Wednesday, October 13, 2004

I happened upon this site back in my old college days, by which I mean two years ago, and the ire of both Hummer advocates and Hummer protesters confused me. The topic of conversation was a car, after all, and how much controversy could erupt over a car? We have the right to purchase whatever automobile we desire, and the freedom to do so runs parallel with civil rights and equal employment opportunities, right? Right?

I’m not so sure anymore. In the past two weeks I’ve shared the road with no more than three Hummers, all three of which annoyed exactly as advertised. For a moment, let’s forget about the low gas mileage and allegedly poor emissions. These babies are just frickin’ enormous, so much so that two-lane streets basically halve into a single lane, especially when the pilot insists on sampling both lanes. I suppose it’s possible to maneuver these amazing machines within the confines of, you know, THE GODDAMN YELLOW LINES, but perhaps that would violate another right I’ve yet to discover.

If you read the hate mail poured upon the site, you’ll discover that most Hummer apologists aren’t the shiniest pennies in the stack. Affluent and sporty as they may seem, you get the impression that somewhere between drinking their doubleshot mocha java chocaccino and playing Ultimate Frisbee, they tripped on their twice-shredded Abercrombie jeans and swallowed the frisbee. That’s a disservice to Ultimate, and I love the sport, but you get the point.

This is probably an unfair characterization, and to that end I’ve devised the perfect rationalization for owning a Hummer. We’re at war. I just didn’t know better. I’m not talking about Iraq or the war on terrorism. I’m referring to the War on the Greater Chicago-Metro Area, which necessitates that I purchase a faux military grade vehicle. I went to Old Navy the other day, innocently believing that they sold clothes and clothes alone. The happy music and 60’s decor obviously masked a far more urgent agenda: the housing of a mighty battalion of seaworthy, albeit antiquated warships. The dock entrance was possibly in the fitting room, I don’t know. And The Cheesecake Factory? I thought they manufactured tasty cheesecake, but they’ve been rumored to make sinister weapons and crab cakes as well.

I should go buy a Hummer. Now. When the war subsides, I’ll trade it in for a Porsche, some Ferragamo threads, maybe even Dolce and Gabbana’s nail clippings.