let me let you in on the automotive battle royale that has been going on in my head. this is a personal hell of mine, both petty in importance* and yet troubling due to my vast love of vehicular masses. the problem is summed up in the unified one-car vs. two-car theory .

basically, here is the issue. where m and i live, you pay for parking. a lot. you pay at every restaurant you go to, you pay at most of the stores you go to, you pay a monthly fee at your office and even at your home. a monthly fee to have a car at your home.

to date, m and i have subscribed to the two-car theory (e.g., we pay for two parking spots). as much a legacy of our previous southern life, we have two older cars (circa 96 and 98), albeit both paid off. my car is obnoxiously difficult to deal with, as it has seen a tough 140k miles and is starting to have the problems incident to seeing that much pavement.

as a result, i want a new car. something fun. however, i see the day-to-day absurdity of having two cars in a city where i take mass transit every day. therein lies the rub.

so the two-car vs. one-car theory is simple: if you have two cars, you can have one sporty and one practical. but that is wasteful. if you have one car, it must be *both* sporty and practical. so, how do we find that one car?

so the car must be a coupe (that’s the attractive part– four doors are so….standard), sporty, yet seat four *adults* comfortably (that’s the practical part). there are very few choices in this class of vehicles:

* Infiniti G35 Coupe: not unless your passengers are 4 feet tall.
* Audi A4/S4 Cabrio: technically two-doors, but still looks like a passenger car.
* Pontiac G6 Coupe/Convertible: one of the few true four-seater coupes out there, but it easily wins the American Flag award: great curves, but the most boring face in its class.
* Scion tc: truly great body design– looks like a lexus/merc, but what am I, an eighteen-year-old speed racer?
* Acura RSX: ditto.
* Volkswagon Beetle: already got one.
* Anything Mercedes: price/image.

this all leaves, of course, the BMW 3-series. while i love how they drive, i just can’t face being identified with BMWs. it seems that every person of questionable aesthetic i knew in undergrad and law school drove a 3-series. ugh.

so am i forgetting anything? am i doomed to make the decision between (mind you, material) happiness and waste? your thoughts are welcome.

* i know this conversation is probably fairly absurd to t (as a person who detests cars), but vehicle body aesthetics and driving dynamics are as interesting to me as food, music, the law, etc.

Tonight was a fun night. After work I came home to receive a UPS package and do some cleaning up because I’ve been filthy lately. We haven’t gotten to the fun part, for the record. Anyway, g has some friends in town from The Ham, whom we felt it necessary to introduce to The Pizzaria, the mecca of all proper pizza lovers in the Atlanta Metropolitan Mid-state Region. It was great, but more importantly, while chatting with the owner, he offered that next time we come in, he’ll make us a special not-on-the menu pizza that they used to serve up in NYC — broccoli and garlic sauteed in brown butter, then baked with the pizza so that that broccoli-y, garlicky goodness gets all cheezified. Fuck yeah. I love those guys. After that we went back to the House of g, had a drink or two, played some games and chatted. It turns out that both the friends from The Ham and the Lady g both had bullshit days, and not much sleep the night before, so they were in bed mode at 11. We were very much not so, and driven to seek other environs in which to burn off our remaining energy, we filled a flask with Jamesons and took to the streets. On foot, I mean. We strolled around Loehmans Plaza, looking for anything happening, but coming up short. We continued on down NDH Rd to ExPark Dr. - nothing. So, “Fuck it”, we said and started off towards Cheshire Bridge, assuming that there had to be something happening down there. Now, I’ve long been amazed at how rapidly neighborhoods change character, but in the case of Sheridan Rd. it’s virtually instantaneous. It goes from upper-middle class, quiet houses to a busy thouroughfare replete with busted old Chevron stations (with 2 inch lexan for the cashier), porno shops and plenty of people on foot, like us. So we cruised down there for a while, and, realizing that we had suddenly become a bit hungry, and a bit cold, we rolled on into the Landmark Diner. The Landmark used to be a real deal ghetto-diner. I don’t mean ghetto like ghetto, but, you know old. Any Kingstonians in the house will recall the Gateway, not to mention Dietz. That’s what I’m talking about. Anyway, they’ve cleaned up, blinged out and started selling BLT’s for 7.75. Which I had, because we’d come so far already. After the landmark, we were still just buzzed enough to find Starship entertaining, so we went in there and looked at the covers of some DVD’s, and reminisced about the various quality rankings we gave to p-mags back in the early-to-mid 90’s. Little has changed in the porno world in the past decade-point-five, as it turns out, which I guess makes sense… not a lot has changed in the “having sex” world in the past millenium-point-five. Anyway, we walked back, warmed up from the food, and, I don’t know, pleased with ourselves for doing something our younger selves would have SO envied.

More than anything though, it was pleasant to be able to walk somewhere. Anywhere. Atlanta is among the least walking-friendly cities ever, outside of a few specific spots that we can’t afford to live. So even though our activities were lame and sort of pathetic, it was something unique and we enjoyed ourselves immensely.

So now I’m back at the Ladson Estates, listening to my upstairs neighbors crash around, and thinking pretty seriously about getting some sleep. Tomorrow we make cupcakes with my brand new KitchenAid Professional 5 Serier stand mixer. Yes, I know how non-gangsta that is, but f you man, I likes me some baked goods.

This post is gonna be so random, that’s as good a title as any. It kinda fits, because the first thing I want to discuss is season 1 of ‘24′.

