davidvanwert.com

On January 4th, 1952, a well-to-do 23 year old Argentinean man set out on a motorcycle trip across Latin America. It was to be his last rake’s adventure before returning to Buenos Aires and his aristocratic family to begin his medical practice. He set off on his journey with thoughts of wine, women, and debauchery, but when he returned eight months later, the young Che Guevara’s only thoughts were of the rights of the working class — even if that meant revolution!

He was instrumental in overthrowing the Batista government in Cuba and served for several years as one of Castro’s principal lieutenants and a leading figure in his government. Then, in the late sixties, he left Cuba, resurfacing in Bolivia, training guerrilla troops for revolution. And while Che Guevara was leading his men through the Santa Cruz region in 1967, unbeknownst to him thousands of miles away in Dallas, Texas, a boy was born. A boy who would one day grow up to copy a few facts about Guevara from an encyclopedia, and then use these facts as material in a blog post, even though the boy himself didn’t really care much about Che Guevara’s life or accomplishments.

That boy, ladies and gentleman, was me.

Small world, huh?

My great-great-grandfather was one of the most feared gunslingers in the Old West.

Not feared by other gunslingers so much, but innocent bystanders would run for cover whenever “Blind Johnny” van Wert came to town.

My great-great-uncle “Cross-Eyed Billy” van Wert was also greatly feared.

In 1882, a family squabble forced the two of them to face-off in the town of Doomsdale, TX. Fifteen people were killed (and twenty-two severely wounded) before they ran out of bullets. Afterwards, Johnny and Billy sat down for some pie and worked out their differences.

It was a great day for peace in the Old West.

I’ve really been putting off going to the dentist. I’m WAY overdue for my check up, but I don’t like going to the dentist anyway so it’s really easy to put off. I know it shouldn’t be that big a deal, but when I was in college a very good friend of mine died in the dentist’s chair, and ever since then I’ve been a bit skittish.

To be fair, it wasn’t the dentist’s fault. He walked out of the room and my friend leaned over to the big nitrous tank, put his mouth straight on the nozzle, cranked it up, and froze solid. Then he toppled over and broke into a million little pieces. So that’s why I don’t like going to the dentist.

I just know that’s going to happen to me one day.

I’m afraid I’ll have to take my car to the mechanic, which I really can’t afford. But it’s been making this weird noise lately. Kind of a knocking sound. From the trunk. Kind of a knocking, banging, “Help, help, for the love of God let me out!” kind of sound.

I don’t know much about cars, but I don’t think they’re supposed to make that noise. It doesn’t affect the way it drives, but it’s annoying. Makes it hard to concentrate when you’re on the phone or trying to text-message your friends. So I might have to take it in to the mechanic. But maybe not. It’s been getting quieter the last couple of days. Maybe it’ll go away on its own.

We’ll see.