The new wheels-post

This week Doomlund gets ready to pound some L.A. asphalt in his first ever car.

 

The Roadwarrior

If cars were like women, my car would be a 400 pound overweight agressive hooker with bad skin and an attitude. But with a sort of in-your-face charm that’ll make you loose your heart right there.
I say this because I am aware of the fact that my newly bought – and might I add first car ever - looks a lot like something you’d expect to find deep within the ass-crack of a police impound lot, in a special spot reserved for vehicles that have been recovered in back alleys – halfway incinerated with a dead hobo in the trunk. But by God, it has charm!

I found it out in the west end of Pico, at a car rental place that occasionally sell off some of their older models. It’s called ‘Wrent-A-Wreck’ which in hindsight probably should’ve set off a couple of alarm bells right there. But the owner gave off one of those very rare – especially in that line of business – ‘no bullshit’-vibes. A middleaged guy named Dave who wears his cap low and only speaks when it is absolutely necessary. A salesman of the old school.

The Roadwarrior is only two years younger than Doomlund

Anyway Dave picked out my Honda for me. It was hidden in the back of the lot next to a scrapheap of old lawnmowers. Shamefully stowed away like a deformed product of automotive inbreeding in the late industrial era.
“It’s yours fer twelvefifty,” he mumbled. “Not much to look at, but it handles fine”.
“You think, you can shine it up a little?” I asked, to which he gave off a strange raw guttural sound that I guess passes as a chuckle in the auto retail business.
“I doubt anyone could shine THAT up,” he said pointing at my soon-to-be ride.

I took it out for a drive on the I-10. Rolled down the window to feel the air against my face, as I swerved in and out of lanes putting my wheels to the test. Small, maneuvrable, ugly and underrated yet it ran perfectly.
Signing the papers I told Dave that it had sold itself on having charm and heart. He chuckled in that stoic way again and handed me the keys.
“Well, it’s yours now”.

A couple a days ago I got a mail from my dad: “Congrats on your new car. You’re a grown man now.”

Guess I am.

Doomlund

The 18 hours, 7 vodka-cranberries, one connect in Georgia and we’re there-post

So here’s the deal. I haven’t been posting for a looooong time because I’ve been busy planning my next big move. Since the untimely death of Michael Jackson, Southern California has been bereft of one it’s all-time greatest lunatics. Enter Doomlund…

That’s right. My drunken threats to immigrate were not idle, and I’ve just unpacked all my stuff and settled into my new home in Los Angeles among palm-trees, convertibles and goddess-like women. In the future I plan to minutely record all my experiences on this blog, all for your reading pleasure. ‘Mmm… trippy’ is now on California vibes so stay tuned for updates. I promise laughter, I promise tears and maybe… just maybe… a tiny bit of info on stuff that doesn’t direcly involve me.

In the meantime here’s a short list of things I’ve learned during the past week living here in L.A.:

 

1) Pants - that aren’t cut-offs - are known as sweat-repositories

2) If you lock yourself out of your own place at nighttime, be sure NOT to live in South Central

3) DO NOT light up a smoke in Griffith Park during a month-long dryspell unless you want the security guards to crack down on you Rodney King-style

4) If you’re buying a car DO NOT consult a used car salesman who wears a clip-on tie and calls himself ‘Big Al’ or ‘Big Jerry’ og ‘Big’-anything (infact, steer clear altogether of salesmen who use an adjective as a prefix)

5) If you don’t like poisonous spiders DO NOT go into crawl spaces in the basement (if, on the other hand, you do like spiders please leave this blog as you are completely out of reach)

6) Should you ever find yourself in a conversation where the sentence, “I’m not really that much into college football” pops into your head, please stop it before it reaches your tongue. Just shut up and compliment the team-mascot or the cheerleading squad.

 

That having been said, Doomlund digs L.A. and the angelinos. Stay peeled for more…

Heyo,
Doomlund