Tuesday, March 20, 2007

People from the Orient, and we’re talking about my people here, traditionally don’t fare well when faced with modifying their cars. You’ve met the type, I’m sure. Dresses in black. Wants those mad, mad eProps on Xanga. Loves, above all else, souping up that Civic LX with tinted windows, sweet rims, and a bitchin’ hydraulics system.

Certainly I can’t be culpable for the fake spoiler on my previous 4-door sedan–it rolled off the lot along with the car–but a part of me still cringes when I recall that vestigial slab of plastic. A spoiler, I’m told, harnesses airflow to keep the back of your car flush against the pavement at high speeds, but what if the spoiler in question sits, like, a quarter of an inch above your trunk? It’s useless, out of place, much like an H2 pretty much anywhere in the U.S., since we’re on the topic of car peeves. I don’t understand why a repurposed military vehicle should exist in this setting, but what do I know? These are dangerous times. You go fight the good fight at Sears.

I’m guilty, however, of clipping this to my windshield recently. My excuse is it’s practical. Necessary, you might say, because we all know the speed limit is more of a quaint suggestion than law, even though cops will sometimes disagree. The unit isn’t infallible, of course, and its instruction booklet freely admits as much, cautioning you to engage in some common sense and, y’know, look around once in a while to see if you’re being trailed.

The top-shelf detectors easily cost a few hundred dollars, so accordingly the 560 misses some things. But for what it is–a basic Geiger counter for auto vice, as long as we’re being honest–it gets the job done. I don’t know if anybody, short of EMTs, really saves that much time by speeding. It’s the feel of it, through and through, and preferably not through a bus.