Hopefully I haven’t given away too much by telling you that she’s in the show. It not my intention to give anything away. I make that pledge as much out of self-preservation as respect for my few readers… g would strike me down if I let any plot slip.

[Aside: He will literally yell at you to shut up if he thinks you might say anything about Jack Bauer. And not in a kidding way... ruining his '24' experience would be like punching him in the face unprovoked. You have been warned.]

Anyway, aside from the truism boldly ensconced above this post, which is patently positive, my reaction to the show has been mixed. On the one hand, there’s no question that it’s addictive like crack cocaine. I found myself killing whole discs in one sitting (that’s 4 “1 hour” eps, so, a little under 3 hours) because of the tension they never fail to set up. If your measure for quality is based on being riveted to the screen, then don’t hesitate for even one second, because ‘24′ was literally crafted for you.

My other hand is filled with doubts, eye rolls and unsuspended disbelief. I just felt like the story often had resort to cliché or too-familar devices in order to have something to do. I know it’s a show, and thus fantasy, but I felt at times like the writers were presuming too much upon my ability to swallow illogical or unrealistic depictions. The ‘24′ concept is pretty cool, and unique, but I think the story suffered some from the requirements it imposes. I read in an interview with the main writer that they basically do the show bit by bit, as it develops, as opposed to writing the whole thing ahead of time — the fact is, you can tell that’s what happened while you’re watching it. Certain moments are redolent with what can only be desribed as expediency, as opposed to carefully crafted drama. It doesn’t ruin the show… I still wanted to, nay, had to, keep watching, but there are elements of ‘24′, just like the crack it emulates, that aren’t so great.

I haven’t decided wether to pick up season 2 or not. I expect I will Netflix it eventually but for the moment I need a break.

Speaking of which, I commented to g the other day that Netflix has become like a utility to me. Water, power, gas, dvds. For one, I would really miss it if it was gone. Not as much as the water, but you know, still a lot. Primarily though, it’s that, in the same way that I don’t worry too much about pouring a glass of water down the drain, Netflix lets me not care as much about watching something mediocre. I mean, I know I paid for it, but not very much all told, and at least now I can stop wondering about a film or show that had been on my mind. Case in point, ‘Kung Fu Hustle’, which I watched last night. It’s been sort of drifting around my awareness for appoximately ever and now it won’t have to anymore. For the record, it wasn’t terrible, but I don’t see the appeal it held for people either. It was totally disjointed and meandering. It was visually clever and certainly unique, but it was more of a cartoon than anything. And I don’t mean ‘Cowboy Bebop’… I mean ‘Loony Tunes’. It turns out that the kind of farcical nonsense that’s entertaining for 3 minutes doesn’t necessarily continue to be so for the subsequent 86. The short summary, which you will presently be able to read in the “My 2 Cents” section of Netflix, is : “Unique, but disappointing.”

Changing gears from media to “real life”, a short list of things that are pissing me off today.

• The Arch Card : I don’t get it. It’s a fucking prepaid card for deadly edibles. Ok, that’s fine, but why the hype? How is this new or different from any other plastic representation of some preset quantity of real dollars which can be exchanged for goods or services? Am I missing something or is this precisely the tardism I believe it to be?
• Laundry : The most unremittingly sisyphean aspect of my life. You clean the clothes, you fold the clothes, you put away the clothes, you take out the clothes, you wear the clothes, you throw the clothes on your floor, you feel guilty for being such a messy fuck, you kick the clothes into the corner, you pick up the whole pile and toss it in the closet because guests are coming, you amass a pile too large to deal with any single washing session and soon come to believe that a closet fire might not be so bad. Finally, grudgingly, you sac up and set aside a whole Saturday to work through the backlog. Rinse. Repeat. God I fucking hate it.
• Missing deliveries : I ordered a Kitchen Aid Mixer the other day. It’s something I’ve wanted for years and I’m finally getting one. I was sooo excited that it was gonna come yesterday, only to find out that I’m a moron. Apparently I never changed my shipping address on Amazon when I moved. So they tried to deliver my mixer to my previous residence, the once glorious capital, now empty and derelict, of the Biltmore Empire. I’ve called UPS and set the record straight, but had to delay my gratification until today, perhaps tomorrow. As long as it’s here before the weekend… I have plans to make cupcakes. Of course, said confection will be meticulously apportioned with all the bomb frostings.
• Pens : I’m always dropping them on myself while reclining in my chair, and marking my dress shirts. Fuck. You could, I suppose, claim that it’s not pens that I hate, but my own clumsiness. To you haters I respond that my clumsiness would be a non-issue if pens weren’t such jerks. With their points and their permanent ink and their slippery round bodies. And they always fall point down, like the cosmically damned buttered toast. A-holes.

Well, my queue of random musings has almost been spent, but I have one last miniature post-it note of info. For any of y’all that get Fuse network and, you know, watch it, you have a rare and awesome opportunity to see my dad acting like a creepy business-suited alien in a video. “Three”, freshly pimped by their new crew at Metal Blade, have released a video for their song Alien Angel and my dad’s in it. If you don’t know him, but know me, you’ll recognize him… it’s a pretty sizable part and he basically looks like a thinner, shorter, older version of me with grayer hair. It’s pretty cool. I’d offer to send a copy or point you guys to a digital iteration on the interweb, but I’m a tard and lost the only copy I had. Sorry. until i get a replacement, you’ll have to glue yourself to everyones favorite Canadanian tv music channel in order to spec this dope shit.