Turning Green

2007.06.10

I got a subscription to Time magazine (oh, “Hi” again – yeah, it’s been a while, I know), and generally it becomes part of my bathroom reading pile. One day I noticed the back of a recent issue had this advertisement from Ford about E-85 ethanol “flex-fuel” cars. It was very self-praising, announcing their lineup of flex-fuel vehicles as almost a gift to their concerned consumers.

This hit me funny immediately. I’ve never driven past an E-85 station before. So where the hell are they?! What’s so great about a marginally improved form of fuel (that still uses gasoline) if you can’t find it?!

The reason I can’t find it is simple: there’s three gas stations in Georgia that have it. Three. For the rest of the US, you’re looking at around 1,200 stations that serve E-85 (most in the corn-growing states). Using figures from the 2002 Census as a benchmark, that means that about 1 out of every 100 gas stations serves this wonderful, earth-saving, economy-healing wonder fuel.

Thanks Ford. Thanks for everything you’re doing. Keep showing us big green pastures of corn, like it’s the holy Mecca of dodging OPEC. You may tickle a few folks with this psuedo-green talk, especially the ones who are still enamored with all that Hollywood’s also doing for the environment, but you’re not winning love here. If you or GM really care about the environment and cutting ties with the Saudis, why don’t you try making a car that can get 35 mpg without requiring an 80 degree decline. Or better yet, offer an electric car. We saw the film, we know it can be done – so do it.

Until then, I hope your stock keeps falling like dead weight. If American automakers like innovation so much, try innovating cars worth a damn that we can afford to fuel up, and save their money on the E-85 ad campaigns.

Thanks a whole bunch, Al Gore

I haven’t seen “An Inconvenient Truth”. I got as far as renting the DVD and holding it in my hand. Then it hit me: do I really want to listen to a wealthy actor or politician tell me that our lifestyles are leading to a bad environment? You think Al Gore uses a bus, or keeps a compost pile? You think Leo DiCaprio carpools? You think he uses a water-efficient shower head and toilet?

Bullspit. Al Gore drives a personal bus wherever he goes, and Leo DiCaprio has 30 toilets in his mansion that could flush Elvis’ corpse if they had to.

And thanks to this movie that I’ll likely never watch, now every day this summer someone hears how hot the day’s going to be, the next words out of their mouth are “global warming“. It’s like the “El Nino” for the new millennium. No body quite understands it, but everyone references it.

I know the intention was to alarm a nation about the ill-effects of our decadent lifestyles and irresponsible CO2 emissions, but if you’re going to fight a futile crusade against consumption, you think you might want to keep yours in check first?

The morale of this story…

…we may choose paper over plastic, recycle beer cans or wear T-shirts made from hemp, but at the end of the day, we’re the planet’s biggest suckers for big honkin’, fuel guzzling, water-wasting, energy-craving toys. Actors can pretend they’re different, car makers can pretend they’re making a change for the better, but in the end, even though we may think Hummers are dumb and clunky, we still get a thrill from taking up two lanes with one vehicle – even if it means a few polar bears die and our grandchildren grow up with black lung.

The Belly Show

2006.08.16


Odd choice of picture, I know. But it’s funny.

This picture also signifies the final receipt of our wedding photos, 11 months post-haste (thanks again, Marcin – you’re a scholar and a gentleman). I like looking back at all the pictures and being reminded of how absolutely drunk I was during the reception. Somehow, I had imagined I was sporting a tuxedo and top hat the entire evening, charming guests with my witty anecdotes and delightful puns. In truth, I was stammering around for 2 hours with cake on my shirt looking for various opened bottles while Anna chased after me for photo ops. But I digress…

As of late…

It melts in your mouth, because it's mostly fillers and hydrogenated oils

The theme has been “so how’s Anna doing?” Frankly, it’s getting on my nerves. Who knew that the minute a woman gets pregnant, the next thing they do is turn the attention on themself for the next nine months?! No one cares  that I’ve beaten “Utlimate Spiderman” on the PS2. They want to hear all about Anna, but the minute I start in about the killer sandwich I made on Thursday, they lose all interest.

For those not in the know, she fares well, and enjoys tracking Elena’s kicking and bumping throughout the day. We can be in mid-conversation about the Japanese stock market (for one plausible example), and in mid sentence she’ll grab my hand and place it on her belly with a smile. Apparently our daughter already has strong opinions about the Nikkei, and I know she’s uninformed. Clearly, she’ll just love being an American.

Belly Picture Show

So the Doc put one of those belly cameras on the Mrs. not too long ago, and Elena put on a little show for us. It was a little like that skit from Ally McBeal, only this infant was still technically a fetus. Ironically, at an estimated 2lbs, our baby’s still heavier than Calista Flockhart.

Nonetheless, like that dancing baby skit, here’s Elena’s opportunity to make it around the weird circles of the Internet with her very first video. Next, we’ll begin her singing, acting and dance lessons with professional coaches, and aggressively push her through a cycle of auditions that she’ll swear on camera she “wants to do”, all the while planning record deals with Disney and show contracts with Nickelodeon. By the time she’s 16, we’ll be able to retire and live of the lucrative, shattered remains of our family.

Anna may not be on board with raising the next Hillary Duff (you know, one of those drunken girls you see in the magazine rack as you’re checking out at the supermarket), so nothing’s definite yet.

License to Haggle

Recently, we bought a car, because our current one isn’t quite “kid friendly”. It’s a Mustang, better suited for picking up Motorhead roadies than picking up play dates.

I don’t know about your experiences, but I don’t know why none of my car transactions feel legitimate. Aside from buying a mattress or a home, where else do you end up “discussing” the price? I’ve never tried this
elsewhere, but I’m inclined to see what would happen if I tried talking down a carton of eggs with a cashier.

This wouldn’t work because 99% of the time, when you see a price, that’s literally the price! There’s no “wiggle room” with a $3 notebook; it’s three dollars! So why the hell does a car manufacturer filter its cars through seedy, degenerate businesses who prey on public ignorance to live
fat on markups?

We got to the dealership with little care for a purchase, but we were prepared if the right price presented itself. We directed the salesman to the exact model and edition we wanted, and saw there were three crappy
colors in stock. The stickers say $15,200. So, we shrug our shoulders and walk away. Then, the anxious salesman, salivating over a potential deal, asks what price we’d take the car for at that moment.

Let me repeat myself – the salesman was asking us, the customer, for a price. I don’t like this at all. “I’ve got 23 dollars in my wallet. How about an even $20 and we’ll call it even?”

So, I throw back $14,500. He eventually grabs it. Then we leave the dealership to mull over the price at Denny’s for an hour. We eat our Grand Slams and return to ask what the final price would be (after taxes and a peculiar “administrative fee”). He comes back with $16,400. We don’t like this, so we leave. Then that price drops to $15,200.

So, in the course of 2 hours, the car we first looked at dropped by $2000 in price, which begs the question “if they could afford to drop two grand, how much money are they really making?”

The kicker is as he’s writing the price down, once we’ve shaken hands of course (that’s a car dealership ritual, apparently – no car is sold until the hand shake), he actually writes $15,250. I corrected him immediately. What balls a guy has to write himself a tip right in front of our eyes! This ain’t a Casino, I ain’t a high roller, and you’re
not booth clerk. No, you don’t get a few chips for your troubles – you get my gullible patronage. That’s it. We’re not friends, and you do not get a little extra for your smile.

So we still probably got ripped off, but knowing how far we could have been ripped off makes it less painful… I suppose. Man, the things you do for an expecting baby! All I know is save room on your calendars; Elena’s
world tour starts in three months. Daddy and Mommy need a beach house!