It Can Only Get Better From Here... Right?

If My Bank Account Had a Face...

Wow. And here I thought I was going to write a slightly preachy article about Martin Luther King Day and the movie, Crash. Boy, I had some fun thoughts running through my head. About how I was going to riff, Jerry Seinfeld-esque, about how cumbersome Dr. Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr Day is to say. About how I'd discuss the themes and excellent performances of the movie, Crash, and how acts of kindness can propagate further acts of kindness, just as acts of hatred produce more hatred. Hell, I was finally all set to give my two cents about ultra-zealous born-again Christians and why they bug me so much.

"Many Happy Miles?!" You lie, Pam! You lie!

(and yes, that Ethiopian white kid was me... once upon a time...)

But then, I happened to bring my car to the garage. My sweet, wonderful Saturn SL-1. The one-and-only "Foxy Lady." The one-time jewel of our fleet, right after we graduated Chaminade, having since been surpassed by first Wayne's Mustang, then Jim's Firebird, and later Chris's Grand Am (or Grand Prix? I always confuse the two)... but basically, everyone I know pretty much has a newer car than me. My superlative mode of conveyance for nearly nine years, which has taken me, without fail, on road trips to Washington DC, Binghamton, Troy, Villanova, Woodstock '99, Boston, Providence, Maine, Canada, and not to mention that little cross-country trip to California and back. The little green car that could, that collided into the Union Turnpike Underpass and lived to tell the tale (along with a merry little comic strip, to boot), not to mention a couple of other dingers along the way... The car that had its left-hand rearview mirror torn off TWICE within six months... the car that was mysterious towed to College Point back in the Fall of '97 because of my PARENT'S unpaid parking tickets. That same car I've locked the keys in, with the engine running, at Nassau Colliseum, on a Friday Night...

That car.

Why does it sound like I'm writing its obituary?

Because I want to kill the damn thing.

If my car were a fruit...

Not since my car blew a gasket (apparently the gasket made of diamond-encrusted gold) back in '02, have I had such an expensive trip to the garage. Because my car inspection is coming up soon, and because I no longer had any brake fluid pressure (it's a fun experience, not having breaks... no, not really) my hand was forced, and had to suck it up at the cash register. $1,300 later, my financial outlook is a little grimmer. I'm most certainly going to have to take a part-time job by the end of March, if not sooner. Of course, this might be a blessing in disguise, (a very, very expensive disguise, but a disguise nonetheless). I've been determined to stop eating junk food. I want to lose some weight and get in great shape for the wedding. Now, eating out is pretty much not an option anymore! Yay! I guess.

There are some of you out there that might be shaking their heads while reading this. Those that say, "Get a new car, Tom! It's not worth it, anymore." Ah well, since I can't work a full-time job, let alone, a well-paying job, purchasing a good car at this time isn't exactly a workable scenario. Some day, yes. But as for now, the "Foxy Lady" is just going to have to limp along, at least for the next three years. If I can just make it through the rest of medical school without another prison rape re-enactment at a Midas Station, I'll be just fine.

...Putting Bob Midas's kids through college since 1997...

Ah well, for my next post, I'll certainly try to bring back the light and funny. Thanks for reading my venting and vexations...

I'll give Dr. King his proper due next time. And what's the deal with his name? It's pretty cumbersome, "Dr. Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr." You'd think he would've settled on a title. But no, he's both Doctor and Reverend. Crazy stuff, I tell you...

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