Canada is a wonderful place. It offers a point of view in reporting that brings an international perspective to US events in a form of the English language readily understandable to Americans. That is how the linked story from the CBC was discovered.
Short form- unidentified right feet are washing up on the beaches of British Columbia.
There is no mention of left feet arriving on Canadian shores, just rights. Size 12 to be specific.
For someone who wears size 12 shoes, such as Your Wandering Gentile, this is an alarming and disquieting trend. The fact that the RCMP have not been able to ascertain the owners of said feet is also discomfiting. US readers may not be familiar with the RCMP's mission, their knowledge of the agency being limited to Dudley Do-Right.
The RCMP are among the premier law enforcement agencies in the world, with a mission that ranges from being analogous to a county Sheriff in the United States, to similar functions as the FBI and DHS. At the moment, one must suspect that there are a few in the RCMP wishing for the positive public relations of Dudley Do-Right.
One would suspect that the owners of said disembodied feet would notice that they were missing, were they alive. Most everyone contacted in a brief query concurred, that they too would be at the very least somewhat cognizant and preoccupied by the missing appendage, and very likely to communicate with authorities with regard to the loss.
The RCMP have not received such communication from individuals, presumably male or one of my exes, regarding right feet that are AWOL. Thus, the appropriate Canadian agency is developing DNA profiles of the feet.
Lets get this out of the way-we are not aware of who may be footing the bill, doing the appropriate legwork, or if anyone has handicapped the RCMP in their enquiries.
That had to be said.
The Canadian media have found possibilities with regard to possible accidental sources of the missing feet. The suggestion that the same appendage coming free and reaching Vancouver-area beaches, all the same size, with regard to the same 2005 civil aviation incident, requires more than a willing suspension of disbelief. When faced with the fact that no other pieces from other parts of the body have made a return in a similar fashion, one may suggest that this is unrelated.
The problem is that the Canadians may be functioning under a presumption made necessary by the model of British law. That is to say that someone may live without an appendage, and the possibility that no crime may have been committed. Hypothetically, a group of cultists in nearby Washington state may have embraced self-mutilation, and a Pacific current may have carried the remnants of said action into Canadian waters.
In that case, no crime has been committed in Canada, save for being a litterbug, and without a culprit, not even a citation may be issued. Sharp raders may observe that this line of thinking follows a key plot development of Road Games, a 1981 Stacy Keach/Jamie Lee Curtis movie made in Australia.
The RCMP is facing several challenges. Unidentified feet coming ashore without their owners are something that make the populace a bit uncomfortable at the very least. Television is more than willing to embrace the concept of boots-to take a bit of literary license-landing on Canadian shores with nothing more than feet included. And humour-intensive Canadians will find a great ability to tweak one of their institutions of government.
Lest Americans forget, we do not have a sense of humour. We have humor, without the extra u. Canada supplies the US with comedians, under a 1972 treaty where cast-off small arms are given to the Dominion's modest thug community in trade. Tommy Chong was the first comedian exported under a 1968 pilot program. America is working on a program(me) where we trade verbose media bigots for Poutine, but the Canadians are wisely hesitant.
Lamentably, that still leaves the RCMP in Vancouver with four large feet sitting, presumably, in lost and found. One hopes that the lost and found is refrigera-...wait a minute... it's in Canada!
It's a mess for the Canadians, but they should take solace in one point. They do not have the same concerns as authorities on our side of the border.
If one tunes to the local 5 p.m. newscast in Atlanta, there is a warehouse fire (with helicopter-justifying skycam coverage). An apartment complex fire features a man in a cowboy hat, leather biker jacket, frilly tuxedo shirt, Jams, Crocs, and My Little Pony socks, telling how he woke the neighbors when he smelled smoke. He would be the arsonist; he did not dress in the dark; he has crappy taste in clothes. And there is a shooting in an economically disadvantaged school, where the pregnant, sixteen-year-old interviewee tells Eyewitless News that she "...dint see s***. I'm like Sergeant Schultz up in this m*****f*****, and if you don't want to get your a** shot, you will be too." That gets edited unless it's a ratings sweep month, when it only gets bleeped.
We don't have mystery feet show up. In Atlanta we have entire unidentified skeletons, with such frequency that they seldom, if ever, lead the news. Basically, the anchor states "(jurisdiction) Police report the discovery of unidentified skeletal remains on a secluded wooded area," and moves on to coverage from the entrance of a local sports venue.
Your Wandering Gentile is optimistic that the owners of the missing feet will be identified. It is our confidence that Canadian authorities tend to be competent, courteous and efficient, leading to a great resolution.
And if we encounter any skeletons missing a large right foot in Georgia, we'll let you know.
If we remember.
25 May 2008
Hillary Goes Winehouse
Note to Hillary Clinton: Do NOT mention past assassinations EVER. Doing so makes a candidate appear desperate, and fundamentally unelectable.
Welcome to the ash heap of history.
It is not enough to apologize or repent the statement. The fact that it was made is indicative of contemplation, a musing of the unthinkable. The idea of an assassination has been the elephant in the room during this campaign cycle. Every candidate has a situation which could make him or her vulnerable to the perversity of political murder.
Is the voter supposed to accept that Senator Clinton's expulsion of the Robert Kennedy reference was a gaffe, or a reaction to the news about Edward Kennedy's brain tumor? If one wishes to reference naivete, by all which is holy, even my Fruit of the Looms, accepting that premise is the acme and the zenith of naivete.
The voter is aware of the unlikelihood of Clinton's nomination, and one must take as given that Senator Clinton is aware that her chances are past waning, and sitting on gone. Her body language and phrasing indicate the desperation of a human being so invested in a goal that the possibility of non-attainment has only recently become present in her awareness. Senator Clinton is at the point of an individual who has fallen from a high point, and states that so far she's okay...but she hasn't hit the bottom just yet.
