Wisdom of the Ages

The following topic has come up several times over the summer, and rather than informing those of my wisdom in a single file fashion, I decided that it should be communicated via a larger forum... if only because now I'm bored with the conversation, and perhaps this will spice it up a bit.

TOPIC: MEN, THE VEHICLES THEY DRIVE AND WHAT SAID VEHICLE SAYS ABOUT SAID MAN.

So, everyone knows when you see the 45+ guy cruising with the top down in his red convertible, he's best avoided both on the road and when in other habitats. His car says he will take you to an expensive restaurant, but he's going to expect something more if you order the lobster.

But... what about the other cars on the road (and in the local tavern parking lot)? Well, I'm here to give you a semi reasonable breakdown on how to stereotype men in just a few seconds.

SUVs: They want you to know they are trendy and hip, but they are way too insecure.

Large trucks (think F150 or equivalent and larger): Their truck is compensating for other areas of their physical appearance.

Jeeps: NSA (no strings attached) Fun.

Hybrids: Politics will take the place of sex.

Station wagon: Look for the tan lines from the ring and/or the car seat.

Sporty looking cars (think Cougar, Eclipse, etc): In training for the convertible.

PT Cruiser, Cooper, etc: Look for the boyfriend or the ring tan line.

Now, you may be wondering... do I need to find a guy on a bike with a backpack? The answer is quite simply, no... but guys on motorcycles are a 50/50 gamble (just in case you were wondering). You want to find the winner?

Here's the key: Look for the guy whose vehicle is simply some wheels. If he is jamming out in a four-door 1999 Hyundai like no one is looking... he's probably a keeper.

The Rise and Fall of Literature and Hope for the Future

Sometimes, I do my best of thinking while driving; that's to say, I'm not thinking about the act of driving, but everything else... which does explain why a few people prefer to not drive with me (among other reasons, including the lack of breaking ability in the passenger seating areas). That aside, I was on my way to someplace this week when I found my mind and car weilding around a large series of objects. Of far more interest, obviously were the non-steel and brick objects. Over the Memorial Day holiday, my Hemingway weekend produced a great deal of writing of which I was and remain very happy with--but since then, I've not done a whole lot. It isn't writers block so much as it is mental blockage and the two are distinctly different.

Writers block is the difficulty and/or absence of the ability to create an idea and put it to paper. I've heard others liken it to the "well being dry" or as I have always been found of "dead air." Mental block is more that the ideas are there, they are working in the head, but the mind is refusing to allow the body to sit down and allow them to leave... it is the writers Guantanemo (albeit temporary, unlike the real situation).

It was in this train of thought that it came to me: Anybody can come up with a plot idea, and anybody can put words down on a piece of paper, but not anybody can do them simultaneously and with alert interest or intrigue to others aside from the scriber. And perhaps, that fact alone is precisely why the mind works in the way that it does... the ideas are ready yet, they are still being flushed and the language tested?

And then I got to thinking about Virginia Woolf, and the idea of a room of one's own... and while I took some liberty with her intent, part of my mental backlog is that I don't want to sit at my drafting table and write these days... but I also don't want to bother with a change in scenery. I know I must... as a writer you have to find a place in which you can write and a space comfortable enough for the duration. To some extent, it is why my Hemingway weekend works; there is a defined sense of space and expectation and reckless abandon. Of course, that would lead one to think that it should then be done more often than yearly... and perhaps there is some logic in that, but the Hemingway weekend is one which is draining and then there is the sangria.

Writing is an interesting space; many writers need "things" when they write... and at one time I thought I was particularly weird (eh, no comments) when I would get up in mid sentence and grab a lei, a tiara, decide a different glass was necessary... they are distractions, but unique to the creative process for me... and I've learned since, to many others as well. Does it seem off that one might suddenly need to wear strappy stilletto shoes while writing? Perhaps, but I find that it makes just as much sense as a runner who needs to wear a certain token going into a race or hunters that need to have certain good luck charms on them.

