- I am soon to be in need of a new car and a new phone and some studio lighting, and B and I need a bigger bed. That’s a lot of expensive purchases that ought to be made, but before doing all that, we’re getting a dog. Not a replacement dog, an additional dog. Maude has always seemed like she could use an Evil Minion, and who am I to deny her? She’d make a great Overlord. We’re in the final stages of adopting a 5-year-old chihuahua with a history similar to Maude’s, and I’ll let you know how it goes. There will of course be pictures.
- I saw Shutter Island. It was beautifully acted and shot and the dialogue was good and stuff. The movie started out looking like it was going to be about WWII, post-WWII anti-communist sentiment, and the history of treatments for mental illness. Those are three of my favorite subjects! But then (no spoilers here) the movie turned into something else entirely, and I was disappointed. It’s probably just me, though; I’m sensitive about how mental illnesses are portrayed in fiction.
- I went to whatever SXSW Interactive stuff didn’t require a badge. Which was pretty much everything I wanted to see anyway. I got to spend time with most of my favorite SXSW people and introduce them to B and Maude. I got to help pay tribute to my friend Brad and see 20×2 where they also paid tribute to Brad which made me cry, and so forth. Good times.
- Then I got a cold. This is unsurprising, as I went on a cruise for a week and then worked a lot for a week and then worked/partied for a week. So right now I feel like the critical-thinking part of my brain has shut itself off, which does me no favors at work or when I’m trying to write.
- Oh, yeah, and I WENT ON A CRUISE. I’ll have to tell you about that later because I’m pretty busy dealing with #’s 1 and 4. But it was a lot of fun and a lot of weird.
See this car?
This is the 1996 Acura Integra I’ve been driving since May 1999. My parents got it for me when I was 21. I drove it in Houston, I drive it in Austin, I drove it all around the country. If I’ve given you a ride anywhere within the last ten and a half years, it was in that car. It’s the car I brought Maude home in the day I got her, when she was so terrified she wouldn’t look at me or sit down in the passenger seat. It’s my favorite car I’ve ever driven, and it has more than 171,000 miles on it, only 40,000 of which are not mine.
Or maybe I shouldn’t call the car it. Her name is Betty. Betty the trusty Acura who, despite a few flat tires and some things that were not her fault, has never ever failed me in any significant way.
Betty’s sick, you guys. She’s like an old lady who has retained her sound mind even as her body’s falling apart. The engine runs just fine; I never have any trouble with that. But on Tuesday I went outside, unlocked the car and pulled the handle on the driver’s side to open the door just like I always do.
But the door didn’t open. I pulled harder, and that’s when the door handle broke off in my hand.
Since then I have become one of those people who has to get into their car through the passenger side.
It sucks. It sucks if you’re not wearing a skirt, it sucks worse if you ARE wearing a skirt, it sucks even worse if you’re wearing a skirt and two guys in a pickup truck point and laugh as they watch you try to crawl into your car without flashing anyone.
But this isn’t the first broken thing. A few weeks ago I was in the car and I turned the little lever that washes the back windshield. That lever is supposed to squirt washer fluid onto the back windshield and then run the wiper to clean it. No washer fluid came out, though, so I turned the lever again. And again. Nothing came out, and the wiper kept waving back and forth uselessly. I guess I need to refill the washer fluid, I thought.
When I felt something wet on my shoulder, I looked up to see washer fluid dripping from the dome light.
And before that, I got pulled over downtown on a Friday night. I was on my way to drink one of Paul Rudd’s beers with friends during SXSW, and the cop that stopped me said I had a headlight out.
“Which one?” I asked.
“This one,” the cop said, and he walked over toward the passenger side. When he slammed his hand down on the hood of the car near the headlight, it went back on.
(“Like THE FONZ?” someone asked me later. Yes, it was just like the Fonz.)
The cop wrote me a warning and told me to fix the headlight. Since then I have to Fonz the headlight every now and then.
The fact that I still have this car is one of the many ways in which I’m like my parents, who tend to keep their cars forever. My dad drove both his Chevy Citation* and his Plymouth Grand Voyager into the ground. The fabric on the ceiling of the Citation came unstuck and was sagging down onto his head, so he put a thumbtack through the fabric into the ceiling right above the driver’s seat so he could see to drive. Then he tore the fabric down, and my sister and I would play with the cracking foamy substance that was left on the ceiling. I used to reach up and trace my name in the foam with my finger and bits of it would rain down on me.
We complained to my father for months about the Citation. The radio didn’t work, the seats were sticky vinyl, and the car itself was embarrassing and probably toxic. “It’s a perfectly good car!” my dad would say.
The Plymouth Grand Voyager (which I drove to Senior Prom) was fine until it wasn’t. My dad drove it to work one day, and that afternoon he called to ask my mom to pick him up and take him to the car dealership. He left the poor dead Plymouth in the parking lot of his office for the Salvation Army to pick up. He and my mom STILL have the used Ford Explorer they bought that day.
I don’t know what to do about Betty. The little Headley voice in the back of my head says, “Come on, it runs fine! You have no car payment! It’s a perfectly good car!” The other voice says, “It’s probably going to die in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere. You can’t keep getting in and out of the passenger seat like that! You’re 31 years old!”
So, readers, I’d like to ask your opinion. Here are all the facts I can think of:
- No car payment
- It’s very comfortable
- It runs well
- After 10 years, I’m awfully good at driving it
- Nobody wants to steal it
- It’s small and I can park it almost anywhere
- But when I fold the back seats down it can carry a shitload
- Its airbags and seatbelts are all good
- Jeffrey Ross has been in it
- It gets great gas mileage
- It’s a hatchback, so I never have to drive a group of people anywhere unless they want to squish into the backseat like sardines
- NO CAR PAYMENT. Did you get that part?
- The A/C doesn’t work very well–if it’s over 90 degrees and the sun’s out, I arrive everywhere covered in sweat, which is half the year in Texas
- It’s a black car, which makes the above much worse in the summer
- One time I left a pair of boots in there for a few months and they grew mold
- The anti-lock brake system doesn’t work
- Washer fluid leaks onto the driver
- There’s only one door handle, and it’s on the wrong side
- The tint is all wrinkled so I can’t see out the back windshield very well
- It’s a hatchback, so I can never drive a group of people anywhere unless they want to squish into the backseat like sardines (Shaun used to say getting out of the backseat of my car was like being born)
- The retractable antenna started making a CHUNK CHUNK CHUNK sound, so my dad had to replace it with a regular antenna, which is held on with electrical tape
- There’s no CD player and the tape player doesn’t work, so I have to listen to my iPod through an FM transmitter/charger thing, but the cigarette lighter stopped working so my iPod doesn’t charge while I’m listening
- Years of parking outdoors in Texas have melted all the paint off the roof
So, do you think I should:
- Fix everything I can on it and then drive it into the ground
- Get a new (well, newER) car soon and sell Betty for scrap metal or maybe have her bolted to one of those billboards where the crumpled car shows that people survived an accident because they were wearing their seatbelts
Right now I have enough for a small (SMALL!) down payment on an early-aughts Honda/Accura of some kind, but I’d rather not use it now if Betty and I can keep going for awhile.
What would you do?
*who names a car after a ticket?