It is the denial and self-delusion of the teenager who has applied to universities beyond the scope of his abilities as defined by College Board scores and grade point average. Aiming for the stratos is not enough if one is using a paper airplane to achieve orbit.
Until Friday, one felt regret for the Clinton campaign on some levels. She had the organization and the talent to overcome all but the greatest candidate of a generation. She found a voice that connected with a portion of the electorate which was historically underrepresented. And then Senator Clinton found herself in the position of being the Rolling Stones to Obama's Beatles.
The problem was that Hillary Clinton had been under the illusion that she was the Beatles, and Obama was the Rolling Stones. Senator Clinton is now on the path of becoming the Dave Clark Five. They were the first band to score a number one hit after the Beatles' first wave of success on American shores, now lost to most people under fifty.
Kids may be able to find the Dave Clark Five on vinyl at the flea market, although a turntable may prove troublesome to locate.
And now this abomination of referring to the Robert Kennedy assassination. It remains in your Wandering Gentile's memory, despite being a day short of 18 months when it happened, so vivid was the reaction in a modest home in suburban Tampa. In a decade marred by violence, the stilling of Robert Kennedy's voice was the irreconcilable break between progressive politics and optimism for two generations.
When the racial undertone of comments such as "...white working people," and appeals to Appalachian America are considered, one is forgiven for inferring a reference to the assassination of the last political figure to successfully marry optimism and liberalism as meaning "...take this (epithet of the reader's choice) out, and keep the White in the White House!"
One sincerely hopes that the Senator from New York was not making a case to base bigotries in a society where people of color are challenged by the reactionary tendencies of those who define their existence and self-worth by a measure beyond their control. Regrettably, Mrs. Clinton is not in a position of making a case for her innocence now. She did not choose to disavow the explicit urgings of Limbaugh and Coulter. Her tacit acceptance of such taint her credibility beyond suitability for the electorate.
Is Senator Clinton's pursuit of high office so single minded, so fundamentally needy, that her life cannot proceed if denied the position she desperately wants? The voter hopes for someone who serves in office, as opposed to wielding the position as leverage against real and perceived disputes past and present. The last twenty years are characterized by the perception that the holder of the presidency is wielding the office for personal gain, from one party or the other.
There are 300 million people in this country who function pretty well without holding a position of prestige and authority. They may have obstacles along the way, but the Clinton campaign has taken a big step away from that connection with the many not empowered by a famous name and powerful connections. If Hillary Clinton is an example of what happens with such leverage at the individual's disposal, one suspects that he is better off doing without.
Senator Obama, on the other hand, has achieved his fortunes without the patronage of a well-connected spouse, or a reputation etched in granite by eight years in the public forum in a position of no actual authority. He has persuaded thousands of American voters by virtue of his oratory and idealism, and is capable of more still.
That is, Senator Obama will achieve more success, and will not have to rely upon the misfortune of others to afford him opportunities that he can make on his own.
At some point in the future, a confident, assured, and very able woman will become President.
Unfortunately, Senator Clinton does not fulfill all of the preceding criteria.
Welcome to the ash heap of history.
It is not enough to apologize or repent the statement. The fact that it was made is indicative of contemplation, a musing of the unthinkable. The idea of an assassination has been the elephant in the room during this campaign cycle. Every candidate has a situation which could make him or her vulnerable to the perversity of political murder.
Is the voter supposed to accept that Senator Clinton's expulsion of the Robert Kennedy reference was a gaffe, or a reaction to the news about Edward Kennedy's brain tumor? If one wishes to reference naivete, by all which is holy, even my Fruit of the Looms, accepting that premise is the acme and the zenith of naivete.
The voter is aware of the unlikelihood of Clinton's nomination, and one must take as given that Senator Clinton is aware that her chances are past waning, and sitting on gone. Her body language and phrasing indicate the desperation of a human being so invested in a goal that the possibility of non-attainment has only recently become present in her awareness. Senator Clinton is at the point of an individual who has fallen from a high point, and states that so far she's okay...but she hasn't hit the bottom just yet.
It is the denial and self-delusion of the teenager who has applied to universities beyond the scope of his abilities as defined by College Board scores and grade point average. Aiming for the stratos is not enough if one is using a paper airplane to achieve orbit.
Until Friday, one felt regret for the Clinton campaign on some levels. She had the organization and the talent to overcome all but the greatest candidate of a generation. She found a voice that connected with a portion of the electorate which was historically underrepresented. And then Senator Clinton found herself in the position of being the Rolling Stones to Obama's Beatles.
The problem was that Hillary Clinton had been under the illusion that she was the Beatles, and Obama was the Rolling Stones. Senator Clinton is now on the path of becoming the Dave Clark Five. They were the first band to score a number one hit after the Beatles' first wave of success on American shores, now lost to most people under fifty.
Kids may be able to find the Dave Clark Five on vinyl at the flea market, although a turntable may prove troublesome to locate.
And now this abomination of referring to the Robert Kennedy assassination. It remains in your Wandering Gentile's memory, despite being a day short of 18 months when it happened, so vivid was the reaction in a modest home in suburban Tampa. In a decade marred by violence, the stilling of Robert Kennedy's voice was the irreconcilable break between progressive politics and optimism for two generations.
When the racial undertone of comments such as "...white working people," and appeals to Appalachian America are considered, one is forgiven for inferring a reference to the assassination of the last political figure to successfully marry optimism and liberalism as meaning "...take this (epithet of the reader's choice) out, and keep the White in the White House!"
