Featuring: Jack B. and Bark M.
Last Sunday I drove over to Dahl Ford in Davenport. One of the owner’s collector cars, a 1959 Fairlane 500 Galaxie Town Sedan, was being sold off to make room for-you guessed it-more vintage cars.
I found the unmistakable pink and black ’59 immediately! More on that car later, by the way, don’t worry.
But as is my wont, I wandered around the dealership for a while after, to see if there was anything else interesting. And in so doing, saw my first 2020 Explorer.
I’ve always enjoyed out of the way restaurants. Non chain, often family owned, and in existence for decades. The 1940s through the 1970s were probably the golden era of the supper club. Chains and the increasing monotony of towns and cities across the country over the last thirty years have done their work. But the restaurant, roadhouse or supper club, usually located on the now-secondary, once-primary highway routes, are still out there.
My dad’s parents were really into supper clubs in the late ’50s and ’60s. On a Friday or Saturday night, they thought nothing about hopping into the car with several friends and driving into Iowa City to The Highlander, or The Lark, in Tiffin, Iowa, for a night of steaks, chops, tossed salads, cocktails and gigantic baked potatoes. Of course, they went in style, dressed to the nines. Such was the time.
I walked into a dealership this week that was doing a “gypsy sale.” It reminded me of this fictional tale that I wrote almost exactly five years ago, so I thought I’d repost it here. Fun fact: this story was based on many, many true things, not the least of which is that I knew of a GM store in New Orleans that had (and probably still has) exactly this balloon strategy on the lot every Saturday. It was heartbreaking to watch children dancing around with red balloons.
Enjoy.
-Bark
“Saturday morning, Studly!” Jimmy slurped aggressively from his third cup of coffee. Over his shoulder, past the tall plate glass of the recently remodeled dealership, the sun was just starting to rise. He punched me playfully on the shoulder. “Another chance to make yourself rich and famous.”
Jimmy was one of the more tenured salespeople on my lot. His ever-growing paunch, concealed by the poly blend polo we all had to wear, sagged grotesquely over his belt, severely testing the strength of the waistband of his worn cotton khakis. He had been athletic at some point (or at least the pictures on the wall of his cubicle suggested he had), but now his six-foot three inch frame showed the wear of three years of seventy hour workweeks. Undoubtedly, Jimmy had consumed enough coffee and food from the roach coach to kill normal men.
I had not.
Continue Reading →
I have neither the time nor the inclination to give a blow-by-blow recap of the events over the weekend involving the students from Covington Catholic High School. Nor do I believe that you need one. You’ve likely already decided what your position on the incident is, and nothing I could say would change that opinion. For the record, I think the kids probably did nothing wrong. After reading the lawyer and PR-approved version of the featured student’s statement, I think it’s actually likely that the kids were intentionally targeted by this crisis actor, Nathan Phillips. a man who claims to be a Vietnam Veteran but also appears to be 64 years old.
(Note: This is being investigated and the records request has already been filed — JB)
No, I come before you today as a parent, specifically the parent of two students at a private Christian school in the Commonwealth of Kentucky.
It should alarm each and every one of you how ready and willing the national media is to demonize white Midwestern children. In fact, not only is the media ready to demonize them, it is ready to doxx them and suggest actual physical harm to them, simply for standing in one spot and smiling while an adult political figure beats a drum in their faces.
That’s right—in Liberal America, it is now a crime to be Standing While White.
When the Cadillac CT6 debuted just a few short years ago, I thought, finally. A new flagship Cadillac. A nice big sedan, like Cadillacs of old. It looked good. But then, I’m a sedan man. Give me a sedan, or an honest-to-God station wagon. I’ve never been drawn to hatchbacks, crossovers and SUVs, though I’ve always loved the original Grand Cherokee and classic Grand Wagoneer.
But of course combovers are taking over the world. After all, why buy a sedan when you can get something similar to a sedan, but with clumsier handling, uglier styling, a higher center of gravity and suckier fuel mileage? But never mind.
Before a rapport is formed with the Wall, all of the chaotic black marks leading to it are abstract. They’re what happens when one makes a mistake, which of course, the person who has never hit the Wall would never do. That person knows their limits and probes them safely. That person knows what they’re doing.
But that person has never met the Wall, so they know nothing. At some point, the Wall must be there to receive them.
No, I’m not talking about D versus R. I’m talking about some of our dearly departed commenters. Who would like to take a guess about the identities of the two commenters above, as seen on a previous Bark TTAC article?
(Oh, and the Bark election prediction: House barely goes blue, Senate swings further red, with R pickups in IN, MO, ND, and FL).
In case you haven’t heard, the Mega Millions drawing is done and had your ticket had the numbers 05, 28, 62, 65, and 70 in combination with Mega Ball number 05, you would have netted a cool 1.6 billion dollars. Just to tell you the kind of luck I had, not a single one of those numbers appeared anywhere in the 5 rows on the $10 ticket I purchased. That’s pretty damn pitiful. What’s probably more pitiful, however, is the fact that in the run up to the drawing, while everyone was fantasizing about buying their own private island or an NFL franchise, I was thinking how awesome it would be to spend some of my winnings on another 1984 Nissan 200 SX Turbo. Continue Reading →
I’m actually tired of winning. Like, really, I am. Because this Trump economy is making it impossible to hire people. Everybody who is worth even a single damn already has a job and is completely satisfied in his or her role.
As I type this, I have multiple sales roles available with guaranteed competitive base salaries, full benefits, 401k matching, and a career path with a 160-year-old established company, and I haven’t found anybody worth hiring. And trust me, I’m not being picky.
For the first time in my life, I commute by train. Some of you, knowing that I have spent more than a decade living in Japan, are going to call bullshit on this statement, but it’s true. I do admit to riding the occasional train, of course, but at no point did I use Japan’s famously efficient rail network as a part of my commute. And let’s not even talk about the bus – that shit’s a non-starter. No, believe it or not, most days, my ass was in the driver’s seat. Continue Reading →