Cameron's neighbors hate his garage, too. And they hate me because I park my car in his driveway to work on my racing car in his garage. And I think they hate all of us because we are a lot younger than they are. (Technically, it's possible that I hate Cameron a little bit because he's a lot younger than I am.)

The really hated that I drove around in figure-eights for a half hour, in the parking lot of the school across the street to break in my diff. They particularly hated that I never went more than about 15mph while doing it, because it would have given them reason to actually do more than hate had I been going fast.

They wander over and ask vague questions about what we're doing, then go away and talk about things we aren't. The city actually got in touch to see if he was running a business. "Yeah - makin' big money working on an IT Golf." The guy actually got it.

They hate it that, when I've left there in the racing car, I do it at the speed limit. None of this is new. When I lived in Seattle, the woman across the street called me at 6:30 in the morning on a weekday to tell me that she had decided that the logo on my van was a "billboard," in violation of the home-occupancy permit - which she had researched with the state and county.

K