One sincerely hopes that the Senator from New York was not making a case to base bigotries in a society where people of color are challenged by the reactionary tendencies of those who define their existence and self-worth by a measure beyond their control. Regrettably, Mrs. Clinton is not in a position of making a case for her innocence now. She did not choose to disavow the explicit urgings of Limbaugh and Coulter. Her tacit acceptance of such taint her credibility beyond suitability for the electorate.
Is Senator Clinton's pursuit of high office so single minded, so fundamentally needy, that her life cannot proceed if denied the position she desperately wants? The voter hopes for someone who serves in office, as opposed to wielding the position as leverage against real and perceived disputes past and present. The last twenty years are characterized by the perception that the holder of the presidency is wielding the office for personal gain, from one party or the other.
There are 300 million people in this country who function pretty well without holding a position of prestige and authority. They may have obstacles along the way, but the Clinton campaign has taken a big step away from that connection with the many not empowered by a famous name and powerful connections. If Hillary Clinton is an example of what happens with such leverage at the individual's disposal, one suspects that he is better off doing without.
Senator Obama, on the other hand, has achieved his fortunes without the patronage of a well-connected spouse, or a reputation etched in granite by eight years in the public forum in a position of no actual authority. He has persuaded thousands of American voters by virtue of his oratory and idealism, and is capable of more still.
That is, Senator Obama will achieve more success, and will not have to rely upon the misfortune of others to afford him opportunities that he can make on his own.
At some point in the future, a confident, assured, and very able woman will become President.
Unfortunately, Senator Clinton does not fulfill all of the preceding criteria.
20 May 2008
The Norcross Oracle
Time for a few predictions, seeing as the last batch was moderately accurate...
Okay, your Wandering Gentile blew the name of the Republican nominee, but desires partial credit for getting the fact that the GOP would pick a moderate, not a fevered anti-immigrant conservative theocrat. Or not.
McCain should pick Huckabee, lest Bob Barr's Libertarian campaign go Nader on them...not that the Democrats will mind. Reverend Huckabee may believe that he's a rising star in his party, but the Republicans are likely to embrace a campaign that gets two thorns out of their side, keeping Mitt Romney, the guy they think has a chance of making Obama a one-term president, clean and useful for 2012.
It has come to your Wandering Gentile's attention that some of our friends in cyberspace are still enthusiastic about Senator Clinton. We respect their opinion, but she has hung out past her date with destiny. The appearance of the heavy culling of her support among superdelegates, mated with the amargous tone and subtle racial undertone over the last few weeks has made the Senator from New York radioactive.
This meltdown has been slow, but appears to be gaining velocity. Clinton has passed Paris Hilton for severity of the train wreck, is approaching Britney Spears, and may peak at Amy Winehouse levels. Hillary doesn't want to go to rehab, no no no.
Obama 's best choice still seems to be Governor Bill Richardson. This shores up weakness for the Democratic ticket in the Southwest, and puts Texas into play. An Obama-Richardson ticket could make an electoral college map that looks like a horseshoe, given Obama's strength among African-Americans in the Deep South, and liberals on the East Coast. With Richardson he could trade weakness in the Great Lakes states for Texas.
Figure that New York, Massachusetts, Illinois, and California are going to go Blue no matter what. Florida and Ohio are tossups, as they have been for quite some time. An energized African-American electorate brings every state in the old confederacy into play, and if one combines that with a Latino electorate in Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, and Nevada, one may see a polar shift in the function of American politics that could go for two generations.
As we see underrepresented populations come into the flowering of their franchise, the promise of America's splendid Constitution will see full realization. This shift, which was merely a dream of disenfranchised groups throughout America forty years ago, signals not a balkanization of the US population, but a moment when the American people discovered individual voices and the meaning of citizenship that had been withheld for too long.
When individuals discover that their voice has power, their interests have merit, and their potential has no boundaries, patriotism is a natural byproduct. This is a stellar era to watch. I only wish that the poll workers from that earthen dam in Philadelphia, Mississippi were here to share it with us.
All right, enough with politics for a few minutes. There will be enough time for that later.
FULL SERVICE is coming back soon to a gas station near you. For readers in New Jersey and Oregon, it never really left. It just makes sense that somebody in a market like Atlanta or Dallas will realize that a guy making US$7.00 an hour is a great selling point for drivers harried about fuel costs and a strong line of defense against drive offs.
Once the first station pulls this so-old-it's-new idea out of their behind, look for it to spread like a new Youtube video from Obama Girl.
As digital tuners make their way into homes, the question is not if, but how long it will take networks to realize that they can leverage some of their popular cable properties onto unused digital channels. The technology is impressive, and the digital signal is the equal of cable on my, uh, classic, 19 inch bedroom screen.
Credit goes to PBS and religious broadcasters for moving the ball forward on the way this can work. One sees an advantage, for example, where an NBC affiliate in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, a city without a Spanish-language channel, but with a Spanish-speaking population, puts Telemundo on Channel 8.2, and draws an audience that had not been served by a local broadcaster. (Telemundo is owned by NBC.)
The opposite could be true in San Juan, where NBC could put their lineup on 2.2, piggybacking on WKAQ's affiliation with Telemundo. When one considers how many channels with popular content are associated with major networks, it would not be a surprise to see ESPN and Disney Channel on an ABC affiliate's subchannel; Fox News and FX with the local Fox Channel; Comedy Central, MTV, TV Land, and Nickelodeon going to a CBS or CW affiliate.
Digital has the potential to be a major pain in Cable's behind.
