Cool and Uncool

A few days ago, I went grocery shopping. Exciting, eh?

I don't mind the actually food shopping bit but having to negotiate parking lots or car parks as I had to say in Britain (which still, after five years of saying it, conjured up images of pick-up trucks sliding down playground slides with big smiles on their grills) is less than fun. Yet, I'm strangely fascinated by them... they are great places to sit and people watch and sometimes I see neato cars.

I thought this one was kinda groovy.



I have no idea what it is but it made a gorgeous rumble went it left.



Returning with a load of groceries, I find this boat parked beside me. Nice parking job. I was surprised that my car remained unscathed!



That decal that the red arrow is pointing to a C.A.T. combat auto theft thingy... telling cops that this car is not driven at night. It's deterrent to thieves apparently. I would have thought that it being an ugly, mid-80's, polluting old Buick was deterrent enough. ;-)

Auto maintenance in 252 easy steps!

Today I decided to become more intimate with my lovely Rusty. A few days ago he started warning me that his wiper fluid was getting low. So today I decided to take care of it.

Context... I live on the third floor and my Rusty is parked in the underground parking. That's 42 steps up from the underground to my floor; I've counted it a thousand times. I don't use the elevator if I'm going up unless I'm carrying groceries but I do use it going down as my left knee pops on each step down and I find that disconcerting.

Down elevator.

Unlock him. Release the hood. Oh whoops, I forgot that I had taken the wiper fluid upstairs.

Go up 42 steps.

Get wiper fluid. Down elevator.

I go to the front of the car and slide my fingers into the grill trying to find that latch. Ok, not in that grill layer, try the next... again. again. again... try again, again, again, again. Better go get the manual. Go to glove box. Not there. Oh, right, I took it upstairs to read up on something.

Go up 42 steps.

Get manual. Down elevator.

Look at manual, compare with Rusty. Still... I can not find the latch. Anyone who has met me knows that I have small hands. Maybe I need longer 'fingers'? Decide to go get a wooden spoon.

Go up 42 steps.

Get spoon. Down elevator.

Bingo! The latch is obviously made for grown ups and not people with hamster hands. I find the wiper fluid tank, no problem. Ok, I go get the bottle of fluid to fill it up. Wow, this cap is really on there... I can't budge it. I am not a weak female; I lift weights. I figure maybe I need a rag, the texture of the cap and my cold fingers was causing pain. I go get a rag.

Go up 42 steps.

Get rag. Down elevator.

Chat with neighbour about the lingering snow. Try the rag on the wiper fluid bottle. Nope. Again. Nope. Get angry at it and try again. No. Argh!!! Decide to go get a wrench.

Go up 42 steps.

Find my tool box, get a biggish wrench. Down elevator.

Argh!!!! Too small!

Go up 42 steps.

Get biggest wrench. Down elevator.

ARGH!!! Still too small!

I'm near tears now because I've been feeling blue and this was just getting so frustrating! Suddenly I got very angry and whacked the cap of the wiper fluid with the wrench, 'take that you stubborn little fucker!!!' and pop! The top of the cap broke away. It fell back into the bottle... not perfect but hey, at least it's open!

Filled the wiper fluid tank, had a good laugh and Rusty is now a happy boy.

And, I've now been positively reinforced to believe that temper tantrums really do work! There's a few hundred dollars worth of therapy down the drain! haha! ;-)

All you wanna do is ride around Marnie...

About xmas time, while driving Rusty, I was t-boned at an intersection by a Nissan Sentra. It was all so slow and surreal and thankfully nobody was injured... except for my dear Rusty. Ouch!


A few days ago he went into the bodyshop to get a new door put on and a paint job... oh, and a wonderful cleaning up as well. He looks and smells all brand new again. He's very happpy, as am I.

While Rusty was in the shop, I got a choice of loaner vehicles; a freebie Colbalt or for five bucks more a day an upgrade to a convertible, Mustang GT with a V8. Inner-conflict starts up; my inner tree-hugger vs my inner redneck. I looked out the window, it was sunny. It's never sunny in January on the coast. It was 'a sign'... get the convertible, Marnie.... and the redneck won.


I had a wonderful time flying up the Malahat and cruising along the ocean. It's a very fun car to drive and I loved the sound it made... and the vibration, of course. ;-) But wow, it really did guzzle the fuel. Again, inner-conflict as I blast through the gorgeous rainforest, squirrels coughing in my wake.

It's at these times I remember a quote, by German philosopher Adorno, that my dear friend Simon (hi Simon!) told me about: Wrong life cannot be lived rightly.

To me, this means that we live in a capitalist society and that capitalism is essentially 'wrong' and no matter what we do, our actions implicate us in societal wrongness. Another way to put it is: you can't polish a turd! And I'm just trying to be philosofickle about choosing pleasure over the greater good... but does that even matter?

Anyways, off to plant a dozen trees, now.