So today I left the house, thinking all would be good in the world, and my bike doesn’t start.
So I fiddle with it, and try a few sifferent things, call my mechanic and he tells me to bring it in.
“How, exactly?” I ask innocently.
“Call this dude and he’ll come pick your bike up.”
So I do, and he does, and we go and I pay for “towing” (even though it was on a flatbed) to get to the garage.
Once there, a quick diagnosis tells them that there’s a busted mechanism for the starter and it needs replacing.
I head off to work.
I get a call, and am informed that the parts alone will run me a 1300 NIS bill (no VAT or work charges included, of course).
Augh. I thought I bought a beauty and I really got beast, that is slowly being transformed into a beauty.
But why do I have to foot the bill of this Raggle-tag tranformation?
So it turns out that there’s a promotional site up for the annual Israeli Sci-Fi/Fantasy/Roleplaying festival, Icon.
And amongst the lovely designs and information, there’s a little link to pictures of previous years.
Now, I’ve been known to be an active participant in many things, mostly behind the scenes and making sure certain areas function as they should. This has dropped off in recent years for a variety of reasons, but the memories remain.
I’ve been in newspaper articles, various web sites, and even on Channel 10 news, along with and another friend – the footage is somewhere online, go figure.
And then there was the time that a bunch of us did a Klingon opera. Yes, a Kilngon opera. In Klingon. In full costume, with rehearsals and fighting, and an ending as every good Klingon opera has – everyone dies.
So they have a picture of me (one picture of many others), decked out in the ring.
I never really thought how this would have an impact on me if I ever ran for presidency or something…