I smell a rat. At the same time my lovely Cadillac XTS was struck down by dubious forces, my neighbor, Hopalong Frank, had a gigantic tree fall on the hood of his pickup while he was driving a few streets over. A mere coincidence? I think not. There are only three Democrat-voting houses on our street and two of them are attacked before Jabba the Butt even assumes the mantle. Call it paranoia, but we have visions of the MAGA Metaphysical Army mounting insidious assaults on leftist holdouts in raspberry-red Marion County. We may have to move to the hippie highlands of Burlington or Boulder or Bend, where the weather outside is frightful but the politics are just delightful. We make fun of goober states like Oklahoma and Arkansas, though where else but Florida do you get a parlay like Ron DeSantis, Marco Rubio, Rick Scott, Matt Gaetz and Pam Bondi? It’s the A-hole All-Star Team and they’re moving in for Four More Years of lunacy and looting.
Clarence Darrow famously told us “The world is made up for the most part of morons and natural tyrants, sure of themselves, strong in their opinions, never doubting anything,” and recent history certainly agrees. But we also should recall Andre Malraux’s bright promise; “Though I despair…I remember that all through history, the way of truth and love has always won. There have been murderers and tyrants, and for a time they can seem invincible. But in the end they always fall. Think of it always.”
Wherefore Art Thou, CTS?
Cars used to be pretty. Growing up in the Golden Age of Automobiles (the mid-1950s), we watched with joy as the stodgy era of all black cars came to a crashing halt and was replaced with a rainbow of colorful rides. Powder-blue & white Chevy Bel Airs, two-tone Ford Fairlanes, solid gold Caddys with preposterous fins, the roads were a riot of color, each manufacturer with his own distinct designs. Even a blind pig could tell a Buick from a Studebaker, an Oldsmobile from a Nash, and customer loyalty to a brand was even defended now and then with fisticuffs. Fordland and Chevy Country were harshly divided by a ten-foot high barbed wire fence insuring that ne’er the twain shall meet.
These days, it’s mostly a snooze. Everything is either a pickup truck or an SUV and you have to be a serious student of the game to discern the products of one manufacturer from another. Moreover, the colors are a snore; white, beige, cream, smoke, grey, platinum, sand, ecru, charcoal and black. You don’t need Ambien to go to sleep, just take a look in your garage.
The other day, I went car shopping for a used sedan, under 20,000 miles on the odometer, preferably a Cadillac…something big enough to keep me from getting killed in an accident, as I have a wont to do. Three years ago when I did the same thing, I found a variety of choices and came home in a single day with a diamond. This time, it was like searching for hen’s teeth, a sober fratrat or a 1983 Cabbage Patch Kid doll, there were no sedans. I scoured the internet inventories, called dealers, drove through pre-owned vehicle lots to no avail, the answer was always the same—“Everybody wants the boxes.”
At the crack of opening on a Monday morning, I called Sullivan Cadillac in Ocala. “We got a 2019 CTS in yesterday with only 10,000 miles on it. We’ll probably sell it in a couple of days,” said the sales manager. I told him I’d be right down. When we arrived, there it was, a pearl right out of the oyster, resplendent in shining chrome. Parked close by, however, was a brilliant new CT 4 sedan in blazing red. My wife took an immediate interest, even though gaudy baubles are not usually her cup of tea. “You should get this one,” she said. I beg your pardon? “It’s brand spanking NEW,” I said. “It costs 62,000 goddam dollars! It must be some kind of SIN to spend that kind of money on a car.”
Siobhan really liked this car, circling around it, looking inside, checking the upholstery. “I’ll buy it for you.” Now I don’t know about you, but I’m mighty uncomfortable about people spending $62,000 on gifts for me. I would never be able to argue with them about anything ever again, never able to opt out of a dismaying shopping trip or scold a favorite dog. No, this could lead to dire consequences. Touched as I was by the offer, I had a better idea. “Why don’t you buy it for yourself,” I said. “You’re almost ready to trade in your old car.” The Sullivan salesman, a raw twentyish rookie, almost fainted. TWO sales to one customer? It’s like the wild tales the old pros talked about around the water cooler of legendary scores in halcyon times. “I could make you a helluva deal,” he chirped. “HELL of a deal!”
“Yes, but I need an SUV for the dog, carrying horsefeed and stuff,” said the prospect. “Right over there!” beamed the excited salesman, pointing to an SUV of the exact color. Siobhan got in, drove it around and emerged smiling. “I’ll take it,” she said after some prodding, waving goodbye to her dependable but rather mundane BMW. I bought my own spiffy CTS and she signed on the dotted line for the Belle of the Ball. Needless to say, we got a HELL of a deal and everyone lived happily ever after---and I am even more appreciative of my wife, if that’s possible. My old pal, Michael O’Hara Garcia used to often say “Money talks and bullshit walks,” and over the years I have found this to be a reliable truth worthy of being etched in stone on the walls of university buildings. That somebody would at a moment’s notice offer me a gift worth a small fortune is stunning, wife or not. To me, the offer was more important than the gift---another thing to be grateful for in the surprising and never boring season of Thanksgiving and automobile acquisition.
