Birth of the (not) cool…

Sunday night I saw an advertisement for the Chrysler Pacifica siting its onboard vacuum cleaner as a feature… as if a shop vac or a stop over at the neighborhood carwash is just too hard to figure out. But fine, if people don’t have enough appliances in their homes and need to start carrying them in their cars full time too, I’m not going to judge. Well, I am going to judge, but I’ll do it quietly at least.

Add to that advertisement the several social media posts I’ve seen singing the praises of minivans as the new “cool,” all I can do really is shake my head and disbelief. A 68 Chevelle is cool. A 59 Caddy with its enormous fins is cool. A McLaren P1 is cool. Anything rolling out of the shed at Koenigsegg is, by definition, cool. See where I’m going with this yet?

I get that people drive minivans for very good reasons. They’re excellent at what they were designed to be – small, personally owned busses. People carriers. Chances are you bought one because it was very good at what it was designed to do. That’s the same reason I drive a full sized pick up truck instead of a 137 pound Smart Car.

What I didn’t do was buy a pickup truck and then try to justify myself as now driving a cool car. I bought a truck because I have two dogs that occasionally get filthy and from time to time I have the need to haul large or awkwardly shaped things from Point A to Point B. I didn’t buy the truck because it was cool any more than you minivan drivers bought your ride because of its cool factor. I bought it because it was vehicle that would get the job done.

If you’re driving a minivan, embrace it for what it is. Celebrate its capability. But for the love of Pete can we all agree to stop pretending that it is any way “cool?”

Stories from July…

Well, since you’re reading this, you should know that we’ve made it all the way to July 2007 in the latest round of updating posts from the archive. Based on what I’ve read this morning, it must have been one annoying month. Between going down with some kind of sickness, being accosted by traveling Baptists, and reaffirming my deep suspicion of those who drive minivans, it at least makes for some interesting reading. Since one of the posts was short (no, really – like two sentences short), I threw in a 6th post to this week’s update at no extra cost. You can thank me later.

I hope you’ll enjoy this little visit to 2007 as much as I’ve enjoyed making it available. Oh, and if you think our Defense Department are the kings of wasteful spending, take a look at Flock of Seagulls…, I’m pretty sure the World War I British War Office has us beat hands down.

A Sunday Driver…

Good morning, Mr. Minivan Driver. I know what you were thinking this morning just before you heard my breaks lock up and screech as I swerved to avoid plowing into the left rear quarter of your lovely late model suburban nightmare: “Oh my goodness… We’re going to be late for church so I’d better cut across three lanes of traffic to get into the turn lane.” I don’t want to bring up the fact that you were turning from a side street when your signal was red, so you would have had plenty of time to observe my distance to the intersection you wanted to cross closing rapidly. And still, you, Mr. I’m proud of my Cub Scout, bravely dismissed onrushing traffic as not even an inconvenience to your plans. Apparently, there is no connection between being proud of a Cub Scout and having a clue how to drive the family truckster. That’s too bad, really. You could obviously use as much luck as you can find.

I don’t know if you noticed, but I honked and waived at you when I passed. I’m pretty sure your wife noticed, though I’m not sure if she was annoyed with me or you. Probably it was me, because I’m sure you don’t do anything wrong, what with your hurrying to get the family to church and all. Just so you know, I usually wave with my whole hand, but I made an exception for you and the kids this morning. One finger seemed sufficient to express this particular greeting.

I know it’s probably unseemly to pray for yourself… kind of like telling friends what to get you for your birthday… but maybe while you’re communing with the Almighty, you could slip in a small request from me that he send you a some small semblance of a clue. Asshat.