I'd like to live at 13 Mushers Row.

Sorry for yet another link outside of livejournal, Rachel -- I promise as we get into the swing of househunting I'll be sure to return to self-centredness post-haste.

http://www.macleans.ca/switchboard/overtoyou/article.jsp?content=20040726_84665_84665

Car Stereos

I don't understand most car stereo owners. The types:

• Woofers bigger than a dinner plate, pumped up so high ("this one goes to 11") that the plastic door panels of his 1996 Civic (with modded airfoil) are rattling, destroying the music for pedestrians (some of whom might, possibly, like the song) and driver alike. Usually has more candlepower in lights on stereo faceplate than on front of car.
• Crank it with the top down, let the air run through what's left of his hair, pretending that he's Bruce driving somewhere with Christie in mid 1985, but unable to grasp the simple fact that it's time to select music that's a little more appropriate. Read: no more Rod Stewart. This is the one who just drove by. Usually has some ridiculous colour choice going on, like a tan corvette, or a tan sports jacket.
• Getting a little older, maybe slightly addled, and not really sure about this whole on/off idea. Suspicious of it. Tends to turn radio down to almost nothing rather than power it off. Sometimes turns the tuner instead of the volume, leaving his more hearing-unimpaired passengers listening to maddening amounts of almost-quiet-but-not-quite static. Never uses CDs.
• Cabbies. Tried to come up with a description of this type, but have concluded they are a chapter unto themselves. Feel free to comment with your best cabbie stories. In fact, I insist!

You there, trying to sneak her mouse up to the Back button to escape! Get back here.