Wednesday, April 26, 2006

Car Wars, nothing but Car Wars. If they would bar wars, no one would come ... (sung to the tune of Star Wars)

from this day forward
Originally uploaded by toyfoto.
I hate my car.

At the risk of sounding ungrateful (my sister sold me her extremely well-cared-for car for the low-ball price of what the dealer would have given her on a trade), I have to say it again ... I hate my car.

It's not that I feel as if I were a Saab 900 person driving a Dodge Dart, I have never been an admirer of cars. However, I don't think I've ever really HATED a car before now, either. Somehow, in my heart of hearts, I believe I'm an underground girl living in the sprawling suburbs.

My initial problem with the vehicle was focused on the fact it has an automatic transmission, which means that I am not only getting fewer miles per gallon, I am also suffering left-leg atrophy on the occasions I am NOT launching myself through the windshield by putting both feet on the break.

But my discontent has grown into monster proportions: I just hate what it represents.

When Bush took office gasoline was $1.59 a gallon ... now it's topping $3 and is expected to reach $4 this summer. (My appologies to my European friends who are paying as much as $7 a gallon and have been for years). This guy thinks that he can save a few cents of the prices by halting additions to the oil reserves (something that was happening anyway) and stripping away our infantessimal environmental safeguards just to help his friends in the oil biz gain even more profit.

They say this is all market driven, that people LOVE their cars. Yeah. Well. Really, I think it's all about some bill of goods companies keep selling us. Got cheap gas? Buy a Humvee; Environment your concern? Get a hybred; Gas eating into your food budget? Go to hell. Forget conservation, keep on truckin' lest the terrorists win.

I can't help but squint my eyes at the four-doored liability parked in my driveway and pine for mass transit. I spend more than an hour in my car every day of the week, every minute of it wishing I lived in a city where a train could take me to work as I read a book or work a crossword puzzle or get a head start on a column.

... from the other mother's house

Sitting in the backyard counting Teddy Grahams, Annabel decided a tiny chickadee hopping nearby was trying to steal the beloved treats away from her. She collected them all and brought them to Lori, complaining that the bird wanted to eat her cookies.
She munched away, eyeing the tiny bird, while Lori assured her chickadees don't eat Teddy Grahams, they eat worms and insects. After a ton of WHYs, Annabel decided the bird should try dessert just this once and offered up her last tasty bear.

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