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rue-madame's Diaryland Diary

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Like Hawaii, Connecticut has a minimum speed limit

Iíve been thinking a lot about the first car I learned to drive: a 1972 white VW bug. It had three radio stations (oldies, classical, and banda) and an antenna shaped like a heart (a Valentineís surprise from my father.) I kicked and screamed about having to master its temperamental clutch, especially learning to coordinate the use of first gear with the emergency brake on crazy hills like Castro. I just wanted to roll into the DMV with an automatic and get my driverís license.

But my father would have none of it. No daughter of his was going to be a--insert French-inflected derisive snort--automatic driver. His philosophy is that the automatic transmission is the worst thing that ever happened to the automobile. ďThatís not driving! Thatís playing a video game!Ē Itís either a sign of maturity or a sign of disastrous crotchetiness that I am starting to agree with him.

Iím annoyed with automatic drivers who can do everything BUT drive and still propel their cars forward and folks who donít understand how to curb their wheels, people who donít know how to park without hogging the whole fucking space, people who scratch your paint by writing ďwash meĒ on your body panels, people who fill the ledge above the back seat with stuffed animals, people who donít pull out into the intersection when making a left turn, people who put AAA stickers or Mean People Suck on their bumpers, people with those rims that run against the movement of the wheels? people with fancy cars but shitty apartments, people with Nevada plates, people who donít use their turn indicators, and people who pull ahead of you (instead of waiting behind) when youíre exiting a parking space. I think that about covers it.

If I ever have a kid who makes it to teenagerhood without running away to the circus in my stick-shift carÖ oh boy.

Iíve got a cold. The kind where you sneeze and blow your nose every 15 seconds, the kind where like an old man, you constantly make the ďahemĒ sound to rid your throat of a persistent tickle. I havenít had one of these in a long time, and I canít believe I used to go to an office in this condition! Thank god for staying at home in front of a gas-powered fireplace with hot cup of tea and a beckoning couch.

10:37 a.m. - 2004-03-04

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