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Tuesday, January 25, 2005

The Sublime and the Ridiculous - A continuing series 

I'm late. I know. My sincerest apologies for making you wait. I have been indisposed and haven't even wanted to venture out of doors. Outside scary. Yet, I have put my fingers to work in order to bring you this installment of "The Sublime and the Ridiculous."

Again, I'm going to cheat a bit and put my sublime and ridiculous thoughts together into one tangled web. However, it is my posting and I claim the right to amend its weekly pattern as I see fit. There! My obsessive-compulsive side has quieted down.

I'm going to buy a convertible. It is going to be cute, speedy, and newish, if not new. Why? What is the impetus for this decision? Well, let us go back. M*A*S*H was high in the ratings. Vietnam was in full swing. Polyester was all the rage. And Travolta was thin. Yes, it was into this truly classy decade that I was born. My parents possessed a bright, red Cortina. My father told my mother it was burgundy. Surprise. Anyway, on the day I was taken home by my parents from the hospital we rode in this lovely chariot and it suddenly overheated in the middle of a hot July day. I am told I screamed. It was to begin a long saga of screaming in unreliable, frightening vehicles. To give you a few anecdotes from previous years:

-1969 Valiant - this was a tank which constantly broke down on highways in the early morning hours and dripped brown fluid on the shoes of the front passenger (namely me) from the inside

-the truck - my father only ever owned one truck. No one remembers the make, we've all blocked it from our subconsciouses. What we do remember is that one Halloween night, my brother looked through the front window and exclaimed, "Dad, isn't that your truck going down the street?!" Indeed, a theft was in progress. Progress that was quickly halted as the truck stalled a block from our house and the thief was caught trying to get it started again

-the FIAT - an acronym for "Fix it again, Tony!" Unhappily, my father owned the car and the name

Now, let's get to my car owning days:

-Chevrolet station wagon - a cast off from my dad - in order to get it started, someone else had to hit the starter motor with a crowbar while I revved the engine. Mall security frowns on engaging in such practices

-Toyota Tercel 1983 - thanks again, dad - this wasn't a terrible vehicle, but large amounts of duct tape on its exterior didn't help to form a loving bond between the two of us

-Toyota Tercel 1992 - our current vehicle - we actually obtained this from someone other than my dad, but the curse continues. We've had it for two years and have already had two accidents - one for me, one for my other half. Being the superstitious sort, this doesn't fill me with a sense of security. Also, it burns oil at an alarming rate, the fan belt constantly needs tightening, the alternator had to be replaced - a saga unto itself etc.....

ENOUGH! ENOUGH! ENOUGH! ENOUGH! No more ridiculous vehicles. I want the sublime experience of the wind in my hair, the stereo speakers echoing my favorite songs, and the calm, the calm that come from driving a reliable car. Please, God, I've been good.

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