Cows in the street should be the bigger concern.

The world's cheapest car has been unveiled (that is, it's the world's cheapest NEW car - you could hop on Craigslist and find cars for free if you're willing to haul them away):



Normally, this is precisely the kind of car I would rip on. It's hideous, and I'd rather shave my legs with a cheese grater than be seen driving around in it. I think my love of a cool car is well documented.

HOWEVER. This thing only costs $2,500. No air conditioning. No radio. And you're likely to be killed if you hit a pothole while driving faster than 15 mph. But it's only $2,500, and it gets 50 mpg, and you're probably lucky if you can get the thing above 15 mph anyway, so I figure the pothole danger is low.

It's being marketed in India - a cesspool of overpopulated urban humanity. So, the 50 mpg thing isn't winning over the environmentalists and transportation planners there. They think that more cars on the road there will be a nightmare. They're probably right.

But I still think this thing could be a real boon to people with low incomes. After experiencing the molasses-like pace of mass transit in Las Vegas, I have to admit that if I were living on a shoe-string budget and had to rely on the freakin' bus to get everywhere, I'd leap at the chance to drive that little death box. Imagine getting 5 miles down the road in less than an hour...

VICTORY!!!

Oh, the taste of sweet victory! It seems that Officer Friendly of the "I'll ticket you because wadda ya gonna do about it?" company had better things to do on the Thursday before Christmas than show up at traffic court, so that means Suzanne is freeeeee!

Okay, I wasn't actually in danger of being jailed, but I'm freeeeee of paying the fine and having the ticket on my record, so woo and hoo.

Shout out to Jonathan for accompanying me to the halls of justice. The whole affair took only half an hour, but it would have been a much longer half-hour without ya baby!

I actually thought at first that I might be screwed. The prosecutors came in, called out two names and told those guys right off that their cases had been dismissed. I figured that meant that the rest of us were going to have to dance. After a little roll call to see who had shown up, there were only 3 of us left who were there and ready to tango. The judge called a little recess for the prosecutors to see which cops and witnesses had shown up.

They called one guy out into the hall to talk to the arresting officer for his case. This kid was some kind of athlete from out of town who had gotten into trouble when he came to Austin for a game of whatever he plays. They pleaded down to something lesser and that guy was done. That left two of us.

The judge called the other guy up to the bench and told him his case had been dismissed. I saw hope!! Sure enough, he then called me to the bench and gave me my dismissal. Free at last! Free at last!

So, what have we learned from all this? Slow down - don't speed? Uh...right. Do you even know me? I believe the lesson here is: fight your ticket. Especially if you can get your court date close to a holiday.

She's a mysterious soul

In my email, Mercedes Masters wants to know, "Does it satisfy her?" I don't know, Mercedes. I haven't really talked to her about it, and if I did, I'm not sure she'd tell me. She's a people-pleaser, so she's likely to tell me it's wonderful and all she could ask for when in reality, she's left feeling wanting. I'd like to think it satisfies her. She's a nice person, and I want her to be happy. But there's just no way of knowing if she won't be open about her feelings.

Temps in fabulous Austin, Texas to hit 70-73 today (depending on which forecast you watch). I see all these stories about blizzard conditions up north, and I gotta say, it's good to live in Texas. Oh wait - no, it's not. It's awful to live here, so if you live somewhere else, you should stay there. Don't move here. You wouldn't like it.

Sharky is filthy and deserves better, so I'll have to consider going through a car wash. It's a little chilly to wash it myself (by the time I get home, the temps will no doubt be dropping back into the 60s, and that's a little cold to be getting wet washing a car), but I also don't feel like spending a bunch of money on a Genie-level car wash, so I may just run it through a gas station set-up for a few bucks just to knock the dirt off. It's much too soon to be neglecting Sharky this way.

Hope you're all having a fabulous pre-Christmas week!

Now you're just toying with me.

I picked up the silver bullet last night. I hopped in the driver's seat, happy to be back in my own saddle, and headed toward I-35 for 30-mile trek home. Oops - low on gas. I'll just stop in here at this Diamond Shamrock and put in $5 worth of gas - don't want to fill up because the price isn't that good, but $5 will get me home and to work tomorrow and then I can fill up someplace more reasonable. I don't want to put my heels back on, though - I wore them all day, and now I hate them. But that's okay, because I live in 2005, and I can Pay At The Pump, which means I can just hop out in my bare feet and run around to the pump - no one will see me.

