In Sickness and in Health... But Without Marriage.

Australian bugs are nasty.

I'm now over being sick again. I'm officially done being sick... FOREVER. I've experienced it... I came, I saw, my immune system conquered.

Tamara told me this week: "Guys are never just sick. They're always almost dead."
I think there's more than a little truth in that. There's just something about your own body rebelling against you.
I'm a guy. I don't complain if I'm cut and bleeding and 2nd-degree-burned and bruised and concussion-ed... but as soon as my own body can't do something simple like DIGEST FOOD, for absolutely no reason, there's something DEEPLY unseating about it. So I compensate by suddenly becoming totally helpless.
"FOOOOD!!! I CAN'T MOOOOVE!!! WAAAAAAAAAH!!" etc.

Anyway, I'm good now. I have been eating nonstop today, because I didn't get to actually eat anything for three days before that. Well... I could eat it, but then it didn't do much on its way back out in a few minutes, so it really wasn't worth it.

ehem. moving on.

I have officially kindasorta bought a car. Ed and Allen and I went up to the city to look at a car owned by some Pakistani dude. It's an outwardly immaculate 1987 Toyota Camry, with a few internal hiccups. Asking price: $1790 AUD. It's got power steering, power brakes, power locks, and power windows. It's got automatic transmission (boo!), and it's a maroon-ish dark red color ("colour") that should hide dirt really well.

Well, anyway, we took it for a spin. It accelerates well, idles too fast, stops alright, has working AC, pulls a bit to the left, and has very good suspension.
When we got back, we haggled over the price.
The problem for us: Every Australian car has to get a new roadworthiness certificate every time it changes hands. To get a roadworthiness certificate, we'd need to replace the windshield. It has a rock-hit in it. The Aussie government-types know that this will inevitably turn into gigantic cracks which will obscure the entire windscreen very suddenly and cause us to instantly smash into the side of an 18-wheeler.

We haggled the price down to $1500 AUD and said "we'll take it," despite Allen's characteristic reluctance to spend any money. We made a quick trip to the nearby NAB ATM (supervised by the Pakistani "bloke") where I paid for a third of the car. I assume that Maria and Allen, respectively, are going to pay for the other thirds of it... but... uh... I don't really know. Point is, in case anyone noticed, I have a cash investment in it, which should give me significant "dibs" in its use.

We drove home, through city traffic (I've still got my touch at the wheel, navigating through angry crazy Aussie drivers). It cruised WONDERFULLY down the freeway at 100 k/h, depositing Allen and myself safely on the driveway of the Blackwood homestead.
HOWEVER, once we got home, we discovered a few rebellious tendencies. The windows are all controlled by the driver's station, as usual. They all also have their own switches operated by their respective... erm... operators. Also as usual. But in THIS car, only the driver's master controls and the rear left window controls actually work. The passenger window cannot be controlled by the passenger, and neither can the rear right window be controlled by the person sitting there.

Problem TWO: the locks. These are absolutely diabolical. Here's a step-by-step instruction booklet on how to discover their secrets.
1. Hit "lock." Watch all four little posts sink into the doors.
2. Let go of the lock button. Watch all four posts jump right back up.
3. Repeat about 8 gazillion times.
4. Get frustrated.
5. Lock all four doors manually.
6. Close the driver door and watch all four doors instantly unlock.
7. Repeat steps 4-6.
8. Shout loudly at the door before attempting steps 1-3 again for good measure.
9. Try the key and watch as all four doors lock.
10. Wait anxiously for the doors to unlock.
11. Celebrate enthusiastically that all four doors are now locked.
12. Go inside and eat chili with the family.

Tada! Easy as pie!

Hope this is cool for a "it's been a while" post. I've got lots more to write about (mainly work) but I'm gonna leave it for later. I don't want to write TOO much in one go. There's a limit to how much you guys will stand.

Keep strong in the Lord. He's looking out for you.

Everyone first asks me if I'm Canadian, then they ask if I'm American. I asked why everyone asks "Canadian" first. A co-worker told me: "Canadians get all huffy if you ask if they're American. Americans don't seem to care if you ask if they're Canadian." I blurted out to his horror: "But Canada's not even a real country! Why are they huffy?"
~Thomas