I Wish I Knew That Bands Name

It is about time for me to change my oil, so when Carrie is at class I drive down the highway to a Honda shop to pick up a filter and some oil and supplies. Much like when I changed my oil in San Francisco, I don't bother with a filter wrench, under the logic that if I got it off with my bare hands last time, I can do it again. Back at the apartment, I drain out the oil thoroughly, and now I need to get the filter off. I reach under to try and get it off, but since I just recently was riding the bike, its pretty hot. I try again a couple minutes later, and its a little cooler but I can't get it off. I wait for my hand strength to get back up, and try again with no luck. I do this on and off for near an hour, cursing myself for not getting a filter wrench over and over again. Finally a young guy comes up and starts the conversation with "Changin' the ol' oil huh?" Trying to, I say, and I explain how I am a retard for not getting a wrench. He must've been watching me wriggle around on the ground, futilely trying to get the thing off. He offers to lend me one, for which I am very grateful, and I notice his University of Utah shirt, and we get into a conversation about school out there and I tell him about my trip, and he tells me how he has a Shadow too. He is almost certainly Mormon, and this is as good as confirmed when I hear him use "dang" as an adjective after he has come back with his tool box, young wife, and young kid. Since he is kind enough to help me out I am careful not to drop any expletives. I get the oil changed finally.
When Carrie gets back, I am almost done cleaning up from my oil changing debacle, and we get ready to go bouldering with one of her friends. I guess there is a good area to climb at nearby. It turns out that the area is awesome. It's about fifteen minutes away by car and another five on foot. The rocks are enormous, and have every sort of climb, from caves to slabs to highballs and all sorts of good stuff. It has been over two weeks since I climbed, from back in Tucson at the gym I found, but I do all right, even despite the fact that my hands were worn out from trying to get my oil filter off earlier in the day.
It is Wednesday night at an Irish bar near the UAB campus. I am here listening to a band with Carrie and two of her friends. The band is fantastic. I don't know their name but they have these great funky bass lines with fast blues guitars on top. Eventually a full brass section comes in and the horns and sax really make it even better. Over at the pool table, I am watching the girls play pool having a beer, and I am thoroughly entertained to see guys constantly trying lame pick up methods an routines. Usually I am not out with three beautiful girls and it is very interesting to see things from a different point of view. A couple of guys keep coming over and try to talk to them by starting off with advice on shots and angles and what balls they should try and put in. The girls don't ask any advice, or look around like they want any, but I guess these guys feel it is their obligation to help out these girls whom they assume are clearly in need of some help. It's pretty sad, especially when the guys are in general overtly ignored. God, I hope that I don't ever look like those clowns.
Carrie skips class so we can go for a ride, and I don't really know the area of course, but it looks like there is a lake about an hour away that might make a good ride, so we head out toward that. After getting through a couple outlaying towns of Birmingham, the roads are mostly clear and fun to ride on. It's a nice day, even though once or twice we get a few drops of rain that blow over from a cloud somewhere. The roads are tree-shaded and occasionally dip and curve, and after a while we finally get to the long and narrow lake, and cross it on a long concrete bridge. I am looking for some roads that go down to the water where we can find some beaches or stores or anything, but after the bridge the road just keeps going on past the lake. Eventually we just turn around and head for a sign that pointed towards a marina and restaurant. I turn onto the spotty paved road which soon turns to a spotty dirt road and goes down a steep hill to what turns out to be a quaint family owned restaurant and boat gas station. I am not sure if it is even open, and the dalmatian lying in the dirt doesn't seem to want to help us out, so we just walk in and there are a couple women and a little girl just sitting around waiting for someone to come in, it seems. We get some drinks and order some food and walk around the area while they are cooking it. The dalmatian is gone now but there is a black dog in its place. The little girl, who was shy at first, comes out and leads us around the restaurant, which is evidently a house as well, in search of the other dog. Instead we find a hideous looking spider the size of a hockey puck chilling in its web, with yellow stripes on its belly that scream to me, "Stay the hell away." Staying away works for me, and now our food is ready so we head inside and I eat a BLT. We have a chat with one of the women who works there, one of the family that owns it I presume, before heading out for one more look at the quiet lake that stretches by and the long dock that follows it down the shore for a ways. Back on the bike, we go up the hill and head back towards Birmingham on the same peaceful and gentle roads.
It's my last night in Birmingham, and fortunately for me come tomorrow morning, we don't do anything wild, just see a movie. 3:10 to Yuma is the choice, and seems like a good choice, as I enjoy Westerns and really like Christian Bale. I despise Rusell Crowe so much that I am not even aware if I can spell his name right, but he plays the bad buy so I can enjoy hating him. The movie turns out to be great, and surprisingly, I really end up liking Rusell Crowe's character, so even if he is a dirtbag in real life, or even if I have an unfounded dislike of him, I must admit he is a good actor.