As most people in the US see the cost of a fill-up soar into the cosmos, may it be suggested that the worst is over. Oil prices are sitting on a bubble, and there will be a great and terrible wail from the Middle East before long, as consumption wanes in the US and the price of their petroleum fades back to the US$60 per barrel range.
Anyone who remembers the dot-com run up or Enron may wish to stay tuned. That also goes for those who recall the lessons of the Tulip Trade, Beanie Babies, or Baseball Cards. Do Americans like toys and gadgets? Of course we do. But we are not quite as stupid as some people beyond our boundaries think.
We are the people who thought up mass produced affluence, and put a man on the moon. Americans can do any blessed thing once they decide to. Woe be unto the person who dismisses the resolve of 300 million people who find a way to thrust a middle digit even when they're being strangled.
If I were a Ferrari dealer in Riyadh, I would insist on full payment up front, hehehe.
Okay, your Wandering Gentile blew the name of the Republican nominee, but desires partial credit for getting the fact that the GOP would pick a moderate, not a fevered anti-immigrant conservative theocrat. Or not.
McCain should pick Huckabee, lest Bob Barr's Libertarian campaign go Nader on them...not that the Democrats will mind. Reverend Huckabee may believe that he's a rising star in his party, but the Republicans are likely to embrace a campaign that gets two thorns out of their side, keeping Mitt Romney, the guy they think has a chance of making Obama a one-term president, clean and useful for 2012.
It has come to your Wandering Gentile's attention that some of our friends in cyberspace are still enthusiastic about Senator Clinton. We respect their opinion, but she has hung out past her date with destiny. The appearance of the heavy culling of her support among superdelegates, mated with the amargous tone and subtle racial undertone over the last few weeks has made the Senator from New York radioactive.
This meltdown has been slow, but appears to be gaining velocity. Clinton has passed Paris Hilton for severity of the train wreck, is approaching Britney Spears, and may peak at Amy Winehouse levels. Hillary doesn't want to go to rehab, no no no.
Obama 's best choice still seems to be Governor Bill Richardson. This shores up weakness for the Democratic ticket in the Southwest, and puts Texas into play. An Obama-Richardson ticket could make an electoral college map that looks like a horseshoe, given Obama's strength among African-Americans in the Deep South, and liberals on the East Coast. With Richardson he could trade weakness in the Great Lakes states for Texas.
Figure that New York, Massachusetts, Illinois, and California are going to go Blue no matter what. Florida and Ohio are tossups, as they have been for quite some time. An energized African-American electorate brings every state in the old confederacy into play, and if one combines that with a Latino electorate in Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, and Nevada, one may see a polar shift in the function of American politics that could go for two generations.
As we see underrepresented populations come into the flowering of their franchise, the promise of America's splendid Constitution will see full realization. This shift, which was merely a dream of disenfranchised groups throughout America forty years ago, signals not a balkanization of the US population, but a moment when the American people discovered individual voices and the meaning of citizenship that had been withheld for too long.
When individuals discover that their voice has power, their interests have merit, and their potential has no boundaries, patriotism is a natural byproduct. This is a stellar era to watch. I only wish that the poll workers from that earthen dam in Philadelphia, Mississippi were here to share it with us.
All right, enough with politics for a few minutes. There will be enough time for that later.
FULL SERVICE is coming back soon to a gas station near you. For readers in New Jersey and Oregon, it never really left. It just makes sense that somebody in a market like Atlanta or Dallas will realize that a guy making US$7.00 an hour is a great selling point for drivers harried about fuel costs and a strong line of defense against drive offs.
Once the first station pulls this so-old-it's-new idea out of their behind, look for it to spread like a new Youtube video from Obama Girl.
As digital tuners make their way into homes, the question is not if, but how long it will take networks to realize that they can leverage some of their popular cable properties onto unused digital channels. The technology is impressive, and the digital signal is the equal of cable on my, uh, classic, 19 inch bedroom screen.
Credit goes to PBS and religious broadcasters for moving the ball forward on the way this can work. One sees an advantage, for example, where an NBC affiliate in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, a city without a Spanish-language channel, but with a Spanish-speaking population, puts Telemundo on Channel 8.2, and draws an audience that had not been served by a local broadcaster. (Telemundo is owned by NBC.)
The opposite could be true in San Juan, where NBC could put their lineup on 2.2, piggybacking on WKAQ's affiliation with Telemundo. When one considers how many channels with popular content are associated with major networks, it would not be a surprise to see ESPN and Disney Channel on an ABC affiliate's subchannel; Fox News and FX with the local Fox Channel; Comedy Central, MTV, TV Land, and Nickelodeon going to a CBS or CW affiliate.
Digital has the potential to be a major pain in Cable's behind.
As most people in the US see the cost of a fill-up soar into the cosmos, may it be suggested that the worst is over. Oil prices are sitting on a bubble, and there will be a great and terrible wail from the Middle East before long, as consumption wanes in the US and the price of their petroleum fades back to the US$60 per barrel range.
Anyone who remembers the dot-com run up or Enron may wish to stay tuned. That also goes for those who recall the lessons of the Tulip Trade, Beanie Babies, or Baseball Cards. Do Americans like toys and gadgets? Of course we do. But we are not quite as stupid as some people beyond our boundaries think.
We are the people who thought up mass produced affluence, and put a man on the moon. Americans can do any blessed thing once they decide to. Woe be unto the person who dismisses the resolve of 300 million people who find a way to thrust a middle digit even when they're being strangled.
If I were a Ferrari dealer in Riyadh, I would insist on full payment up front, hehehe.
