Tonight after school we headed over to the central NC shopper’s Mecca of the Concord Mills Mall. First stop was the Bass Pro Shop for my two compatriots who are avid hunters. I managed to go ahead and pick up a couple pair of hiking socks myself. Plus a little surprise for our chauffer these three days.
After the Bass Pro Shop visit we made one loop of the big mall, didn’t do too much shopping, mostly looked in from the outside of the stores and made fun of all the other patrons (…not that we probably weren’t getting the same treatment from them too.)
After a hard couple hours shopping we went out to dinner. There were about 2-dozen places to eat within a stones throw of the mall (Rule #37 of business travel: Never, ever, ever eat in a food court at a mall.) Although we probably could have walked to the restaurant we chose, we hopped in the vehicle and drove over. On the recommendation of someone who had eaten there before, tonight’s epicurean repast was at Razzoo’s, a “Cajun” restaurant. I’m sure a true Cajun would be severely offendeded by the food there being referred to as Cajun, but in a Dinesylandesque way it fits what us outsiders might think is Cajun cuisine. The food was spicy, but not too, and very tasty. The red beans and rice was great, the rice was cooked to perfection, but beans weren’t cooked to nearly mush like the true New Orleans style dish I was used to. Next time we are up this way we’ll probably come back as for the first time in our 4 nights out on Uncle ASCO’s dime both the service and food were worth the over tipping we have been doing.
Because the two Marks both consumed 3 beers each to soothe their tingling taste buds and I was only drinking Cokes, I became the designated driver back to Albemarle from Concord. Mark H handed me the keys to his wife’s new (850 miles) Ford Expedition. Fortunately when we left the restaurant someone had left the spot in front of me open, so I could drive straight out. I’m sure if I had to back that behemoth out I would have crushed something in the row behind me. If you have been used to driving a Miata for the last 15 years and when you aren’t and are driving the big family car of a Honda Civic, piloting an Expedition is a truly frightening thing. Titanic comes to mind, turning corners is like avoiding icebergs, hard. Because it is a truck-based vehicle, Ford has softened the spring rates to that of overcooked linguine, add on to that the tires have sidewalls as tall as Ewoks and you are in for a Weeble-like trip. I now know, first hand, exactly whom those yellow diamond shaped signs with the pitifully slow recommended speeds for curves are aimed at. The rule of thumb in a Miata is to double them, in this thing you had better heed them or risk tumbling over like lawn furniture in a hurricane.
The surprise I mentioned earlier turned out to be on me. As an impulse buy at the checkout counter at the Bass Pro Shop they had a bin full of outdoorsy themed ball hitch covers and smaller antenna toppers. I spent a whopping 3 bucks and bought an antenna one that looked like a bass to put secretly on the Expedition. Turns out the thing has no visible antenna, must be built into the windshield. Maybe after I take out the Vampire Teeth out the Miata’s mouth I’ll put the fish on its antenna. đŸ˜‰
Started up, still up (I’m guessing.)
Miata Top Transitions since 01/01/05: 344