Slip my credit card in the pump, watch the gauge until it gets to $5, try to do the Jerry Seinfeld/AMEX thing and stop right on $5 - don't make it. $5.06. "Cashier has receipt." What? What do you mean the cashier has the receipt? I'm Paying At The Pump. Did no one explain to you people the concept of Paying At The Pump? That means I don't have to go into the store - my entire transaction is supposed to take place right here At The Pump. If I wanted to go into the store and interface with the cashier (who is inexplicably peering at me through the doors of the store as if I'm armed), I would have put my shoes on and done so. Well, I'm not doing it. I'm not putting my shoes on, and I'm not walking over there - the fearful cashier can just save that receipt until it yellows, because I Paid At The Pump, and I'm not going in!! I'll write my own receipt. I've got paper in the car. "11/7, $5, Diamond Shamrock." Ha!

Key in ignition, engine turns over, gas gauge reads...the same. It's as if I've added no gas to the tank whatsoever. And yet...I have this receipt that I just wrote for myself. Turn off the engine. Re-start. Nothing - I'm still sitting at my pre-Pay At The Pump levels. Cell phone.

"Dad, what does it mean when I put $5 of gas in the tank, and the gauge shows nothing?" (Me: expecting he'll say my gauge is broken, which would mean another trip to the repair shop, and NOT wanting to hear that.)

"You only put $5 in?"

'Yeah, and it's not registering."

"$5 is hardly anything."

"I know, but I've put $5 in it hundreds of times, and it always shows."

"You probably didn't put in enough."

"You're not listening - it always shows up. This time, it's like nothing happened."

"$5 isn't much - it's probably not enough."

"If you're going to keep repeating yourself about the $5, I'm going to have an aneurysm. In fact, I think I'm having one now. I can't talk to you anymore."

Heels on. Storm into store. Fearful cashier runs behind counter. I see that he's a hefty youth, with a hearing aid and his nails painted with chipping black polish. You are sad, little monkey, aren't you, son? He can't help me - he hands me the receipt, though. The manager is mopping the bathroom - good to know they do that. But she can't help me either. It's a mystery. I make a show of storming out and though I didn't intentionally squeel my tires as I left, I didn't feel bad about it either. I drive with angry purpose to the Shell station on the other side of the freeway - why, they're 10 cents cheaper! But I still only put in $6 in case there's some kind of hole in my tank or something. Low and behold, ALL of the gas registers this time. It's the car - this time I heard outright snickering.

So, I peel out of the Shell station, shifting angrily through the gears to punish the stupid Cougar. But in a strange mirroring of my relationships with men, I'm soon speeding along I-35 in 5th gear, much too fast, and enjoying my car again - the cruel mind games forgotten. You're a fun car, aren't you? Hey, let's turn up the radio real loud.

And we're off!

Okay, friends and neighbors, let's see how I do with this blog thing! As my intro says, I generally start a journal when suffering through some sort of angst, then when the drama is over, so is my journal. Let's see if I can find anything to talk about (that's fit for public consumption) when life is just rollin' along!

Today has been a chapter in my life as a car owner. I own a silver 2002 Cougar. It's a V6, and it's just plain SPIFFY! But it's also been a pain. I've had all kinds of repairs that I was trying to avoid by buying a brand new car back in February of 2002. Until then, I'd always had used cars, but I thought I'd step up and buy new and have everything work. That's what happens when you buy new, right - things work? Well, thank god I trust nothing to work as it should (I'm also a homeowner - I've long since learned to expect everything to crap out on you and the repairman to be late) and bought an extended warranty. I've used it. I've got 10,000 miles left on it, and I probably won't keep the car much past the warranty expiration. It's been suggested I consider an import next time. This tears at my patriotic soul, but so does having my car in the shop all the time. There's bound to be something un-American about that, too...

Anyway, I've had a brake light flickering on at times when it shouldn't for several weeks, and last week I noticed it leaking oil, so I thought I should get it looked at. "Getting it looked at" isn't as simple as it sounds. All you people out there with "spouses" and "second cars" or "access to public transportation" have no idea what a hassle it is for a single person living nowhere near a bus line to deal with these sorts of transit gliches. You can drive it down to the dealership or repair shop and leave it, but then what? If you can get it there in the morning, the repair guys *might* give you a ride to work, but how long will they have it? Can you get a ride back if they finish it in a day? Or do you have to impose on someone to drive you home? How will you get to work the next day? Do you rent a car? Can someone lend you a car? H.a.s.s.l.e.

Luckily, my parents live nearby, and they're able to loan me a car in these situations, but again, it involves bothering other people to arrange pickups and drop-offs and the like. But this is what one must do. So I did. On this occasion, it's simple maintenance stuff. The oil leak is something to do with the filter that should be easily fixed with an oil change, and the brake light is because I need fluid. $40, please, for the diagnosis. But at least I get my car back tonight. I think it might be laughing at me.