It is the space of the writer... and our space is slowly being crowded out. Crowded out by noise, a lot of noise. When novelists write their books with the thoughts of who will do the screenplay later, we have failed. But I had some hope yesterday. I haven't picked up a new fiction release in some time and thought--I want to or NEED to read this... I've been going back to books published 10+ years ago, or reading non-fiction... but on the shelf at Borders between something stupid and something released with the movie cover sat what inspired me as hope toward the future... "Michael Tolliver Lives." Armistead Maupin spun off his Tales of the City character for a new novel, independent from Tales, but gives us a truly rich jewel. It has been the first time since perhaps the release of Thompson's The Rum Diary that I've been truly excited to read something new in the world of fiction.

Politics via feline behaviour

There is no question that when it comes to my cats, Calvin is bourgeois through and through. He even looks French, with his little goatee... all he needs is a beret. Bowie, now we all know that Bowie is a throughbred Commie cat. Two brothers, seemingly at political odds, and yet, they cuddle together in the condo at least 4-5 times a week. The other two, well, who knows? What I do know is that Jake and Bowie are at constant odds iver territory and Vinnie is like the Swiss--hiding in the closet half the time. I think the main point we can take away from this that the Cold War was not about Communism and the Iraqi war is not about terrorism. So really, we are no further than when I started this post.

My INVISIBLE Electric Blue Car

There was was, speeding by a good 10-15 mph over the speed limit on Carpenter, not a car behind me or in the other lane, when a woman comes flying out of the driveway in front of my car, causing me to slam on the new brakes (and here I was trying to keep them new). And now I understand why Wonder Woman had an invisible jet as opposed to an invisible car. My bad.

I also found an inordinate number of pregnant women waltzing in front of my car at random over by Babys R Us... but that is to be expected, I suppose... and my guess is the "rule" is that if you are that pregnant, you just don't stop. I don't know, I've never been, but I'm thinking that's a pretty safe bet. And really, I'm USUALLY not going 55-60 mph through the parking lot over by the Target... not usually.

Puttin' on the Brakes

On Monday, the day when all bad things in life are credited with happening, I was on my way home from work, innocently tailgating the car in front of me when I applied some pressure to my brakes--only to hear the most gawd-awful sound. Not the usual high pitch noise one hears warning them that it is time to repair the brakes, but a garbled, grating noise that was distinctly the sound of metal and air. I love the elements, but not in this particular situation. It quickly went away and I got home. The next morning, yesterday, as it were, on the way to work, the terrible garbled, grating noise was ever present and not going away. I checked to make sure I wasn't dragging a body--and indeed I was not--it was the brakes.

Now, I don't know a decent place here for car repair... I bought the car brand new and any maintenance was done either under warrenty, at the oil change place, or in my dad's garage 285 miles north of here. So, I called around. I remembered seeing a little local place on the other side of the cult parking lot by where I work. I called and chatted with Walt and took my car over for an estimate.

As promised, Walt looked at the car that very morning and called with the estimate. I said, go ahead--the price was well within the range I expected to have to pay for the service--not inflated or anything of the sort (read: NOT Midas!!). Two hours later, Walt left me a message that my car was ready, I could pick it up anytime before they closed at 5:30.

The service was great. The car is running great. So a shout out to Walt and Select Auto Service (on Platt near Washtenaw) are well-deserved. In a crazy week that has me traveling and running all over, they got me in and out in no time! Now the website listed on the business card doesn't seem to be working... but they do imports and domestics and all major and minor repairs.

Just another Thursday

So, regarding the suspicious car that is parked in the cult parking lot that my office window overlooks... it was still there all day today. Tomorrow, if it is still there, I will capture a photograph. I still could not get my co-workers to cooperate with the investigation. It's sad. Even the police didn't come back today... but there is movement at the compound... suddenly there were other vehicles coming and going today--I bet it has SOMETHING to do with that car. Yep, must be the case.

In other news, for those of you who drive Intrigues, let me make a point of clarification... it is the name of the car, not what you are supposed to create while changing lanes--MAYBE!! Use a blinker--and that goes for non-Intrigue drivers, too.

And since my road rage is not easily diminished today, let me just say if you drive a F150 (or its non-Ford equivalent), that does mean you have the right of way. I may have a Saturn, but I will take you out. I'm ALMOST up to 20 lbs on one set of reps on that bicep curl machine--I'm a force, baby... a FORCE!

Speaking of a force... can I PLEASE have spring? Dude, I don't care if we bypass spring and go directly into summer, but I may well suffer a nervous breakdown if it snows again before December.

And since I cannot seem to get warm, I now need to go make some chai... decaf, of course.