Obviously, parking this car = the business. Ms. AC routinely has to park at 10 pm on weeknights, which – with an ordinary car – would require at least 10-15 minutes of time spent hunting for a spot (and often more than that.) With the smartcar, she can almost always find a spot within half a block of our building on her first pass. What this is worth to us – in terms of peace of mind (her safety, the lack of hassle and anticipatory fretting during the drive home about whether she’ll find a spot or not) – is almost impossible to tabulate.
The drawback is that we are, unfortunately, still a two-car household. The other car is an old Toyota Echo on which we pay a mere pittance for insurance. The Echo gets used maybe once a week, if that. So, the smartcar is a somewhat selfish car, in a sense. Like, it’s incredibly practical, and we feel like we have all this freedom to come and go as we please, but no one else benefits from it – because, by definition, we can’t drive anyone else around. But since the Echo isn’t exactly a burden, we haven’t found that we have any incentive to get rid of it. Which makes us feel selfish, I guess.
Back to smarty: it’s cool that the engine is in the back. The car is very stable and fun to drive, and it handles really well. We’re due for some sort of transmission upgrade, which I hope will get rid of a weird lilt when the car shifts into second gear. The car has a hybrid manual transmission – you can actually disable the automatic transmission and do a weird kind of clutch-less shifting using tabs on the steering wheel. I suppose if we dealt with more hills, we might actually use that…? As it is, I’ve used the fake manual transmission for novelty purposes but never for any meaningful activity.
It’s a light car. It can get rocked a bit by heavy winds, but so can, you know, the Echo.
People definitely stare, though. This is not a good car for people who like to pick their noses when stopped at a light, for example.
Also, parallel parking is weird when you don’t have a back.
The sound system is meh, though I like the auxiliary input and the fact that it has a built-in ipod charger. The GPS that comes with it actually runs off of the dvd player (I know, right? It has a dvd player…), and the stock GPS is definitely alright, but again, not great. Mileage? Can’t complain – easily in the mid-30s per gallon, could easily crack 40 if we spent more time on the highway – good since the the tank is just under 8 gallons, which isn’t much.
All told? It’s cheaper and smaller than, say, a Yaris or a Honda Fit. We’ll see in 5 years what kinds of mechanical issues arise, but from our very limited experience, the car is well worth it. We’re taking it to Rehoboth for a few days and I can't wait to see what it feels like to be on vacation in this thing.
20 May 2009
18 May 2009
I may have to buy a new laptop...
...but I'd really rather blow a chunk of change on this. Life just ain't fair sometimes.
15 May 2009
In which I maybe, soon, become the "abstract permanent resident."
June 4, people. I may be planning some sort of greencard party the following night. Stay tuned!
06 May 2009
singer-songwriter kind of mood.
Have really been enjoying Elvis Perkins.
His biography is plenty compelling. Knowing about his mom makes this song borderline unlistenable - it's almost too much to take. [Since many of you might not click through - his dad was Anthony Perkins, of "Psycho" fame. Anthony Perkins died ("complications related to AIDS") several years ago. Elvis Perkins' mom was on the ill-fated American Airlines flight 11, flying from Boston to LAX on the morning of September 11, 2001.]
Turning the corner, we've got Jenn Grant, who, I currently enjoy as a culmination of what Feist, Beth Orton, and, why not, Norah Jones aspire to be. I dare you not to want to hear this on a rainy day.
His biography is plenty compelling. Knowing about his mom makes this song borderline unlistenable - it's almost too much to take. [Since many of you might not click through - his dad was Anthony Perkins, of "Psycho" fame. Anthony Perkins died ("complications related to AIDS") several years ago. Elvis Perkins' mom was on the ill-fated American Airlines flight 11, flying from Boston to LAX on the morning of September 11, 2001.]
Turning the corner, we've got Jenn Grant, who, I currently enjoy as a culmination of what Feist, Beth Orton, and, why not, Norah Jones aspire to be. I dare you not to want to hear this on a rainy day.
Woke up this morning...
...with a benadryl hangover and my fever wasn't gone. This doesn't happen all the time. (Detachable...something.)
But yeah, sick. Shivered the whole night through, in fact (as long as I'm copping lines from songs.)
Took my temperature and found it to be satisfactorily above 100 F. Two days of being sick with ominous "flu-like symptoms"? Yes, I say. Also, I say "FUCK." Because being of a certain age, and being less reckless at that certain age than I was when I was another, less certain age, I now know that one has to heed certain realities. Like, no matter how dumb I may consider the 24-hour news cycle, I still can't ignore the fact that the word "pandemic" is in the news every day.
And while I'm old enough to want to be prudent, I'm not so old that I fall into the group of people who can't be outside on code red days in the summer - so I think, who cares. Swine, no swine. I've had the flu before, and this sounds just like that. Except a little part of me is nagging me, asking what an epidemiologist would want me to do. And part of me thinks, "Hey, I can score one for the District! No more Maryland and Virginia getting all the press! I'll be a DC-based swine flu case!"
Driving up Reno, I notice all the landscaping going on. Surely David Byrne must have written a lyric about the importance of having a well-manicured lawn, even during a pandemic? When I get to the doctor's office, there's a sign taped to the door, urging all those experiencing "flu-like symptoms" - there it is again - to immediately self-report to the front desk upon check-in.
I think this must be over the top. These people are medical professionals, after all. This isn't Anderson Cooper, I tell myself. Facts matter more than emotions here. So, I hand over my insurance card, since they have a new computer system or something and need to re-key my info, and I patiently await my turn. In comes a woman, whose husband is waiting OUTSIDE. That's how freaked out these two are about his flu-like symptoms. "Can he come in," she inquires. The nurse shrugs. "If it makes him feel better, he can wear a mask." Now I feel guilted into self-declaring my own flu-like symptoms. "Should I, uh, be wearing a mask too?"