19 May 2008
Behind The Wheel
Mrs. Wandering Gentile and I went car shopping a few weeks ago. I am growing despondent over the Pornstar's mediocre economy at US$1 per liter, or $3.789 per gallon, and we don't need to drag three extra seats over to Sonic when the hijastras (stepdaughters)and I get the urge for chili cheese tater tots.
Mrs. Wandering Gentile suggested that we purchase an SUV, until my face turned the color of a Coca-Cola can, and the vein on my forehead grew to the size of a normal python. I managed to avoid recreating the premise of the film Scanners, but barely. It is my fervent belief that most SUVs be delivered with a snarky letter from Osama Bin Laden, thanking the purchaser for supporting Al Qaeda, particularly for drivers who ride alone for twenty or thirty thousand miles per year.
SUVs have their purpose, particularly for large families and in harsh climates, or some combination of the two. The Wandering Gentile Household numbers four, with a missing man formation for Junior, who is being held in foreign exile by his mother. I am the only one over five feet (150cm) tall. We live in Atlanta, where if the weather justifies four-wheel-drive, it is sure indication that Apocalypse is nigh. I do not hunt, fish, or camp...my career requires regular exposure to the elements. When I recreate, I want cable, hot showers, and sheets that will not be laundered by me, my wife, or the hijastras.
An SUV that meets my standards for consumption would be akin to a Festiva wearing grips on its twelve-inch rims.
I offered the suggestion that my old Festiva, a/k/a the Mighty Matchbox Car, be returned to service in our household. Being that all of Mrs. Wandering Gentile's predecessors had ridden in that particular automobile, I learned that there are quite a few Spanish-language pejoratives regarding personal hygiene that I had heretofore not been aware of. Mrs. Wandering Gentile's estimation of the condition of the passenger seat proves to be a deal-breaker.
Now that I consider it, a 20-year-old hatchback, motivated (as much as can be divined) by a 58 horsepower engine, is a certain candidate for becoming a stain on Atlanta's anarchic expressway system. Mighty Matchbox Car or not, it makes me think of those pictures of multiple members of an Indian family headed to Mumbai on a 125cc scooter. It will make a good car for me to make my periodic trips between the house and the truck yard. I wouldn't risk the girls riding in it.
So we have dropped into the realm of a modest compact car, and, frankly, I want something new. I have driven used cars since 1982, and the idea of being the first person to make an impolite sound in the car does carry some enchantment.
Buy our car! Zero dollars down! Zero dollars a month! Everybody Rides! If you have a pulse we can get you financed! We'll give you ten thousand dollars in trade for your Pinto! Jack Schmitt Motors will go Lewinski on your dog! If we can't make a deal, you must be dead! No documentation of residence, employment, or assets required!
One cannot turn on a radio in Atlanta without being subjected to this happy (lower posterior orifice) in half a dozen languages, at a volume designed to provoke envy in lesser heavy metal bands. Hyundai, Kia, Suzuki, Ford, and Chevrolet dealers tend to be the worst offenders. The reality of this donkey show is that the purchaser is one of the stars, and the purchaser would be happier being an ass.
Of these, the actual car is at best a happy compromise of archaic technology, questionable build quality, and a dealership where service is second to digging out the Chinese socket set and performing the task in a car wash bay. The only acceptable product in the bunch is a Cobalt, and good luck finding a four-door stick shift. Hellooooo, MARTA, Atlanta's spectacularly inadequate public transit system, where one finds the other donkey show participants when they are unable to make the US$28,000 balloon payment at the end of zero dollars down, zero dollars a month.
Mitsubishi is ruled out for two reasons. One, I haven't forgiven them for manufacturing the Zero, the planes used to attack Pearl Harbor, 25 years before I was born. Two, at about 80,000 miles, Mitsubishi engines turn into the Marlboro Man, to wit, they have one horse and smoke.
Nothing says "I couldn't get financed on a Toyota," like a Nissan.
Speaking of Toyotas, I discovered that becoming a Corolla owner would require my head to ride in a box on the passenger seat, and one should keep their suggestions of double-entendre private. There was not a Toyota product that comfortably accomodated my nearly six-foot (181cm) body. This is due to the fact that I am built like a human Dachshund, therefore I am all torso and not much leg.
Hondas hate me, and the sentiment has become mutual. I spent six years running an emission station (Smog Check for our West Coast Reader), and it got so bad that my assistant used to warn Honda owners. "Do not let him touch your car. It will die. He has a bad mojo." I am a 50-50 chance of survival with an Accord, certain death to a Civic. Guess which one comes closest to my idea of my needs. That and the fact that the Civic's dash seems to be modeled on a design for the Enterprise's helm that Paramount rejected as "totally bizarre," in 1966.
Volkswagen Rabbits are neat little cars, but every VW I have ever owned has been posessed by the decrepit spirit of an infernal Nazi for whom I could never have sufficient foreskin.
So we arrive at the runner-up, the Mazda 3. It rides on the same chassis as the European Ford Focus and the little bitty Volvo. The engine is good, and the resale is terrific. I actually went to the Mazda dealer first, because there is a compelling argument for this choice, and it serves as a lesson that the agency's treatment of me as a potential customer has moved this totally worthy car to second place.
I asked for literature on the 3, and Mrs. Wandering Gentile immediately spied their small SUV. If I could tolerate any SUV, that one would be a top finisher, despite its resemblance to a '71 Torino wagon in my eyes. It is unavailable with a manual transmission, which is the first drawback, and it was about US$11,000 more than the base Mazda sedan I was interested in.
The salesman took his merry time in finding literature, all the while telling me how well I seemed suited to the SUV. I felt like I was being offered a leather boy outfit and purple sequined pumps to wear to Mass. Note to all Mazda Dealers: if someone asks you for a catalogue on the Mazda 3, and asks about a stickshift specifically, you stand approximately zero chance of pushing the guy into an SUV without freaking asking him if he likes SUVs, first.
