It has come to my attention that I haven’t posted about my latest weird collection. Like Nino Quincampoix in the movie Amélie (who collected recordings of strange laughs, pictures of footprints in wet cement, and, of course, discarded photo booth photos), I enjoy collecting odd things: vintage paint-by-number paintings (landscapes only); snapshots of places I have been, taken decades before I was born; and pictures of my beloved Volvo, Karl, with other 240-series Volvos. Matt observed one day, when he was being held hostage by me and Karl en route to a Thai restaurant, that my primary objective upon entering a parking lot is not to find a parking spot. It is to find another Karl for Karl to make friends with. If there are no Karls I will park pretty much anywhere. (Saying, always, without fail, “Mah legs ain’t broke.”)
I now present, for your amusement, a portion of my collection of Karl-and-friends photos.
I also frantically wave at every passing 240-series I happen to see, but most of the drivers are confused by my reaction. It hasn’t stopped me, though.