The Time When I Almost Burned Barber Brothers Ford to the Ground

Writing about my heart full of hate on Valentine's Day might not be the best decision, but I'm not a real blogger (still deciding whether I want to keep doing this), and I've never been so poorly treated by anyone or anything. I determined today to never buy another Ford vehicle in my life and to do my best to persuade my loved ones and anyone else to avoid helping Ford in any way. I have had sincere thoughts of egging Barber Bros., but how would I chuck the eggs from Maryland? Recounting the entire experience is too painful and convoluted to list here, but the experiences include being hung up on. Which is the worst. I've always hated that about as much as soggy bread and wet socks. When I asked what I had done to be treated so poorly, the little girl in Utah on the other end of the line exasperatedly said that I wasn't understanding the situation and that I was trying not to. Which is ridiculous, of course. She didn't seem to understand that the problem was that Barber Brothers Ford didn't think it needed to comply with federal and Utah state law by signing the title and writing in the odometer disclosure. I spoke with the manager after the little girl hung up on me and he said that they were doing me thousands of dollars worth of free service and going above and beyond the call of duty. But really, all I needed was a stinking signature and five numbers written down on a piece of paper, in the normal course of their business. That is not thousands of dollars worth of work, and it certainly isn't a mere favor to me - federal and state law require it. You might think that I know that because I'm a law student and I'm anal about things like that, but you'd be wrong; the title itself states that it is the duty of the owner to write in the odometer disclosure. You'd think that Barber Brothers would know that since they are in the business of selling cars, but even if my title was the first one they had ever seen, they could have just read the two lines that say they have to. Okay, I'm not done ranting, but I'll be done ranting through this medium. Jerks.

Amy's Soiree

I've known for a long time now that Amy is incredibly talented. I've gone to her place many times to take advantage of her piano. Every time I do, I make Amy play and sing something for me. She hosted another recital last night. She hosted one about a year ago, and it was one of the best gatherings to which I've ever gathered.

Last night was at least as good. Perhaps better since Amy asked me to be emcee. I behaved myself well, I think. The other two times that I have been emcee are my two most embarrassing moments of my life. To explain why the first is embarrassing, perhaps all I need to say is that I wore a doo rag. I hated every minute of it. The second was fine except for the jerk in the third row yelling for me to quit talking. I hate him now. I think he attends school in DC, so perhaps one day we'll meet on the Metro and I'll push him in front of an oncoming train. Anyway, last night was much better.

I played "Rhapsody" by Johannes Brahms. It was not stellar. But people were nice with their feedback. Especially Ali who said that she played the same song years ago for a recital. Which reminded me of the time when I was a senior in high school, and I went to a recital to play. A few numbers before my turn, a small boy got up to play his song. I thought perhaps he would play a simplified "Fur Elise" or something with a title like "Bouncing Butterfly." But instead he played my song. I should have quietly slipped out the back of the room vowing to never play again, but instead I got up and played the same song. Stupid little boy. Oh well. At least Ali also shared her experience of breaking her toe as a Lamanite Warrior Dancer in the Palmyra Pageant.

Anyway, the evening was great, and the treats that Micah and I brought were the first to go. Now all we need to do is load up the chairs and return them to the church, because I made a wise choice and bought a truck.