Sometimes It’s Better to Drive a Junker

Ok, don’t get me wrong–I like my car. I don’t really think it’s a junker.

But I work on West End, and compared to a lot of the cars in my building’s garage, it’s close to the bottom of the vehicular barrel. Admittedly, compared to some it’s a freakin’ Bentley, too. But compared to the overwhelming number of (new) BMWs, Mercedeses, Lexuses (Lexi?) and Jags… my car’s a beater.

My first few days in the garage I was a bit self-conscious, even among the less-expensive but newer Jettas and Accords. My Grand Am, though still sporting the current body style, isn’t very chic. But then, as I got more immersed in the garage’s culture, I realized that driving what is considerably more expensive to buy is also considerably more expensive to maintain–and to repair.

The people that park in my garage like to barrel up and down the dark and musty levels at top speeds, ignoring the helpful mirrors offering them glimpses of someone who’s already making their way around the corner. I mean, who wouldn’t stop, reverse, and move out of the way for a sexy new Audi?


After stopping, reversing, and moving out of the way for every car in the garage (I’m equal opportunity) for the first few weeks of my West End experience, I realized that you just can’t roll over for everyone. (At least not if you want to make it in or out of the garage in a reasonable amount of time.) There’s an order to things, and if you see someone’s approaching headlights in the mirror you proceed with caution. There’s no way to tell how expensive the car is from the headlight-shot in the mirror; you just have to be courteous. But after weeks of yielding, I realized a pattern: the rich-bitch cars rarely yielded back.

It was soon after this epipheny that another revelation was born, completely by accident (luckily, that’s not a poorly placed pun.) The fancy cars would yield if they thought you were going to crash into them rather than back your ass up. It was like playing “Chicken” with Paris Hilton; they can talk a good game and whine and bitch, but when it comes down to it and you say, “Look, jackass, a dent in my car ain’t gonna hurt my rep. You really want to challenge me?” — low and behold, they’ll yield.

So armed with this newfound sense of purpose, maybe hope, I started driving a little more… confidently? (I refuse to say “recklessly,” because I am not too proud to admit I NEED my car to get to work, and I don’t want to wreck it just to piss off some hotshot.)

But nonetheless, on my way out to lunch one day, paying close attention to the mirrors as always, I yielded to those whose reflections obviously appeared in the judicial mirror before my own. But I’ll be damned if a little blue convertible BMW didn’t whip halfway around a corner and try to force me to back up out of its way.

“You know what? Fuck it,” I thought, as I looked My-Dad-Says-I’m-the-Man-Surfer-Wanna-Be in the face. “I was here first. You’re ass is yielding to ME!!!”

And I charged forth. “Go ahead, HIT ME.”

He didn’t. I swear I saw fear in his eyes as he moved over to give me my hard-earned right of way. Well, ok, it was probably anger, but whatever.

In the weeks that passed, I started to notice the folks in front of me charging forth as well. I’m not saying I started a revolution or anything; maybe I just started to take notice of others reclaiming what was theirs. It was even more sweet when the metal knight in question was a Civic or Saturn–or an old-ass Buick.

These days, I still yield to more cars than I pass, and I still get rudely pushed out of the way every now and then. And a few weeks ago someone tore my passenger side mirror off, but I’m pretty sure that was some jackass SUV driver who needed to take up his parking space AND mine and got pissed Iparked too close (there was no one next to me when I parked.)

Even so, I can’t help but smile (ok, chuckle sinisterly) every time I come around one of those 90 degree angles and see Miss Priss in her SL550 Roadster waiting on me to pass her by.

If This Was a Surprise to You Then You Live Under a Rock

Tony Snow, (former) host of “Fox News Sunday” and George W. Bush ass-man, accepted the position of White House press secretary.

Big shocker.

I agree with Jon Stewart: wasn’t he already doing that?

Everyone already knows Fox News’ claim to be “fair and balanced” is really a euphimism for “really conservative and up the Republicans’ asses,” but now they’re just waving it in our faces.

I actually laughed out loud when I read this in The Washington Post** today:

“It will be good to have a fair and balanced press secretary.”

But then I realized it was coming from a dude that worked with Snow in the real president Bush’s White House (that’s George H. Bush), and it made sense. Fox News says they’re “fair and balanced.” A dude from the WHITE HOUSE says Fox News is “fair and balanced”? Coincidence? Nah.

The Post continues, laughing its ass off, I’m sure:

At “Fox News Sunday,” which Snow launched in 1996, he tried to balance a neutral moderator’s role with the aggressive conservatism he espoused in his newspaper column. At the 2000 Republican convention, Fox executives reprimanded Snow for speaking to a GOP youth group. They persuaded him to drop the column the next year.

Fair and balanced? Please.

**The Washington Post requires registering to read their articles, but it’s free and totally worth it. I recommend it to anyone, no matter your political leaning.

Big Love = No Love?

Who watches “Big Love”? I’ve seen it a couple of times, and while the concept makes me wince, the show is oddly intriguing. I mean, it goes against every instinct of a woman to share “her man” with another woman–let alone two or more women–yet polygamists do it for god?

I don’t know that much about Mormons or polygamy or what the whole point of it is. I mean, yeah, what dude wouldn’t want like 30 chicks whenever he wanted them, but the way this show plays, it shows the “trouble” the husband goes to, aka he has to babysit the second and third wife, basically. And so does the first one.

Basically, the whole idea to me is demeaning to women, and the fact that these women are not entirely comfortable with the whole “sharing” idea but still do it shows me they have psychological problems, not an intense relationship with god. And the husband’s “sacrifice” being he works a lot and has to “deal” with his women? Please. What a load of crap.

The more I write about this show, the more I hate the premise on principle. But seeing as how it’s all glittery and on HBO, and not being carried out by one of my friends or whoever, I’ll probably tune in to see what the latest issue is in degrading-women-land.