I sent him on a wild goose chase to find a stckshift on the back lot, got in the Pornstar, and found my other candidate for purchase. Mrs Wandering Gentile, the hijastras and I went to the Saturn dealership around the corner, and it will be a blizzard in Miami before I return to that Mazda dealer.
The Saturn Astra turned up on my radar when the plan to import it was announced. This goes to a loyalty to marque held for forty years; we were an Opel family. Dad owned three, and I have owned five. Dad abandoned GM for Ford when the Opel 1900 was dropped in 1975, and the Opel Isuzu replaced it. From 1966 to 1975, we primarily owned Opels.
When I bought my first car, it was a 1966 Opel, and they were the great beaters of all time. GM treated their European division like an illegitimate, red-headed, biracial step-child in the south during Jim Crow. The sad part was that Opels were and are neat little cars, sort of a Sam's Choice German Car. They worked well, but parts were scarce and service nonexistent. Hence a Mazda seeming to be a good idea.
I drove it and discovered that I would have known what kind of car it was blindfolded. I fit. The back seat looked like it came out of an Impala. And it drove like a generic German car. The dealership was courteous, even when I tried to check how well I fit in the Sky roadster, and it took three service technicians, 22 pounds (10 kg) of Crisco, and a Shaquille O'Neal edition shoe horn to get me back out.
It appears that there is an Astra in my future, and I can even get it with a stick shift.
My ride is here.
Mrs. Wandering Gentile suggested that we purchase an SUV, until my face turned the color of a Coca-Cola can, and the vein on my forehead grew to the size of a normal python. I managed to avoid recreating the premise of the film Scanners, but barely. It is my fervent belief that most SUVs be delivered with a snarky letter from Osama Bin Laden, thanking the purchaser for supporting Al Qaeda, particularly for drivers who ride alone for twenty or thirty thousand miles per year.
SUVs have their purpose, particularly for large families and in harsh climates, or some combination of the two. The Wandering Gentile Household numbers four, with a missing man formation for Junior, who is being held in foreign exile by his mother. I am the only one over five feet (150cm) tall. We live in Atlanta, where if the weather justifies four-wheel-drive, it is sure indication that Apocalypse is nigh. I do not hunt, fish, or camp...my career requires regular exposure to the elements. When I recreate, I want cable, hot showers, and sheets that will not be laundered by me, my wife, or the hijastras.
An SUV that meets my standards for consumption would be akin to a Festiva wearing grips on its twelve-inch rims.
I offered the suggestion that my old Festiva, a/k/a the Mighty Matchbox Car, be returned to service in our household. Being that all of Mrs. Wandering Gentile's predecessors had ridden in that particular automobile, I learned that there are quite a few Spanish-language pejoratives regarding personal hygiene that I had heretofore not been aware of. Mrs. Wandering Gentile's estimation of the condition of the passenger seat proves to be a deal-breaker.
Now that I consider it, a 20-year-old hatchback, motivated (as much as can be divined) by a 58 horsepower engine, is a certain candidate for becoming a stain on Atlanta's anarchic expressway system. Mighty Matchbox Car or not, it makes me think of those pictures of multiple members of an Indian family headed to Mumbai on a 125cc scooter. It will make a good car for me to make my periodic trips between the house and the truck yard. I wouldn't risk the girls riding in it.
So we have dropped into the realm of a modest compact car, and, frankly, I want something new. I have driven used cars since 1982, and the idea of being the first person to make an impolite sound in the car does carry some enchantment.
Buy our car! Zero dollars down! Zero dollars a month! Everybody Rides! If you have a pulse we can get you financed! We'll give you ten thousand dollars in trade for your Pinto! Jack Schmitt Motors will go Lewinski on your dog! If we can't make a deal, you must be dead! No documentation of residence, employment, or assets required!
One cannot turn on a radio in Atlanta without being subjected to this happy (lower posterior orifice) in half a dozen languages, at a volume designed to provoke envy in lesser heavy metal bands. Hyundai, Kia, Suzuki, Ford, and Chevrolet dealers tend to be the worst offenders. The reality of this donkey show is that the purchaser is one of the stars, and the purchaser would be happier being an ass.
Of these, the actual car is at best a happy compromise of archaic technology, questionable build quality, and a dealership where service is second to digging out the Chinese socket set and performing the task in a car wash bay. The only acceptable product in the bunch is a Cobalt, and good luck finding a four-door stick shift. Hellooooo, MARTA, Atlanta's spectacularly inadequate public transit system, where one finds the other donkey show participants when they are unable to make the US$28,000 balloon payment at the end of zero dollars down, zero dollars a month.
Mitsubishi is ruled out for two reasons. One, I haven't forgiven them for manufacturing the Zero, the planes used to attack Pearl Harbor, 25 years before I was born. Two, at about 80,000 miles, Mitsubishi engines turn into the Marlboro Man, to wit, they have one horse and smoke.
Nothing says "I couldn't get financed on a Toyota," like a Nissan.
Speaking of Toyotas, I discovered that becoming a Corolla owner would require my head to ride in a box on the passenger seat, and one should keep their suggestions of double-entendre private. There was not a Toyota product that comfortably accomodated my nearly six-foot (181cm) body. This is due to the fact that I am built like a human Dachshund, therefore I am all torso and not much leg.
Hondas hate me, and the sentiment has become mutual. I spent six years running an emission station (Smog Check for our West Coast Reader), and it got so bad that my assistant used to warn Honda owners. "Do not let him touch your car. It will die. He has a bad mojo." I am a 50-50 chance of survival with an Accord, certain death to a Civic. Guess which one comes closest to my idea of my needs. That and the fact that the Civic's dash seems to be modeled on a design for the Enterprise's helm that Paramount rejected as "totally bizarre," in 1966.