"Can't hurt," she says. On it goes. Now I'm reading the New Yorker and wearing a mask. Life is grand.
In I go, to get weighed and blood pressure'd and pulse'd. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to keep the mask on, or if it's like I'm among friends now, friends with whom I can make jokes about the silly swine flu mass hysteria. "It's not even THE FLU, people! The real flu is scary! This is just a bad cold."
When the doc comes in, she comes in - what I like about her is the directness, the machine gun-ness of her delivery - "What, have you been to Mexico? Hung out with people from Mexico? Your friends all go to Mexico?" Me: "Uh...none of the above. Listen, I think this is just as silly...[pause to lower mask]...I mean, this is idiotic. I don't want to be here. But..."
"But," she says, "you watch the news. And what they're not saying is, 'EVERYBODY STAY HOME.' End of story. Don't come out here, don't bring it out into the community, exposing our staff and others to it. Just stay home. You're not immune-compromised. You're healthy, you're young. Even if you have it, which I highly doubt, you'd be fine in a few days. Why didn't anyone tell you to just stay home and ride it out?"
Me: "I'm...sorry?"
"God, don't apologize, How is this your fault? Listen, you're fine. We'll run a flu test, and we'll take a swab to send out for swine flu testing. Here's the tamiflu scrip - not that it'll do much, because the virus does whatever it wants to do and then leaves - but I guess it slightly ameliorates the symptoms? That's what people say anyway. Take it, get it filled or don't. Just get home and stay home till you're healthy, ok?"
At this point I feel both great and diminutive. Great because of all the common sense on display. Diminutive because I bought into the great media con of swine flu. This sensation lasts for about two minutes, because when the nurse comes in to swab me...? You know, for the test...? What is she wearing?
What?
A fucking mask, that's what.
Mask or not, as far as I can tell, I will soon be ready to celebrate my continued streak of god-knows-how-many consecutive days of being swine flu-free.
But yeah, sick. Shivered the whole night through, in fact (as long as I'm copping lines from songs.)
Took my temperature and found it to be satisfactorily above 100 F. Two days of being sick with ominous "flu-like symptoms"? Yes, I say. Also, I say "FUCK." Because being of a certain age, and being less reckless at that certain age than I was when I was another, less certain age, I now know that one has to heed certain realities. Like, no matter how dumb I may consider the 24-hour news cycle, I still can't ignore the fact that the word "pandemic" is in the news every day.
And while I'm old enough to want to be prudent, I'm not so old that I fall into the group of people who can't be outside on code red days in the summer - so I think, who cares. Swine, no swine. I've had the flu before, and this sounds just like that. Except a little part of me is nagging me, asking what an epidemiologist would want me to do. And part of me thinks, "Hey, I can score one for the District! No more Maryland and Virginia getting all the press! I'll be a DC-based swine flu case!"
Driving up Reno, I notice all the landscaping going on. Surely David Byrne must have written a lyric about the importance of having a well-manicured lawn, even during a pandemic? When I get to the doctor's office, there's a sign taped to the door, urging all those experiencing "flu-like symptoms" - there it is again - to immediately self-report to the front desk upon check-in.
I think this must be over the top. These people are medical professionals, after all. This isn't Anderson Cooper, I tell myself. Facts matter more than emotions here. So, I hand over my insurance card, since they have a new computer system or something and need to re-key my info, and I patiently await my turn. In comes a woman, whose husband is waiting OUTSIDE. That's how freaked out these two are about his flu-like symptoms. "Can he come in," she inquires. The nurse shrugs. "If it makes him feel better, he can wear a mask." Now I feel guilted into self-declaring my own flu-like symptoms. "Should I, uh, be wearing a mask too?"
"Can't hurt," she says. On it goes. Now I'm reading the New Yorker and wearing a mask. Life is grand.
In I go, to get weighed and blood pressure'd and pulse'd. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to keep the mask on, or if it's like I'm among friends now, friends with whom I can make jokes about the silly swine flu mass hysteria. "It's not even THE FLU, people! The real flu is scary! This is just a bad cold."
When the doc comes in, she comes in - what I like about her is the directness, the machine gun-ness of her delivery - "What, have you been to Mexico? Hung out with people from Mexico? Your friends all go to Mexico?" Me: "Uh...none of the above. Listen, I think this is just as silly...[pause to lower mask]...I mean, this is idiotic. I don't want to be here. But..."
"But," she says, "you watch the news. And what they're not saying is, 'EVERYBODY STAY HOME.' End of story. Don't come out here, don't bring it out into the community, exposing our staff and others to it. Just stay home. You're not immune-compromised. You're healthy, you're young. Even if you have it, which I highly doubt, you'd be fine in a few days. Why didn't anyone tell you to just stay home and ride it out?"
Me: "I'm...sorry?"
"God, don't apologize, How is this your fault? Listen, you're fine. We'll run a flu test, and we'll take a swab to send out for swine flu testing. Here's the tamiflu scrip - not that it'll do much, because the virus does whatever it wants to do and then leaves - but I guess it slightly ameliorates the symptoms? That's what people say anyway. Take it, get it filled or don't. Just get home and stay home till you're healthy, ok?"
At this point I feel both great and diminutive. Great because of all the common sense on display. Diminutive because I bought into the great media con of swine flu. This sensation lasts for about two minutes, because when the nurse comes in to swab me...? You know, for the test...? What is she wearing?
What?
A fucking mask, that's what.
Mask or not, as far as I can tell, I will soon be ready to celebrate my continued streak of god-knows-how-many consecutive days of being swine flu-free.
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