to the lobby to rendezvous with Adam and Nancy. The rest of us got in our cars and headed for the Blueberry Hill Family Restaurant on Charleston Road in downtown Vegas.

At one o’clock, after gassing up, we were on our way back to California. While eating brunch, Adam had called and given Kim a set of driving instructions that would bypass the traffic-congested 15. It involved getting off a desert road shortly after entering the golden state, then heading through the backside of the desert before reaching the Joshua Tree national park and the 10 freeway. Sounded good, everyone agreed to give it a go.

The scenery was gorgeous, in that desolate, I’m in a desert and there’s nothing alive for miles, sort of way. Every once in awhile we would hit a set of curves, and Alan would peel away, not to be seen for 10 miles till we caught up with him as he idled the car by the roadside. During the trip, Kim grew concerned. Her mother’s SUV came with a voltmeter, and the needle was dropping. We figured it could make it back, provided no extra juice was used and the engine was kept running. For the next 25 miles Kim drove the car with the A/C off, windows down, in the middle of the desert. Her passengers, Han, Bryan, and Jo, were looking pretty peaked when we reached the town of Amboy on old Route 66.

By this point, her entire gauge cluster was dead. Still we figured the car could make it to LA so long as the engine was running. We tried to push off, but her car staggered and finally died.

Welcome to Amboy.

Three major buildings, a church, a post office, and a diner, were within 50 yards of each other. We opted for the diner. There we discovered that water was trained in, and that with all eleven of us in the diner the A/C couldn’t keep up. AAA quoted 45 minutes. Then 30 minutes later said it would take 90 more. Luckily, it really only took another hour. During this time, Suzy broke out a deck of cards and also produced an Uno deck. We played the hour out, boiling inside the diner, until the AAA truck arrived.

With too many people going back to LA, Jo volunteered, bless her soul, to ride with Kim in the AAA truck, which was to tow the SUV all the way back to Van Nuys. Bryan and Han joined me, Sunyoung, and Nadia in the Camry; this allowed Alan and Suzy to avoid playing taxi at the cost of 100 extra miles to their trip home, though Alan was perfectly willing to take passengers in the “”Express”" for a suitable fare. No one took him up on it, though, so five LA-bound people were in a Camry for the next 200 miles.

Next followed a series of drops. First Han and Bryan, then Nadia, then driving to the valley to return the Camry, then Sunyoung driving us back to West LA. I was able to kick off my shoes at 10:30 in the evening, almost twelve hours since checking out of the hotel.

And that ended my turning 30 in Las Vegas. It was a long weekend, and even with the mishaps and a few bumps along the way, not to mention losing at craps, all in all I had a great time. And I hope everyone else did, too.

To everyone who sent me their best wishes upon completion of my 30th year, my deepest and warmest regards.

30

It might seem like CSI writ-large, but the main focus of this film lies in the three men who knew each other as children. Where their paths have lead them and the decisions they make during the time covered in the film that dramatically alter them forever.

Great performances all around make the story far more intruiging than I would have expected.

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Just got back from the theater. Nothing like a very basic revenge story. It appeals to our sense of personal justice like no other tale. And to this very basic theme Quentin Tarantino adds his own trademark style, giving tribute to the influences of his youth with a bigger cast, a bigger story, and a just plain bigger movie.

I enjoyed the first installment and look very much forward to Volume II. Warning to the faint of heart: Volume I sported the most personally violent battle I’ve seen in awhile… hell, perhaps ever. Rock.

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Bruce Campbell stars in a bitter comedy about growing old. Oh, and that’s growing old as Elvis and fighting off a soul-sucking mummy prowling your rest home.

There was a dark edge to this movie that’s new for Bruce. Well, fine, new for movies I’ve seen starring Bruce. It’s a refreshing change in an otherwise typical Bruce Campbell movie. Of course, the geriatric makeup did do one thing wrong: it hid a lot of the man’s ability to do his trademark face contortions.

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So Arnold Scharzenneger is our new governor.
Yes, I voted for him. You can ask me when you see me.

This is my last month in my apartment. Han and I have pretty much locked onto this one place. We had another one in mind, but that ended a comedy of errors. You can ask me when you see me.

The new place is convenient… in fact, I’ll probably stop driving to work since the Big Blue Bus stop will be all of 30 yards from my front door. That’ll save me quite a bit, as UCLA believes in the idea of gouging you $60/month for parking. Put that in my pocket along with gas money and I’ve got spending money for a week or two.

Of course, by moving out before January 15 of next year, I have come just a few months shy of finally breaking a trend in my life. One day, I promise, I’ll hit the three year mark staying put in one place. Really. Sure, thirty years have gone by and I have yet to accomplish this goal, but I’ll get there.

Speaking of thirty.

I’m just under a week away.

You betcha.