Volkswagen Rabbits are neat little cars, but every VW I have ever owned has been posessed by the decrepit spirit of an infernal Nazi for whom I could never have sufficient foreskin.
So we arrive at the runner-up, the Mazda 3. It rides on the same chassis as the European Ford Focus and the little bitty Volvo. The engine is good, and the resale is terrific. I actually went to the Mazda dealer first, because there is a compelling argument for this choice, and it serves as a lesson that the agency's treatment of me as a potential customer has moved this totally worthy car to second place.
I asked for literature on the 3, and Mrs. Wandering Gentile immediately spied their small SUV. If I could tolerate any SUV, that one would be a top finisher, despite its resemblance to a '71 Torino wagon in my eyes. It is unavailable with a manual transmission, which is the first drawback, and it was about US$11,000 more than the base Mazda sedan I was interested in.
The salesman took his merry time in finding literature, all the while telling me how well I seemed suited to the SUV. I felt like I was being offered a leather boy outfit and purple sequined pumps to wear to Mass. Note to all Mazda Dealers: if someone asks you for a catalogue on the Mazda 3, and asks about a stickshift specifically, you stand approximately zero chance of pushing the guy into an SUV without freaking asking him if he likes SUVs, first.
I sent him on a wild goose chase to find a stckshift on the back lot, got in the Pornstar, and found my other candidate for purchase. Mrs Wandering Gentile, the hijastras and I went to the Saturn dealership around the corner, and it will be a blizzard in Miami before I return to that Mazda dealer.
The Saturn Astra turned up on my radar when the plan to import it was announced. This goes to a loyalty to marque held for forty years; we were an Opel family. Dad owned three, and I have owned five. Dad abandoned GM for Ford when the Opel 1900 was dropped in 1975, and the Opel Isuzu replaced it. From 1966 to 1975, we primarily owned Opels.
When I bought my first car, it was a 1966 Opel, and they were the great beaters of all time. GM treated their European division like an illegitimate, red-headed, biracial step-child in the south during Jim Crow. The sad part was that Opels were and are neat little cars, sort of a Sam's Choice German Car. They worked well, but parts were scarce and service nonexistent. Hence a Mazda seeming to be a good idea.
I drove it and discovered that I would have known what kind of car it was blindfolded. I fit. The back seat looked like it came out of an Impala. And it drove like a generic German car. The dealership was courteous, even when I tried to check how well I fit in the Sky roadster, and it took three service technicians, 22 pounds (10 kg) of Crisco, and a Shaquille O'Neal edition shoe horn to get me back out.
It appears that there is an Astra in my future, and I can even get it with a stick shift.
My ride is here.
10 May 2008
Clinton Campaign Death Watch!
As the Democratic primaries wind their way through the last few states and territories, Senator Clinton is becoming more and more evocative of a four-year-old who has suffered an "accident" and being required by a normally permissive parent to prematurely depart a birthday party.
"Well, I'm winning with blue collar whites in the rust belt."
UPDATE- Mrs. Clinton is not winning the long term support of blue collar whites so much as Rush Limbaugh is; as Limbaugh has since the portly pundit became a staple of midday radio. We have a term for blue collar whites of poor educational attainment back in Georgia-REPUBLICANS.
Yes, I am aware that Jeff Foxworthy has made a career of another term. The amusing Mr. Foxworthy and your Wandering Gentile share a hometown and a birthday, and if that joker starts driving a truck, my life is going to be much more awkward.
The premise that Senator Clinton has made great inroads with a population that has, heretofore, despised her with the same passion reserved for undocumented aliens, homosexuals, Islam, and Quaker State motor oil, is beyond pathetic. Nobody actually believes that Hillary is going to mount up on a four-wheel ATV, dressed like an enthusiastic Melissa Etheridge fan, to spend an afternoon sucking down Genessee beer while trying to bust a cap in Bambi's tuchas.
In fact the most outdoorsy activity imaginable for Senator Clinton involves a short unpleasant visit to a suburban petting zoo, closely followed by a whole-body dousing in Germ-X gel. Mainly because Bambi sneezed.
One suspects that Mrs. Clinton prefers the outdoors to be 35,000 feet or so under her behind for the vast majority of the distance between, say New York and Los Angeles. Let's estimate that distance as Newark Liberty to John Wayne-Ontario.
The idea that Clinton is more likely to deliver Pennsylvania or Ohio based on disproportionate turnout in rural areas by voters who have historically been just a bit less tolerant than Botha is risible. The Portly Pundit spent the greater portion of his time exhorting his vast flannel-and-camouflage clad audience to cast primary votes for Clinton, from 29 February on.
Indeed, the Portly Pundit agreed that Obama is a more formidable nemesis for John McCain, and puts the interests of self-proclaimed conservatives in peril of being left in the cold in November. Senator Clinton, from the viewpoint of a significant component where Limbaugh's audience overlaps with genuine bigots, is at least white.
The more telling lesson from North Carolina is that the experience of several southern states was repeated. Senator Obama has made more complete connections with white voters in the Deep South than he has in the Rust Belt. Southern whites are fundamentally more comfortable with diversity from living in a world where African-Americans have earned affluence and authority.
Senator Clinton's margin of victory in the Pennsylvania primary came from the fifty smallest counties in the state. At first one thinks, holy crow, fifty counties, until a quick check of census data shows that the same counties account for only about a third of the state's population. The urbanized two-thirds of the population went for Obama.
