But, out the front door there was a new highway. I like watching cars at the race track, but it’s considerably less enjoyable out your bedroom window, at midnight. And, to add insult to injury, the neighborhood road between us and the highway curved around our property; apparently this was Turn 3 in the Dundee racing circuit for every moron with a 1990 Civic with a 6” exhaust, because they all downshifted three gears, redlined their crapbox, and apexed the turn (poorly, often leaving ruts through our lawn).

After reading about several property owners being shot after they yelled at their local Ricky Bobby, I realized that being shot by Speed Racer might be my fate if we didn’t move soonish. So now we live on a cul-de-sac.

So all is bliss. But something is rotten in Denmark… well, Newberg. And it’s in my garage. But I can’t find it because it’s covered in junk. And why is the new garage chest deep in detritus? Because the new home doesn’t have a shed or tool room!

This must be remedied, fast.

My first tactical move, in reclaiming my domain, was marking my territory.

I could see the walls; I decided they would be made mine.

Now, ideally, I would cover them in auto-centric vintage neon signs. I mean, I wrote the book on vintage neons. Seriously, I did, and to-date three people have bought it (one of them being my mom). You can see it on Amazon here – https://www.amazon.com/Signs-Portland-Awesome-Everything-Between-ebook/dp/B018DG3JRS/

I also think you might be able to digitally preview it here – http://www.blurb.com/books/6491225-signs-of-portland


But some CEO, named Bob, in Nebraska has bought up all the auto-centric vintage neon on the market; he keeps them in a warehouse in Delaware (for tax reasons), until the market appreciates and he can let them go in Scottsdale, at the Bonhams auction, for a healthy return-on-investment. Meanwhile, in Scottsdale, at the Bonhams auction, a CEO named Fred is purchasing Bob’s neon, and texting his executive secretary to source a warehouse in Delaware.

That’s the long way of saying that I can’t afford cool vintage neon.

But people don’t like 1970’s fluorescent signs. I started “watching” a Craigslist ad for a 70’s style Coke sign in October and in January it was still available. I bought it for $50. Similarly, I paid a ridiculously small amount for 70’s era Texaco signage.

Then I successfully marked my territory. My garage now has that touch of run-down gas station that only 1970’s fluorescent signage can so cheaply add.

For those of you that aren’t CEOs, I’d almost recommend this era of signs, but then you’d start buying them and Bob the CEO would take notice, and soon none of us would be able to buy them because they’d all be in a garage in Delaware, waiting for a future Bonhams auction. On that note, let me just say that these signs are terrible and you don’t want them. And if you have a largish one, I have a third wall to fill… I mean, I’ll take it to the dump.

Now that my territory is marked, I must rid it of squatters and protect it from invaders. Thankfully, it already has a wall, like almost all things people value. But I will build a shed. I need to get the things that don’t belong in the garage, out. I need space to work on the fakey Lotus!

The Lotus is all I have left after the move. Bye-bye M3, it was nice knowing your motor. But I still have to build the Lotus, it’s not much of a car right now. And to build it, I need a space. The life of this project will be resurrected after I get the junk off it. Sadly, there’s even a couch against it right now.

Sigh. Big, deep, sigh. I miss my old garage/room/shed combo. Today, I’m like all my un-car friends, with a useless garage filled with things that don’t belong in a garage; a garage is where the motorized playtoys should live.

Speaking of motorized playtoys, my father, my son and I headed over to our local hot rod museum, The World of Speed. They have a replica 1950’s Lotus Formula One car in front of a giant t.v. screen, with the controls hooked to a racing game. Pretty cool. I crashed… a lot. Why would you not push the limits when crashing doesn’t hurt?

Unfortunately, my son passionately disliked the museum’s policies. You see, I let Caleb sit in my fake Lotus all the time; he plays in it and has a great time, I’ll even push it a little for him. When I wouldn’t let him sit in the cars in the museum he had a small fit, melting onto the floor in a pile of crying because I wouldn’t let him drive a historic race car. I’m hoping this isn’t a preview of driving age. 

Well, at least he wants to drive, unlike most of the kids born after the advent of Xbox. Why build a real car when you can have one in the digital world for the price of a $200 game box? And crashing doesn’t hurt. Said with much sarcasm.

I bought my girls their first car for Christmas. It came from Amazon in a box, without wrapping, with pictures emblazoned acrost (I know this word is iffy, it’s here to annoy). My oldest found the box on the porch; I call that a “Santa Fail”. At least Santa managed to build one car before Christmas. The girls are a little nervous about it; I may not have a budding female F1 star. They are warming to the Power Wheel, but Caleb enjoys driving it the most. Unfortunately, he hasn’t figured out turning; he just crashes right into things. I’m hoping this, also, isn’t a foreshadowing.

Speaking of building a real world car, my next step for the fakey Lotus is building a shed. How lame is that? The shed kits cost thousands. Why? There’s not much to a shed. Hold my beer, I got this.