It's the last day of February, and it's 83 degrees outside! The doors and windows of the house are wide open, reminiscent of the waning days of last autumn.
Thanks to global warming, which doesn't exist according to the science whores hired by our corporate environment plunderers to justify "business-as-usual, dump more shit into the atmosphere" while our idiot president assures us he's taking us in a direction that will reduce our addiction to oil despite acting as our bad-ass pusher by quenching our addictions to greater needs for more and more by increasing our dependency with fewer industry controls and bigger, more powerful gas guzzling obscenities on our streets, despite all that, I spent an hour or two outside with "Ol' Greenie Boy".
You see, it was eleven years ago this spring that I went shopping for a new car. Having "raised" two generations of Hondas, I was looking to adopt another one. And as my salesman, who had worked for me at one time as a parttime college kid and whose child my wife, as a 3rd grade teacher, later taught, was taking me back to the lot behind the dealership to look over his inventory, he'd made a mistake. He took me there via the side of his dealership abutting the Mazda dealership immediately next door! As much as I was dedicated to the idea of another Honda and wanted to give him the business, the sight of a new 1995 Mazda MX-6 emerging from their showers was more than I could ignore. There, glistening, naked in the sun, I couldn't take my eyes off of her. That turned out to be my salesman's fatal mistake.
I don't remember if it was immediately after leaving my friend and his Honda dealership that I snuck next door to the Mazda franchise, to ogle that MX-6, or I had the courtesy and vague sense of obligation to wait a few days. But inevitably, I wound up next door, inquiring of this car.
The rest is history. My Honda loyalty was lost, I was soon behind the seat of my very own little Mazda, "Greenie Boy"! Although driven by a small V-6, he wasn't fast. After all, this was 1995, before the drive to make most vehicles bigger, thirstier and more powerful. But he had enough "soup" to suit me and the wife. And his mileage wasn't bad either.
Eleven years later, "Ol Greenie Boy's" value has dipped dramatically, despite the fact I've failed to put 600 miles on him each of the past two years. With a total of 39,000 miles, how can I possibly let him go? He's got great rubber, low miles, and has priority in the garage over the newer, junior member of the family, i.e., I love him more than the first day I saw him last millenium. And his value is far greater to us than any blue book would ever concede.
And so, while the president was inside on the TV assuring us--despite evidence to the contrary--that while the standard of living statistics were indicating a decline in quality of life for most Americans, things are really much better, I was outside on this globally warmed day, the last day of February, in 83 degrees "communing" with my friend, "Ol Greenie Boy". As I told a neighbor who'd dropped by to witness the "love" as I bathed him there in public, "IF there's a heaven after you leave here, look for a well maintained '95 Mazda, MX-6 driving around. Most likely, I'll be the one behind its wheel wearing a big grin."