Well, it only took three years, but I guess I’m a real Detroiter now. Behold, what I parked next to at Starbucks yesterday:
When we moved here, people said we’d see this sort of thing all the time — mystery cars obscured with tape or fool-the-autofocus camouflage, models ready for road-testing but not the showroom. But this is the first one I’ve seen. (I really need to get out more.) It hardly looked cherry, but couldn’t have been more anonymous. The interior was terra incognita as well:
I didn’t recognize the badge on the steering wheel, but — and this is a key part of the experience — I was soon joined by another Starbucks customer, who was about to pull out of the lot, but re-parked to get out and check out the mystery car, too. And he knew everything. “That’s a BMW,” he said. Never mind the badge, “that’s the iDrive.” No clue. So he explained the iDrive, with which he was well-acquainted; he did everything but offer a supplemental reading list. This is standard local small talk, and on the whole, I prefer it to chatting about the weather. Someday we’ll have to get JohnC to talk about standing around the grill while the burgers cook at a backyard party, arguing over whether Billy Batts was driven to his funeral in a Bonneville or a Grand Prix. This is not worth arguing, as the record clearly shows it was a Grand Prix.
Anyway that’s a Toughbook on the console, powered by the cigarette lighter, wires running to a mystery port between the seats. And that’s your correspondent reflected in the window. Always happy to bring citizen journalism to my readers from sea to shining sea.
Alex noted something I was marveling at yesterday — that you never know what will get people chattering, and apparently, asking about everyone’s fun with prescription drugs is one of those all-skate topics. He suggested perhaps sex or rock ‘n’ roll for a follow-up, but I don’t have it in me. Besides, it’s snowing again and I’d like to go out and enjoy the pretty part of winter.
Do we have bloggage? We have some:
Brian Stouder recommends this story about a narrow escape from the tornadoes earlier in the week, says it passed his lump-in-throat test. I’ll leave it up to you to measure it against your own. What I’m always amazed by, in these situations, is how people rise to the occasion. A few years ago, an F4 hit Van Wert, Ohio, just as a small crowd of young people were leaving an afternoon movie. The manager saw it coming, turned around, herded everyone into the bathrooms — the only cement-block part of the structure — and there they crouched while the wind destroyed the entire building. Here’s where everyone had been sitting only a couple minutes earlier. And all survived, uninjured, except the manager himself, who had a cut on his arm. He hadn’t had any special training in evacuation procedures or where the safest part of the building was; he just thought fast. What if the movie had gone five minutes longer? What if it had been little kids instead of teenagers? What if the crowd had been bigger? What if?
A young Vince Vaughn fights a ‘roid-raging Peter Billingsley in an after-school special. Yes, that Peter Billingsley. Ralphie.
Prostitution, drinking, drugs and having Tom Sizemore as a boyfriend is tough on a girl’s looks. Ask Heidi Fleiss. And check out her co-pilot.
So, Mittens is on his way home, but was it good for the Mormons?
Friday on my mind, folks. I’m outta here.