A quick check of the numbers suggests that a loss of Clinton supporters may tilt the state to McCain, but there is no way that Pennsylvania can be won without strong turnout from Philadelphia. It. Ain't. Gonna. Happen. Ohio's results followed a similar pattern, and as bad as the situation is in Cleveland, Ohio is not going blue without the Mistake by the Lake.
But Obama's greatest strength is in the South. No Democrat has gotten to the White House without a strong showing in the South since 1948, when Strom Thurmond split the Dixiecrats off from Truman.
If I am a superdelegate, am I going to bet on the tepid embrace of conservative rural whites in the North, or the fervor of a population that has been underrepresented in presidential politics? When one sees the large pluralities of enthusiastic African-American voters in the Deep South, the point becomes clear.
Senator Clinton has the possibility of pulling out a tight race against Senator McCain. This is the same pattern that cost the Democratic party the last two elections. Had Senator Clinton run in 2004, there was the potential for us to discuss her second-term options today. The Democrats, however, manage to find candidates who are somehow less compelling or charismatic than the Republican.
Think about McGovern, Carter in '80, Mondale, Dukakis, Gore and Kerry. Now consider Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton. Which candidate of the two is most likely to be included with John Kennedy and Bill Clinton as successful? One suspects that Barack Obama may be a Swahili term meaning massive mother-lovin' landslide.
Hillary, you're getting a time out when you get home. The time out isn't for having an "accident," but for acting out at Barack's party. When you finish your punishment, you will be expected to come back over and apologize to the Obamas for your behavior.
The Democratic party expects it.
"Well, I'm winning with blue collar whites in the rust belt."
UPDATE- Mrs. Clinton is not winning the long term support of blue collar whites so much as Rush Limbaugh is; as Limbaugh has since the portly pundit became a staple of midday radio. We have a term for blue collar whites of poor educational attainment back in Georgia-REPUBLICANS.
Yes, I am aware that Jeff Foxworthy has made a career of another term. The amusing Mr. Foxworthy and your Wandering Gentile share a hometown and a birthday, and if that joker starts driving a truck, my life is going to be much more awkward.
The premise that Senator Clinton has made great inroads with a population that has, heretofore, despised her with the same passion reserved for undocumented aliens, homosexuals, Islam, and Quaker State motor oil, is beyond pathetic. Nobody actually believes that Hillary is going to mount up on a four-wheel ATV, dressed like an enthusiastic Melissa Etheridge fan, to spend an afternoon sucking down Genessee beer while trying to bust a cap in Bambi's tuchas.
In fact the most outdoorsy activity imaginable for Senator Clinton involves a short unpleasant visit to a suburban petting zoo, closely followed by a whole-body dousing in Germ-X gel. Mainly because Bambi sneezed.
One suspects that Mrs. Clinton prefers the outdoors to be 35,000 feet or so under her behind for the vast majority of the distance between, say New York and Los Angeles. Let's estimate that distance as Newark Liberty to John Wayne-Ontario.
The idea that Clinton is more likely to deliver Pennsylvania or Ohio based on disproportionate turnout in rural areas by voters who have historically been just a bit less tolerant than Botha is risible. The Portly Pundit spent the greater portion of his time exhorting his vast flannel-and-camouflage clad audience to cast primary votes for Clinton, from 29 February on.
Indeed, the Portly Pundit agreed that Obama is a more formidable nemesis for John McCain, and puts the interests of self-proclaimed conservatives in peril of being left in the cold in November. Senator Clinton, from the viewpoint of a significant component where Limbaugh's audience overlaps with genuine bigots, is at least white.
The more telling lesson from North Carolina is that the experience of several southern states was repeated. Senator Obama has made more complete connections with white voters in the Deep South than he has in the Rust Belt. Southern whites are fundamentally more comfortable with diversity from living in a world where African-Americans have earned affluence and authority.
Senator Clinton's margin of victory in the Pennsylvania primary came from the fifty smallest counties in the state. At first one thinks, holy crow, fifty counties, until a quick check of census data shows that the same counties account for only about a third of the state's population. The urbanized two-thirds of the population went for Obama.
A quick check of the numbers suggests that a loss of Clinton supporters may tilt the state to McCain, but there is no way that Pennsylvania can be won without strong turnout from Philadelphia. It. Ain't. Gonna. Happen. Ohio's results followed a similar pattern, and as bad as the situation is in Cleveland, Ohio is not going blue without the Mistake by the Lake.
But Obama's greatest strength is in the South. No Democrat has gotten to the White House without a strong showing in the South since 1948, when Strom Thurmond split the Dixiecrats off from Truman.
If I am a superdelegate, am I going to bet on the tepid embrace of conservative rural whites in the North, or the fervor of a population that has been underrepresented in presidential politics? When one sees the large pluralities of enthusiastic African-American voters in the Deep South, the point becomes clear.
Senator Clinton has the possibility of pulling out a tight race against Senator McCain. This is the same pattern that cost the Democratic party the last two elections. Had Senator Clinton run in 2004, there was the potential for us to discuss her second-term options today. The Democrats, however, manage to find candidates who are somehow less compelling or charismatic than the Republican.
Think about McGovern, Carter in '80, Mondale, Dukakis, Gore and Kerry. Now consider Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton. Which candidate of the two is most likely to be included with John Kennedy and Bill Clinton as successful? One suspects that Barack Obama may be a Swahili term meaning massive mother-lovin' landslide.
Hillary, you're getting a time out when you get home. The time out isn't for having an "accident," but for acting out at Barack's party. When you finish your punishment, you will be expected to come back over and apologize to the Obamas for your behavior.
The Democratic party expects it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
