Jan 25, 2009 01:05
well, as you know the caprice is down and out, and as its replacement is my flat black 1991 s-10. the motor is doing much better than before, as i recently discovered that a filter that i installed was responcible for the horrible performance. I think im going to put a b&m shift kit on it, to improve the kickdown responce and the overall shifting of the transmission, not only for performance but becasue it should improve life time of it as well. I think im also going to get rid of the air conditioning, because its cooling systems not to good, and i need to get a second cooling fan.
schools going suprisingly well, im getting a's in all my classes, and i seem to be one of the only people thtas alble to take what were learning in theory and apply it to real life effectively.
and as for jenn, what can i say, i love her!
Well I woke up Sunday morning,
With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt.
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad,
So I had one more for dessert.
Then I fumbled through my closet for my clothes,
And found my cleanest dirty shirt.
An' I shaved my face and combed my hair,
An' stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.
I'd smoked my brain the night before,
On cigarettes and songs I'd been pickin'.
But I lit my first and watched a small kid,
Cussin' at a can that he was kicking.
Then I crossed the empty street,
'n caught the Sunday smell of someone fryin' chicken.
And it took me back to somethin',
That I'd lost somehow, somewhere along the way.
On the Sunday morning sidewalk,
Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cos there's something in a Sunday,
Makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothin' short of dyin',
Half as lonesome as the sound,
On the sleepin' city sidewalks:
Sunday mornin' comin' down.
In the park I saw a daddy,
With a laughin' little girl who he was swingin'.
And I stopped beside a Sunday school,
And listened to the song they were singin'.
Then I headed back for home,
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringin'.
And it echoed through the canyons,
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday.
On the Sunday morning sidewalk,
Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cos there's something in a Sunday,
Makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothin' short of dyin',
Half as lonesome as the sound,
On the sleepin' city sidewalks:
Sunday mornin' comin' down.