The movements were beautiful
Settle in. Start this amazing live version of Neutral Milk Hotel's "Oh Comely" now. As you may know, brevity is not my specialty.
Three weeks ago, my car was driving as if cookie batter was stuck in the engine. I had to have the fuel injector replaced, along with an oxygen filter and some other kinda whooziswhatsis. On the way home, the engine flipped out. It was revving like crazy, idling very hard and accelerating uphill by itself. Like a big boy, I had to borrow my mother's car to get down to the Bottom Lounge that night, where I planned to meet a few people (none actually showed). That same night, while I was guzzling Red Stripes and trying to enjoy Sleepytime Gorilla Museum by my lonesome, Mom used my car to get to my Grandma's place. In the process, the engine apparently calmed down and fixed itself.
The moral of this story? Mothers can, at times, be magical.
Then a week later, as mentioned in a previous post, I was rear-ended at low speed, preventing myself, Jack and Goad from getting to the Eels show. The muffler was all fouled up, but the car drove normally and only sounded ugly. It behaved for a few days, until I was on my way to visit Ginger one night. An ambulance in an intersection forced me to accelerate quickly, and the engine popped back into Maximum Overdrive mode. Ginger graciously chauffered me for the evening in her former car, Herbert, and when we returned to my car, it was calm again.
The moral of this story? Women can, at times, be magical.
After all this, the collision repair shop had the car for days, and I got it back during the recent holiday weekend. Guess what? After driving it for a while, I noticed that the (unbent, not replaced) muffler is noisy, and it drove as if cookie batter was stuck in the engine. I took the car back to Larry the repair guy this morning, when it was miraculously driving better and quieter, and Larry looked at me like I'm crazy. Told me to keep driving it and let him know if it keeps up. So I'm sort of back to square one.
The moral of this story? I've wondered about my Saturn's gender for a long time, but I now believe that it has to be female, and a pretty damned good one. Yes, it's occasionally capricious and temperamental, but I'm not going for negative stereotypes here. It's just that I've suddenly found myself caring about its well-being and am going to great lengths to see that its desires are appeased, to be attentive and to apply concern and support when needed. In turn, I appreciate that it offers me a space in which I can truly be myself, a conduit for adventure, comfort and solace, a reliable and sturdy ally. On the inside, it's deceptively vast. On the outside, it's not rough on the eyes but not too gaudy. If you're around it in the right light, it can, at times, be magical.
Yet there's nothing I can do to keep some careless stranger from swooping in and smacking it in the rear. Nor can I help that if he manages to collide with it just right, that car is gone and I'm stuck walking home again, lugging an empty wallet with guts clenched in regret, frustration and disappointment. Still, knowing this, I also know that such accidents don't always happen. We've already been through a lot together and I'm a loyal driver. I will do everything I can to make sure it's - I mean, she's - okay. Now, I should at least come up with a name for her.
(To avoid potential scandal, I must emphatically state that this strained woman/car analogy contains no veiled references to any particular woman, especially any Libran with whom I have recently consorted.)
Three weeks ago, my car was driving as if cookie batter was stuck in the engine. I had to have the fuel injector replaced, along with an oxygen filter and some other kinda whooziswhatsis. On the way home, the engine flipped out. It was revving like crazy, idling very hard and accelerating uphill by itself. Like a big boy, I had to borrow my mother's car to get down to the Bottom Lounge that night, where I planned to meet a few people (none actually showed). That same night, while I was guzzling Red Stripes and trying to enjoy Sleepytime Gorilla Museum by my lonesome, Mom used my car to get to my Grandma's place. In the process, the engine apparently calmed down and fixed itself.
The moral of this story? Mothers can, at times, be magical.
Then a week later, as mentioned in a previous post, I was rear-ended at low speed, preventing myself, Jack and Goad from getting to the Eels show. The muffler was all fouled up, but the car drove normally and only sounded ugly. It behaved for a few days, until I was on my way to visit Ginger one night. An ambulance in an intersection forced me to accelerate quickly, and the engine popped back into Maximum Overdrive mode. Ginger graciously chauffered me for the evening in her former car, Herbert, and when we returned to my car, it was calm again.
The moral of this story? Women can, at times, be magical.
After all this, the collision repair shop had the car for days, and I got it back during the recent holiday weekend. Guess what? After driving it for a while, I noticed that the (unbent, not replaced) muffler is noisy, and it drove as if cookie batter was stuck in the engine. I took the car back to Larry the repair guy this morning, when it was miraculously driving better and quieter, and Larry looked at me like I'm crazy. Told me to keep driving it and let him know if it keeps up. So I'm sort of back to square one.
The moral of this story? I've wondered about my Saturn's gender for a long time, but I now believe that it has to be female, and a pretty damned good one. Yes, it's occasionally capricious and temperamental, but I'm not going for negative stereotypes here. It's just that I've suddenly found myself caring about its well-being and am going to great lengths to see that its desires are appeased, to be attentive and to apply concern and support when needed. In turn, I appreciate that it offers me a space in which I can truly be myself, a conduit for adventure, comfort and solace, a reliable and sturdy ally. On the inside, it's deceptively vast. On the outside, it's not rough on the eyes but not too gaudy. If you're around it in the right light, it can, at times, be magical.
Yet there's nothing I can do to keep some careless stranger from swooping in and smacking it in the rear. Nor can I help that if he manages to collide with it just right, that car is gone and I'm stuck walking home again, lugging an empty wallet with guts clenched in regret, frustration and disappointment. Still, knowing this, I also know that such accidents don't always happen. We've already been through a lot together and I'm a loyal driver. I will do everything I can to make sure it's - I mean, she's - okay. Now, I should at least come up with a name for her.
(To avoid potential scandal, I must emphatically state that this strained woman/car analogy contains no veiled references to any particular woman, especially any Libran with whom I have recently consorted.)
posted by SoulReaper at 1:14 AM
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