Festivus For The Rest Of Us
Do you feel somehow disconnected from the Christmas season? Are you frosted by Frosty, terrified of elves, belligerent about Black Friday? Are you a grandma who got run over by a reindeer? Maybe you’re Jewish or Buddhist or a member of the infamous Asiatic bang-jia sect which goes around disrupting manger scenes, replacing baby Jesus with Al Franken dolls. Still, you can’t get no satisfaction. You feel left out during the holidays, a grump among giddy celebrants, a recluse, a sourpuss. If so, you might be forgetting about Festivus, the annual December 23rd fete brought to life by the Costanza family on the legendary Seinfeld TV show.
Instead of the usual Christmas tree, Festivus celebrants raise an unadorned aluminum pole in the living room as a contrast to holiday materialism. Those attending the festival may also participate in the requisite Airing of Grievances, an opportunity to tell others how much they have disappointed you in the previous year. Then the large Festivus dinner takes place, followed by the Feats of Strength, in which the head of the household must be pinned to the floor. Finally, the guests hopefully await the Festivus Miracle, which usually doesn’t happen. All of these traditions actually predate Seinfeld, having first appeared in the odd household of television writer Dan O’Keefe, who resurrected the event for a pre-Christmas show.
Frank Costanza: “Many Christmases ago, I went to buy a doll for my son. I reached for the last one they had, but so did another man. As I rained blows upon him, I realized there had to be a better way.”
Cosmo Kramer: “What happened to the doll?”
Frank: “It was destroyed. But out of that a new holiday was born…a Festivus for the rest of us”
Cosmo: “That must have been some kind of doll.”
Frank: “She was.”
Kramer, excited by the prospect of a new holiday, was eager to experience the event and was invited to the celebration at George Costanza's house. Alas, the manager at his bagel vendor job wouldn’t give him time off for a phony holiday the boss never heard of. Naturally, Kramer went on strike and the rest is legend.
Have a great Festivus if you’re so inclined. If you’re a Catholic, enjoy the High Mass incense. If you’re an Austrian, watch out for Krampus, that horned, hairy beast who snatches up misbehaving children like Gina Hawkins. If you’re a Finn, we hope you find the almond in the porridge. In Gainesville, Florida, Jeannie Uffelman will make her 54th annual naked motorcycle ride down University Avenue and she’s always looking for company. Christmas, above all, is just what you make it. Make yours fantastic. Oh, and if you’re looking for a present for me, there are a number of pawn shops that have functional used accordions. Strike up the polka music, Leon!
If Life Brings You Lemons….
“Lemon tree, very pretty, and the lemon flower is sweet, but the fruit of the poor lemon is impossible to eat.”---Peter, Paul & Mary
“No way! Bring me all you got!---Richard Rahall
For some curious reason, this is the time of year our lemon trees choose to manifest, and the battle begins to harvest them all before they freeze to death. We’re talking hundreds of lemons here which need a home, cost nothing to care for and have zillions of uses like jazzing up your mojito, bourbon sour or bay leaf hard lemonade. Try making limoncello without them. The purposeful measure of lemon in cocktail ingredients is desperately needed to bring balance to two or more opposing flavors in a shaken drink. Their high acidity works chemically in the alchemy of drinkmaking, providing neutral flavor. Ask any cultured bartender.
Not a big drinker? Lemons add flavor to water, tea or dishes like fish or chicken. You can also zest a lemon to capture its fragrance and flavor. Lemons being acidic are good for cleaning around the house. You can rub a lemon half on a cutting board sprinkled with baking soda to clean it. You can also boil lemon juice, baking soda and distilled vinegar to clean pots and pans. Add undiluted lemon juice to your wash to whiten your clothes and make them smell fresh. Mix one tablespoon of lemon juice and two tablespoons of white vinegar with one cup of water in a spray bottle to remove evil sprays from fruits and vegetables. Use lemon peels to deodorize your garbage bin. There’s no end to the wonders of lemons; think lemon curd, lemon extract for marinades, candied lemon peel. You can even make invisible ink with lemons.
I am the self-appointed lemon distributor for the Alachua-Marion-Levy Country area. When you see me comin’ better step aside…a lot of men didn’t and a lot of men got lemonized. Just pull up to my gate, give me an email and our service representatives will be there in a skosh with your order…anywhere from 6 to 12 golden beauties to a customer, and completely free. This is not a ruse to trick you into taking a newborn kitty or a family of down-on-their-luck raccoons. We’d like to hear from you today, it’s not getting any warmer. Our operators are standing by.
That’s all, folks….
